The Trump Diarrhea
In late March of 2016, I began work on a short novella entitled ‘The Trumpe Supremacy’, a satirical piece masquerading as a work of erotic fiction. I had several reasons for doing so, first and foremost being a desire to promote myself. Beyond that, it was an attempt to understand and process the events taking place in my country, but also to find a way to laugh at and invalidate the most terrifying political figure in our modern collective memory. In a way, I viewed it as a sort of activism, though perhaps a somewhat disingenuous one. I believed then, and still do now, in the power of satire as a means of social protest. Crude parody has a long and august history as a form of social engagement, I cite Aristophanes’ Lysistrata and Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal as two examples of hyperbolic nonsense that even in modern day we continue to see the value in. Considering these depictions boners and cannibalism, I thought I was in respectable company, and could argue in good faith that what I was doing was acceptable.
I published ‘The Trumpe Supremacy’ shortly before the Republican National Convention, a little surprised Trump had taken the nomination but not entirely. I still stood by my work, and was even proud of the way I tried to empathize with Trump and his supporters, while finding amusement in the idea of Trump as secretly ‘Highly Submissive Omega’, willfully subjecting himself to humiliating and absurd rituals of sexual torment while continuing his arsonist’s path across the political landscape. I worried about showing disrespect to queer Americans, but I hoped with their unanimous (except for Peter Thiel) dislike of Trump and excellent & admirable sense of humor, they would understand what I was doing, even if they thought it wrong and stupid of me. I also wondered if it was acceptable to engage in false equivalency, my support of Hillary Clinton has been total and unwavering since 2008, and yet I still took pains to mock her in ways that were cruel and disingenuous. Well, that’s satire, right? I don’t know Hillary, and she’s still an establishment political after all. And besides, I didn’t want it to just be propaganda, like this essay is. Well, fuck that, I love her and I’m crying as I right this, so whatever blame you wanna throw around for not supporting her enough, put it here too. Also, I make fun of some guy named Bernie Sanders, I guess people kinda like him. Whatever, he’s cool, I’m probably gonna join whatever organization he’s advocating and vote for Kamala Harris in 2020. Or go #Calexit, I haven’t decided. Win for Cali both ways, I suppose.
At the end of ‘The Trumpe Supremacy’, I make a quick zinger about #Brexit, expecting it to be an issue that would vanish quickly as the Brits roundly rejected it. Perhaps that should have been a wake-up call to me, but it was not. After the Trumpe Supremacy, which seemed to make no impact on anyone or anything anywhere in the world (I am a nobody, and furthermore lack all & any social media game), I felt inspired to write ‘The Trumpe Presidency’, a sequel examining, naturally, a hypothetical Trump Presidency. This second work takes, in places, a darker, less acceptable turn, at times I wondered if my black humor was veering into hateful and harmful White Male Privilege. Still, I persisted with it, and depicting Trump as a cruel and aggressive sexual predator is one of the few things here I am #SorryNotSorry about. Bear in mind, I published ‘The Trumpe Presidency’ in late August, before the debates and a lot of the Planning to write a third book, I ended the Trumpe Presidency on a rather bleak and surreal note, the gay superhero protagonist Ace Nighthard finds out he is not who he thinks he is, and wakes up to find himself in an America far different from the cartoonish and impossible reality.
I intended this as a cliffhanger, with Ace coming back in full force for the conclusion of the saga, the half-finished and now deleted ‘Trump Legendary: Rise of Kanye’. I wanted to finish, and was halfway through when a certain Access Hollywood tape involving some boastful pussy-grabbing came to light. It was at that point, with some sadness but little regret, I decided to stop what I was doing. It wasn’t funny anymore. The idea of someone with that little respect for women running for any political office was unacceptable to me, and I was ok with letting the series die quietly, watching Hillary surge to a victory, and maybe concentrate on writing something else once the election was over and I awoke in a better world slowly struggling to improve itself.
Hahaha. LOL Wuht?
