Category: Beating Back the St00pid

So the Orange Menace claims that Mueller's sentencing recommendations for Paul Manafort prove his innocence and exonerate him of any wrongdoing.

No, Donnie Two Scoops. It proves just the opposite. But you're too stupid to realize it.

Come on Ann, you've hated Kansas since it dropped a house on your sister

— Ken Reid (@KennethWReid) November 7, 2018

That one's gonna leave a mark.

Via.

…but after the Kavanaugh shit show last week, and the fact that the pussy grabber in the White House actually managed to pull off getting that other  pussy grabber appointed to the Supreme Court, I have very little hope for the future of this country.

Women, be afraid. Be very afraid.

POC, be afraid. Be very afraid.

GLBT, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Muslims, be afraid. Be very afraid.

In fact, if you're not a rich, white, heterosexual "christian" male, you should probably be looking over your shoulder as well, because they will eventually come for you too. We've seen this story play out countless times in the history of our world, and it never ends well.

My question is who will "save" us? Will we be speaking Russian or Chinese when The United States takes its dying breath and the dust settles?

I seriously would like to know what the Orange Wigstand's response would be if Russian troops landed on the west coast.

I think we all know.

While the number of people who hate Shitler's guts far outweigh the number of knuckle-draggers in his base, I fear the so called "Blue Wave" expected in November is never going to materialize. Please prove me wrong. Between general voter apathy, the knat-like attention span of the population (the Kavanaugh crap show will be an entire month in the past by the time Election Day rolls around), Republican gerrymandering/voter suppression/dirty tricks and expected-yet-undefended-from Russian interference next month, if the Democrats do make gains, they still won't be substantial enough to flip the balance of power in Washington.  And at that point WE. ARE. FUCKED.

Please, please, please…women, LGBT, people of color, and the vast majority of whites who are patriotic and care for this country, get off your asses and vote. This may be your last opportunity.  I'm not being hyperbolic here; our country is sliding into fascism much the same way Germany did in the 30s, and apparently a sizable portion of the population is okay with that. There's a small, angry mob of white-hooded nationalists and tiki-torch sympathizers who have decided that all their woes are because of the "other," and the Shitgibbon (who they're too stupid to realize doesn't give a fuck about them other than they're useful tools who fawn over him, stroking his narcissistic sociopathy) view him as their holy savior. It seems that now the main goal of republicans is not to actually govern or reach compromise; their singular focus has become "owning the libs," even if it means burning everything this country was founded on to the ground.

With Twitler today spewing garbage that is a hair's breadth away from labeling Democrats Enemy of the People, I have very little hope that we are in for anything other than VERY dark times ahead. Mexican kids in cages? You ain't seen nothing yet—especially if you're not a rich, white, heterosexual "christian" male.

Fleeing the country is not an option for Ben and I or the vast majority of our friends, and I'm sure that when the shit really hits the fan, our borders will be closed tighter than Melania's coach. (Has anyone considered that Agent Orange's border wall is more to keep us in than to keep anyone else out?)

So please, if you care one whit about this country, if you're not ready for "Trump Youth" or jackbooted thugs marching in formation down your city streets—or simply about staying alive and not ending up in a camp—get off your ass and vote November 6th because you know the Shitgibbon' s minions will.

when there's a LOG in your own.

From John Pavlovitz:

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." — Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride,

The first Christians didn't call themselves Christians.

It wasn't some congratulatory self-identifier as it is today; a way of loudly trumpeting one's own supposed goodness, quickly slapped on Twitter bios and bumper stickers and t-shirts without forethought or personal cost or empirical evidence. It wasn't about a place you visited for an hour on Sunday before Cracker Barrel, either.

The term Christian was originally a designation of the community of people following Jesus, by those outside of it after his death—and it was quite likely a slur; a scarlet letter attached to a marginalized group who'd traded comfy allegiance with Caesar for dangerous devotion to an itinerant Hebrew street preacher from Nazareth.

In the Roman Empire in which it was born, Jesus' movement was fully countercultural; shunning its power and material wealth, breaking its barriers between the important and the inconsequential, fighting the stereotypes of the in and the out. It was a table builder and a wall breaker.

These "little Christs" as they were called, were derided by outsiders because the expansive, diverse, interdependent community they were creating stood in such opposition to Rome's singular trickle down might—and their presence created turbulence there.

Being called a Christian then, meant ridicule and threat and oppression from the Government and the religious leaders. It wasn't a cheap decal one adorned themselves with to declare their own righteousness; it was applied to them by powerful people who despised them.

Trump Christians wouldn't be called Christians by these people, they would be called Romans—and those following Jesus then, wouldn't recognize people supporting this President now, as their spiritual descendants.

There would be no bloodline to trace, no affinities to note, no visible family resemblance.

Christians then, destroyed social barriers between people—they didn't fortify them.
Christians then, welcomed the marginalized and vulnerable—they didn't harass them at school or in hospital rooms or on street corners.
Christians then, healed the sick and fed the hungry and clothed the naked—they didn't resent them for being lazy or making bad choices.
Christians then, pushed back against the corrupt power hoarding wealth—they didn't partner with it.
Christians then, loved their disparate neighbors as themselves—they didn't wall them off and send them away and lock them in cages.

People aligned with a Jesus who said "Let the children come to me and do not hinder them"—would have been fully sickened by families separated at borders.

People connected to a Jesus who said, "You cannot serve both God and money"—wouldn't be overlooking adultery, corruption, and bigotry just to pad their nest eggs.

