The electoral college — the political equivalent of wearing three condoms whilst having sex with an octogenarian — managed to just fuck up the only thing it was there to do.
It’s not like we needed any extra shots to the nuts in 2016. We’d stood in line and taken our lumps like the good little Liberals we are. Sure, we knew the odds of the electoral college pulling some kind of last minute save was something of a long shot. And yeah, we should know better than to put our faith in political institutions that have caused more heartburn in recent years than fried mozzarella balls but hey, we’re optimists.
And look where that has got us.
Up Shit Creek Without A Canoe
The right claimed the Constitution as their own decades ago.
They rolled it up, nice and tight and fed it oh-so-carefully into the secret places of their inner privacy. They burned circles in their carpets as they lectured themselves on what it was and what it most certainly was not; cherry picking that which agreed with them. Spitting out the stones of that which did not.
They lie with it under their pillow and sometimes deep at night…
I think they hump it.
And what do we do? We stand mouths wide open, eyes locked in frank appraisal as a tsunami of piss razors its way past our left shoulder. We stand arms at our side as everything that makes America great is dragged through the mud by egg-bound knuckle-draggers with about as much sense of decorum as a loose fart in an elevator.
We stand for all of this and more and we do it because we’re nice. Because it’s what we’re expected to do y’all. We’re the well-read, the well-mannered the ‘Well there’s always next time.’
Well, that’s got to stop.
Had Clinton pulled half of what Trump had, the electoral college would have blocked her faster than shit goes through a sick dog. Democrats would have refused to support her en mass after she’d been caught bragging about yanking dicks. If evidence mounted that Clinton’s cause had been aided by Russia we’d all have been running across Capitol Hill with half smiles on our faces.
‘Fair do. My bad. Our foul.’
Point to you.
And with a flourish worthy of a regency dandy we’d make way for the ‘other guy.’
Oh, hell no, fuck that. For the second time in a decade, the college has handed the White House to a Republican that lost the popular vote. And we what? Roll over?
It’s not like we were even asking for much with this one.
We just wanted them to play the role of designated driver and refuse to hand the keys to a man who is to compos mentis as a Taco Bell breakfast burrito is to nutrition.
What to do?
Follow the teachings of Sun Tzu that’s what. We’re going to get to know our enemy.
The Impeach Boys
The GOP planned to impeach Hillary Clinton from the very day she took office and guess what? Newsflash assholes: Donald Trump is going to get the exact same treatment.
His every action needs to be turned over and given the sniff it deserves. At the slightest sign of a conflict of interest, we are to demand he be impeached. When he accepts a gift from foreign sycophants, we begin the process again.
When evidence of collusion with Putin emerges, we form impeach Trump committees, hand out ‘He definitely is a crook,’ pins at the mall and let the auteur inside us lose with meme after carefully constructed meme.
We call for his impeachment with such tedious regularity that when he does get kicked out of the White House, it might come as a blessed relief. And when it all blows up in his face we need to turn as one to his supporters and look them in the eye, unblinking.
And just stare.
Stare at the people who elected a man who mocks the disabled, a man who grabs women by their genitals, a man who stays seated whenever his daughter enters the room for reasons best known to him and his dry cleaner.
And keep staring.
Until they join us in our fight to get rid of him and consign his victory to the stinking midden of history where it belongs.