I should have seen the signs coming. Did you? Should we have? Could we have, in our cities, at ours colleges, reading high-minded millennials churn out Slate articles and shit-talking Nate Silver for being ‘too Trump’. The simple fact is I did not understand the country I lived in. An unforgivable mistake, but one that perhaps you might have made as well. I should have trusted my instincts on the night of the second debate, a twisted and debauched spectacle made bearable only by the grace and grit of Mrs. Clinton. The sight of that sexual predator looming behind her, trying to bully and dominate her as she stood firm, made me sick. For real sick. At three o’clock that night, I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and dizzy, and ran to the toilet with the worst diarrhea of my life. How did you react that night? You probably felt good, or, if you don’t like her, at least at normal. Or maybe you felt ill too. Here’s another question: How did you feel at night on November 8th? Did you throw up? I did. When in your life has as election ever made you feel this way? Yeah, Bush Two was bad. Like, really bad. But life went on despite his particular brand of soft fascism, and, just barely, we survived it. But the reaction Trump’s election has electing among us is unprecedented, and if we feel this bad on day three how are we going to feel on day 100? On day 1000? None of us can let go of this feeling, none of us can normalize it. Forgetting we’re in Trump’s America is unacceptable, and if we sacrifice one whit of our outrage in the hopes of feeling ok again, then we’re just gonna lose more. The outrage of the American people is all we have anymore, and for all his illusion of total control, Trump will be entering office as the weakest, most compromised president in perhaps our entire history. We can hurt him. We can make him suffer. We can make it so him, his shit children, and his trophy wife all have to seek asylum in Russia to escape from us. For serious, yo, we can do it. It’ll be fun. We’ll have a good time.
Writing this already make me feel better. I doubt you’re reading this, but if you are I hope it helps you understand my thought process, and why I wrote the Trumpe Triptych. I don’t especially want to unpublish it, mainly because I want to continue to use it to promote myself, and because I still hope someone will find amusement with it (it’s not that amusing). I’m sorry I wrote it, but I don’t regret it. I’m sorry I made Trump a joke, but he is a joke, just one at our expense. I’m more sorry I made him likable, pre-debates I sorta assumed he was kinda likable, in a racist dad kinda way. You know, “I think he’s secretly smart”. I really did. Most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t realize the reality of our country. For all this, and the fact that they’re ghastly and unreadable, I’d still encourage you to read them. I sorta got a lot of stuff right without realizing it, and I still think Peter Thiel’s gonna try to Starscream that motherfucker.
There’s a lot of talk about trying to understand Trumpists, empathizing with and understanding them. I think I tried to do that with my Trumpe books. I do understand them. I’m angry. I’m libertarian (small l). I can even kinda understand why people like to go out and shoot guns and shit. Most of all, I understand that they are people who feel they are standing up against tyranny and, by subduing their though process to that of a demagogue, they are honoring American’s principles. Well, ok, but fuck that. Giving in an inch to these people is sacrificing the inalienable rights that God gave us (I’m not religious), and we must not bend our knees or bow or necks to President Trump, we must oppose him publicly and loudly, at every opportunity. The battle for freedom is happening is our minds, the Trumpists lost this battle without realizing it, we’ve must not do so in an attempt at good faith.
If you wanna talk to me I’m on Twitter, @Kjbartolotta. I’d be willing to talk, though I’ve mostly quit social media and intend to use Twitter exclusively for sloganeering. Clicktivism isn’t a very good form of activism, but I think we all realize it’s effective. Or do now. I hope to find ways to be more active, find better causes and be more involved as things coalesce and the fight becomes clearer. Doing this is the only way I’ll feel ok again, if even a little bit. Right now, I hope everyone who doesn’t like Trump is willing to put aside their squabbles. So no Hillary vs. Bernie bullshit (like a did earlier in this essay, first time’s free!). No arguing about ‘PC’. I do this, and have stopped. No shaming each other, unless they’re for Trump then burn that shit down. No fighting over which causes you’re backing. We’re all going to try and deal with this in our own ways, and the causes we’re backing might not always seem the best of to one another. We really, really, really need to get each other’s backs, even if we don’t like each other. In four years, or whenever it’s over, we can go back to picking fights which each other or whatever, the thing about being on the left is that either you’re calling or getting called a fucking idiot by other people on the left constantly. Let’s not do that for now. To paraphrase Ned Stark, ‘summer is the time when wolf cubs fight against each other, in winter they must band together against the frost’.
Anyways, that’s all I have to say for now. I hope you’re doing ok. I hope you’re finding reasons to be happy, to be sane, to be joyous. And I joyfully invite the American people to fuck Trump, collectively and with the power of activism, as hard as I tried to do so in my novellas. But for realsies, yo.
By the way: we had a chance to help Russia become a democracy, and we failed to support them. This may be poetic justice.