I will not be party to Trump’s inauguration. This isn’t a boycott or a political statement, it’s just basic self-preservation. I’m sorry, but that dude is crazy and he gets to drive? Whoa, pull over and let me out, please.
Now, to be clear, I’d be all in if National Lampoon was behind this nonsense. It certainly seems like their idea, doesn’t it? National Lampoon’s White House starring Alec Baldwin. It’s right up their alley. A snarky, vulgar, unstable buffoon being sworn in as President of the United States is a hilarious premise. Follow that with the celebrations — the Bikers for Trump Halftime Show, Three Doors Down, endless self-righteous pomposity — and you have a perfect script.
The reality isn’t entertaining at all. It’s heartbreaking. So rather than have my heart battered around like a piñata, I’ll send my regrets and avoid the hoopla. Oh?, how do I plan to pull that off with swarms of media and wall-to-wall news coverage? With a nifty little thing called a medically induced coma. Or, Plan B, sensory deprivation.
Not only will I miss the inauguration, I’ll miss Trump’s entire term in office. Genius, no?
There’s one teeny-weeny fly in the ointment. Scheduling a return to consciousness (or my senses) is dicey because of the variables involved, so I’ve no clue when I’ll be back. Think about it, Trump could be impeached, quit in a huff, transfer to Russia, blow up the world, lots of things. Could be four years, could be two hours. Easier to leave it open-ended.
In the meantime, so long to the world as I knew it.
copyright © 2017 the whirly girl