American Hangover

The thought of deporting my father-in-law appeases me. Unfortunately, after he snuck in this country illegally, he went back and did things the right way, becoming a citizen. Damnit.

It is interesting to me to watch what’s going on in my country. It goes to show how two people can see a situation so vastly different. This sort of thing must have researchers dry humping fact sheets. It is equal parts amazing and terrifying to watch.


It got too intense there. It’s already intense enough in here and spiraling fast. Let’s ease off the caps.

I can’t be too angry with those who voted for Trump. While him becoming the president-elect gutted me, I looked more towards the failures of the Democratic Party than this being the voice of the people. They propped up a candidate with a controversial history and inability to connect with the young voter. Sure, maybe there was never a prison sentence or any charges- but the damage had been done.

Man, I miss Bernie. Maybe the fifty percent who chose not to come out to vote missed him too. I watch the protesters take to the streets and count bricks in hand. I look for matches hanging out of pockets and a part of me thinks maybe we should burn this country to the ground.

I grew up on war. A lot of us did. Watching Giuliani take the stage felt like the good ol’ war boys sneaking their way back in to the big house. What I remember from my childhood is two wars and the second biggest economic depression in American history. All under a republican regime. To me, it feels like they crashed the car we spent the last almost decade fixing to be well enough on the road. Why are we letting them drive again?

But whatever, the election was rigged and corrupt. Until it wasn’t. Until the Electoral College, where only 29 states legally bind their electors to the popular vote, decided this election. It is more a shame to me that half of America didn’t even come out. Sure, Clinton won the popular vote, but half of America didn’t feel this was important enough to come out.

I guess it goes back to what I said in the beginning, how two people can see a situation so vastly different. I came out. As I went through the hoops to cast my ballot, I told the registrar I was doing my part to help avoid an American Apocalypse.

I count the bricks and matches, wondering what windows will be smashed in tonight. My children already know how to shout “FIGHT THE POWER” with fist in air. They will grow up understanding civil disobedience is as much a civic duty as voting. I wonder if they will someday pull bandana over face and laden pockets with matches.

Question everything. Except me, your omnipotent father. The God Complex of parenting. 

I will always be loud and critical. I will also take the time to listen. We learned what an echo chamber does this election. Deleting, unfriending, blocking- again, I fault you, Democratic Party. Actively ignoring things you don’t like doesn’t mean you are going high when they go low. It means you are being ignorant. I say that with love and bitter taste in my mouth.

Election recap time!

DNC cheats the young voter. 

White women betray the country. 

Donald Trump destroys the progressive state in a day. 

It isn’t the average Trump voter that bothers me. I had family members vote for him. I had friends vote for him. It’s the people who got all excited to finally put their nazi flags up outside instead of just hanging them in their bedrooms. Those people bother me.

Then again, watching the African American Defense League throw weight behind Clinton must not have sat well with some.

We can all agree the KKK and it’s black counterpart, the AADL, might not be good for America?

My hands are starting to tremble. I need a smoke. Or a brick. 

Peaceful protest is nice, but riots hit the evening news. 

My children shout “Fight the power!” in the background. I worry about what I share with them. If you believe in something enough, like religion or a love for Pepsi over Coke, you impress it on your children. I believe in raging against the machine.

I remember watching a child take a giant knife to a teddy bear. An ISIS flag hanging behind his curly, precious, head.

Radical anything should disgust and unsettle. If anything leans too far one way or the other it is bound to topple over.

“Fight the power!”

We shout it at Peppa and I wonder what they will laden their pockets with.

“Fight the power!”

And I wonder if my children, like me, will only know war time.

My generation was fed Ritalin and video games. When we became aware of the mess we were left with, we were labeled entitled whiners. The ones who handed us a shit economy, no, a shit country, called us entitled.

“What did you expect? We would give you something? You always want! WANT WANT WANT! God, take your ramen noodles and go sob elsewhere. ENTITLED PRICKS.

Like an abusive drunk. They crashed the car, yelled at us for it, then demanded we fix it. When we did, they took it for another spin. Them good ol’ boys.

“Fight the power!” 

My generation grew up on violence, watching planes fly into building and classmates ship overseas. They are demanding peaceful protests from the children they labeled whiny and entitled. They forgot to show us what peaceful looks like. 

“Fight the power.” They scream enthusiastically at the TV. I wonder if they will ever get the opportunity to learn what the word peace means.

What will we accuse them of when they come of age? Not graciously accepting a country that is a shell of what it used to be?

Pile your bricks by the door. Come and eat your porridge, kids. What did you entitled little pricks do today? 

“Fight the power!” We scream it at the TV.

Please like & share:
One comment on “American Hangover
  1. I knew things were going to shit when they stole the nomination from Bernie. I knew in my heart that Hillary couldn’t win. They thought trump was so bad that she could be him, but they underestimated the voter base he appeals to, and that’s what scares me. Bigotry, racism, no longer hidden but displayed proudly like our president elect. 🙁 We’re fucked
    Dani Heart recently posted…Stain of ShameMy Profile

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge

%d bloggers like this: