The big, salty, sorrowful tears of the Followers of Darkest Evil are almost unbelievable. Almost. The trouble is that they are completely predictable from all angles — their belief, his betrayal, his escape, the tiny crowd for Tiny Hands at his departure, the arrests and inevitable convictions, more little people paying the price for the One Big Guy. If nothing else, nothing else, was known about the Orangutan, the single characteristic that would describe him would be his addiction to betrayal.
That the Qbots, MAGAts, Cruzes, Hawleys and regular ol’ Republicans would respond to him with a range of emotions from worship to tolerance indicates that not only can my enemy’s enemy be my friend, but also that a desperate lust for power and chaos runs through the right-handed veins of nearly 50% of Americans. Whoa. Not a good look at all.
That those sad folks were so bought in to the plots that they would be surprised and disappointed and sad is really pathetic. If nothing else could have been expected of Hair Fuhrer, everyone could bet the big one that he would betray everyone who believed.
Betrayal. It’s what he does. It really is the only thing he does consistently. From his punchable-faced youth to his incredibly and somehow intentionally ugly old age, the through line of his biography is betrayal. Each of his three wives, each of his 5 kids, his brother, his brother’s kids, every business partner he ever had, his father, everyone who ever worked for him, people who bought his junk, countless others, all betrayed. Betrayed, yes, but also in ugly, awful, rending ways.
And the bots, bums, birdbrains, gun-brandishers, milishits, lawyers, doctors, elected representatives with recorded oaths to the Constitution (not to one despicable old man), all those sad people with their own problems, who all believed it would be different, that he was actually devoted to them?
Come on. