To: The Loser Boy Whose Father Hated Losers
So you’ve been able to cobble together an even dirty dozen GOPP* Senators to do your bidding on Wednesday – so far, anyway. Are there others you all are working on? Others you’ve got juicy tidbits of dirt to blackmail them with or maybe super juicy carrots to dangle, promises of this or that, if they just join their fascist comrades in taking a pickax to democracy in a couple of days?
If there’s an afterlife and your parents are watching all this from wherever they are, I’m guessing your dad is loving it, that he’s elbowing the other toxically masculine dead men around him saying shit like “that’s my boy! Look at him go all scorched earth on those knuckleheads – he may not win this, but dang is he giving it a good run.” If your mother’s nearby she’s probably feeling coerced into going along with the “proud of the golden son” spiel while inside cringing and wishing she could drop into oblivion for the long haul. And then there’s poor Fred – if he’s watching from somewhere on the other side, I’d like to think he’s heartbroken by what you’re doing, that he’s beyond sad that you’ve taken this sick, evil route. He was the sensitive one, wasn’t he? The one who didn’t buy into the womanizing and wheeler-dealer persona that your dad wanted for his boys, the one who drank himself to death.
And no, I don’t really think your deceased family members are watching you and passing judgment of one sort or another. Dead is dead. I also don’t think that if they could see you and they did have opinions that any but your father’s reaction would matter to you – all this performative crap you’re engaging in is the thinnest veneer over the deepest insecurity. You lost. You’re a loser. Your father hated losing. He hated losers. Ergo, he would hate you if he were alive. So meta-ergo, you can’t handle the reality of having lost, of being a loser. You refuse to accept it. You’re doing everything in your power to puff up and claim victory, as if telling (yelling) a lie over and over will somehow make it true, somehow insulate you from the devastation of having lost, of being a loser.
Well, that and if you tell (or yell) that lie over and over to the right people, you might just make some bonanza bucks that could come in handy later. So, there’s that.
Getting your Congressional lackeys to carry their tiki torches for you on Wednesday wasn’t enough, though, was it? You wanted to hedge your bets so you had a menacing little chat with Brad Raffensperger yesterday to try and get him to do a little fancy recalculating and “find” you just enough votes to top Biden in Georgia – or else.
Sir, with all due respect (which is none), you are a loathsome, traitorous idiot who should leave the White House and go straight to prison. And we should not have to wait 17 more days for this to happen.
May we be safe from the scorched earth crew.
May we be willing to prosecute our current POTUS to the hilt.
May our democracy be strong enough to come through this nightmare reasonably intact.
May we accept that even if our democracy survives, it needs a deep, thorough overhaul.
*GOPP = Grand Old Pathetic Party