People synonymous with a Jesus who fed a hillside multitude, not because they were right or saved or moral, but because they were hungry—wouldn't recognize a "pull yourself by your own bootstraps" callousness toward those in need.

People associated with a Jesus who touched lepers and healed the blind and bleeding—wouldn't be able to comprehend believers who penalized people for preexisting conditions or made staying alive a financial death sentence.

Most of all, people connected to Jesus they weren't tripping over themselves to publicly claim their Christlikeness. Other people decided that.

People currently supporting this President can label themselves any way they want.

They can imagine themselves sanctified while perpetuating something that far more resembles Caesar of Rome than Jesus of Nazareth.

They can try and retrofit Jesus' Christianity to the bloated, self-aggrandizing, malevolent Empire they're currently wallowing in.

They can try and bastardize Jesus expansive' "For God so loved the world" purpose statement, into a walled-off, gated community "America First" rally slogan.

They can even preach the angry gospel of white nationalism and contempt for outsiders—and call themselves Christian while doing so.

But no one in the time of Jesus would be calling them Christian.

Not the Romans.
Not the Christ followers.
Most of all, Jesus.

The first Christians were labeled Christians, because they emulated Christ—in all his compassionate, kind, loving, healing, welcoming, border-breaching, barrier-busting goodness.

These folks emulate someone antithetical to all of it.

Technically speaking of course, given the origins of the word, none of us should claim to be Christian—but if we're going to, we should at least seek some spiritual synergy.

They may be self-identified Christians, but from the outside the title is suspect.
They aren't "Little Christs"
They aren't "followers of the Way."
They aren't even Evangelicals.

They are "Little Trumps."

In that God of arrogance and greed and enmity, they truly trust.

From John Pavlovitz:

I think it's time to stop saying that we need to understand these people. I think we do understand them:

We understand that they have dug in their heels so deeply, they will not be moved by anything. We understand that there is no political scandal massive enough, no President's Tweet reckless enough, no legislation predatory enough to alter their allegiance. We understand that the past two years of viciousness and ineptitude haven't tempered their passions but inflamed them. We understand that the image of an angry white, American male God is so burned into their brains, that they see no conflict with a religion devoid of love or a world absent diversity or a theology made of malice.

We understand that infidelity, dishonesty, obscenity, and cruelty are no longer liabilities to those they would have lead them. We understand that the FoxNews poison has so fully circulated through their systems that truth is no longer necessary. We understand that [to them] white supremacists in the Cabinet and Russian infiltration in our elections and children separated from their parents are acceptable collateral damage to winning. We understand that their capacity to rationalize away human rights atrocities now borders on complete delusion.

From John Pavlovitz:

Miserable.

Every time I see them, this is the word that prevails.

Whenever I encounter a supporter of this President on social media now, or scan the crowds at his propaganda rallies, or see his surrogates bloviating on talk shows or pounding upon pulpits, I am left with the same conclusion: they are a people bereft of joy.

There is no happiness, no benevolence, nothing life-giving left there.

The emotional deficit is continually on display:

In their contorted, sneering countenance; in their so readily brandished middle finger; in their steady spit shower of verbal filth. With each angry gesture and with every slandering epithet, they reveal in high-definition detail what it looks like when someone loses the light inside them.

War does this to the human heart. These people are at war with the world.

They're against gays.
They're against immigrants.
They're against Muslims.
They're against foreigners.
They're against scientists.
They're against atheists.
They're against Liberals.
They're against the Democrats.
They're against the Media.
They're against teenage shooting survivors.
They're against athletes and entertainers.

The world in their heads is composed almost entirely of enemies and adversaries—and as a result they are perpetually disgusted. If I had that many enemies to fight, I'd be unendingly pissed off too. I'd probably pity them a lot more if I didn't have to endure them.

These are the wildest of ironies: Their President is in the White House, their politicians commandeer the House and Senate, the Supreme Court is tilted In their favor—and yet they still manage to feel themselves oppressed, still picture the world unfair, still rage against a machine they've made and are part of. So many of them claim faith in Jesus, and yet live in almost polar opposition to his example.

The only time they do smile, is to reflect the arrogant, self-satisfied sneer of their leader; almost always in the face of someone else's heartache or misfortune, almost always when someone else loses something. They only joy they seem capable of manufacturing, is in response to pain.

I try to imagine what it feels like to be so afflicted with contempt for the planet: to be forever scowling, to be so viscerally sickened by the breadth of diversity around me, to be relentlessly in a fear-birthed battle posture—but I can't.

Thank God, I can't. If you can't imagine it either, consider yourself fortunate.

I realize that this has become the difference now; the dividing line in this version of America. It is between joyful people and miserable people.

There are those who live open-handed toward the world, and those whose fists are balled tightly; those who are driven by compassion, and those fueled by anger; those who want a bigger table, and those feel the table is exclusively theirs.

As disheartening as it is to witness people this internally toxic, it's a cautionary reminder of who we do not want to become, of what we can't let the fight do to us.

We have to fight to keep goodness inside us, despite the outside badness; to never be defined by how many things we hate.

I want my default response to this life to always be hope and not derision.

May we who oppose this national malignancy, never become so devoid of lightness that we resemble those who celebrate it.

May we never applaud someone's suffering, never weaponize our religion to do harm, never grow comfortable with hearts that are only capable of anger.

May we never lose our laughter, our softness, our lightness in this life, and let a smile come easily to us.

May we never become as miserable as those who support this President.

That is when we know we've really lost.

…Trae perfectly sums up what's going on in my own head and expresses it much better than I ever could.