I’ve witnessed this kind of atrocity twice in one lifetime.
Women all over social media are posting their inauguration outfits. That is, they are posting pictures of battle-scarred female warriors, head to toe black funereal ensembles and their housecleaning ash-and-cinders Sunday worst. The inhabitants of the so-called bubble are in combat stance even as they mourn the death of dignity, compassion and common sense in the White House. And let’s not pretend otherwise: the bubble is earth-sized. The worst presidential candidate in history is now the most ridiculed man on the planet.
No lines are drawn when it comes to depicting him in his full Jabba the Hutt naked “glory” or likening his mouth to a hemorrhoid or showing him suckling on the teat of Vladimir Putin. I guess you can earn disrespect just as well, and earn it he has. The world is upside down and we’re all choking on cyanide-laced post-nasal drip.
With Donny’s cluelessness in governance, the self-interested shadow-lurkers pretending to stand behind him get to exploit the worst kind of weapon: a semi-sentient one. Donny himself is A-OK with lying. He learned long ago that when you tell enough lies to enough people, some of them are bound to believe you. Hell, he based an entire campaign on this tenet, and can you blame him? It worked!
What a hot strike to the pouty mouth, though, to lose the popular vote by nearly 3 million even with so many dirty fingers, both domestic and Russian, fiddling on your behalf.
How do you honor a lying “pussy-grabber” who piles a tabletop with fake folders at a news conference? That’s like asking, how do you commemorate a man the devil himself kicked out of hell?
“Go on now, my mentally-deficient son,” said the devil. “Here’s a big pretty green ball with lots of water and countries for you to wrap your puny fingers around. Go make some sadistic cabinet picks or whatever. Just go, for fuck’s sake!”
Donny, the weak wannabe with puny digits to match his puny morals, just wants to be loved. It’s no joke, that hand thing, and downright distracting the way he waves them around, mid-lie or mid-whine. All he’s ever wanted was admiration and now that he’s oinked his way to the “throne,” he still doesn’t get it! Maybe him being president, which is both farce and nightmare, sucks as badly for him as it does for us.
So how do you show the devil’s unwanted son the respect he deserves?
Here’s how. You find your perfect inauguration outfit.
I present to you mine. There I am, in the terrible picture below, in an old, expired Iranian passport. I’m around age nine or ten in the picture, wearing a hideous hat, not by choice, but by government mandate. Therefore, I’m also wearing an expression of disgust. Welcome to my inauguration outfit.
You see, when I was nine years old, a pathetic but dangerous sub-human (the Ayatollah) took over my beautiful country of Iran. Suddenly, women had to cover themselves up, including for passport photos. The idea was to wear a scarf around our heads, an Islamic hijab. But my fierce mother refused to muster up more than a hat for our passport photos. She wore it first and then passed it on to me when it was my turn to be photographed.
We didn’t live a single day in Iran under that regime; we were already out and simply stayed out once the Islamic revolution took over. We were lucky. Others were not.
Trump is is America’s Khomeini. Simply peruse NPR and other reputable news sources for concise, just-the-facts reporting regarding the threats Donny and his cabinet ghouls pose to education, health, reproductive rights, the environment, racial relations, human dignity and so on. And I will tell you about Ayatollah Khomeini.
To recap, Khomeini was a fanatical religious cleric, illiterate according to some accounts, brought into power by the will of “simple, working people of rural” Iran. Consequently, he set a vibrant nation back by 200 years and trampled on women’s rights.
Little girls were punished in school if a strand of hair fell out of their headscarves. Women on the streets were thrown in prison and whipped if they didn’t dress according to Islamic law. Non-Muslims were persecuted, often executed. Dancing became illegal. The list is long, horrific and far more involved, but I was nine at the time, and therefore only recounting what stuck in my head then.
The expired passport photo tells all — it’s in my facial expression: Absolute contempt for Khomeini from a traumatized nine-year-old.
Today, my trauma and contempt surpass that of an innocent child’s. I’m an American citizen now, and mortified for my new beautiful country of America. I’m mortified for my fellow humans across the planet, mortified that we have somehow allowed Trump to happen.
I’ll need time to recover from witnessing this kind of atrocity twice in one lifetime. Of course, in the meantime, I’ll say what I want about it.
Back in the early 80’s, my little brother and I, children that we were, supposedly ended up on some hazardous watch list by the Iranian government because we had “treasonously” dared to act in an anti-Islamic Republic of Iran film that shot in New York. Nothing happened to us and we’re still fucking alive.
So you can be sure I will never be afraid of a foolish man who, through a perverse alternate universe prank, desecrated the meaning of “President of the United States.” I wasn’t a scared nine-year-old then, and I’m not a scared grown-ass woman now.
Nor am I afraid of his hapless supporters who were more duped than the history of all duping. I’m sad for them as I am for us all.
Trump is America’s Khomeini and for his inauguration, I’ll be wearing my disgust. Good thing I kept it hanging in my closet since I was nine, because I hear all the disgust shops in the nation are sold out.
Got an inauguration outfit you’re dying to show off?
Post it below in the comments!
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- My new article on Harper’s Bazaar: WHY I DON’T WANT TO MARRY THE MAN I LOVE
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