January 8, 2018

January 8

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:54 pm

This afternoon a mysterious alarm went off. Sam finally discovered that it was an old alarm clock stored way back in a closet. How did that happen? What was the alarm trying to tell us? I suggested a nuclear bomb was about to drop on Japan and life as we know it would soon be over. I always leap to the worst case scenario. But I guess that wasn’t it. I’m still wondering what it was time for.

I can hardly contain my rage when I think of the years of dire warnings that President Obama was a warmonger about to start World War III any minute and then hysteria that Hillary Clinton was an even bigger warmonger who’d immediately attack Russia and start World War III if elected.

Now President Trump insults North Korea and Iran on Twitter and I dread an accident or misunderstanding or incident happens and there’s nobody in charge at the White House. It’s a worst case scenario in the making. I’m waiting for one of those North Korean missiles to accidentally hit something.

But where are all those voices yelling about Obama and Clinton being evil warmongers, that shared fake news propaganda from RealNews and TrueActivist and ProgressiveWhatever on social media — are they worried about Trump being a warmonger? I haven’t seen it, they’re still obsessed with Hillary “Satan” Clinton.

I’m curious if anyone who fell for all that pro-Russia anti-American propaganda notices that the anti-American part means the Democratic Party as if it’s the only political party in the U.S., that even though Republicans have the White House and majorities in the legislature it’s still only Democrats who are to blame for everything. And Republicans are going to investigate Satan’s emails and the Clinton Foundation yet again. It’s almost like Hillary Clinton IS the president.

From Katy Tur’s “Unbelievable, My Front-Row Seat to the Craziest Campaign in American History”:

“Trump arrives. … Suddenly he is so close I can smell what he had for breakfast. And then, before I know what’s happening, his hands are on my shoulders and his lips are on my cheek. My eyes widen. My body freezes. My heart stops.

“Everything he says falls into one of two categories. If it’s good it’s ‘we.’ If it’s bad it’s ‘they.’ ‘We’ are going to have so much winning. ‘They’ are going to hate it. His supporters feel that he is fighting for them. They identify with him. They can relate. ‘He talks just like us,’ supporters say over and over again. He’s the rich guy they would be if they were rich. And he knows it.

“People seem drawn to Trump’s rallies in the same way that they are drawn to a professional wrestling match, and as with a professional wrestling match, they seem divided between people who believe all they see and hear, and those who know it’s partially a performance. The scariest thing about being at a Trump rally is that you don’t know who believes it and who doesn’t.

“Information coming directly from a politician or his team, without being vetted by reporters, is little more than propaganda. No American voter accepts one-sided accounts in their personal life. … We should demand the same in politics. And yet so often we do not. We really have to start teaching journalism in elementary school. People don’t even understand the basics of what we do anymore.

“They’re your taxi driver, your fireman, and your supermarket cashier. … But inside a Trump rally, these people are unchained.
‘Obama is a Muslim!’
‘Hillary Clinton is a cunt!’
‘Immigrants need to get the hell out!’
‘Fuck you, media!’

“He recalls a little old lady who approached him outside of one of Trump’s rallies. She wasn’t wearing Trump gear and she seemed like sweetness personified.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, walking right up to Kenneth. ‘What’s your name? Are you part of the media?’
‘Yes, I am, ma’am. My name is Kenneth.’
She looked him right in the eye, holding his gaze.
‘Fuck you, Kenneth,’ she said.
Another favorite comes from one of the correspondents, who remembers a call from one of Trump’s comms people.
‘Are we off the record?’ the staffer asked.
‘Sure,’ the reporter said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Great. Off the record: Mr. Trump wants you to go fuck yourself.’

“The crowd in New Hampshire is frothing as Pence talks about Clinton. … I don’t know if Pence even hears this other man. Probably not. But I do, and I will never unhear him: not the man’s message, and not the thousands of other voices that summarized 2016 by not shouting him down.
‘Assassinate that bitch,’ the man said.
And the crowd said nothing.
‘Assassinate that bitch.’
And the crowd cheered on.”

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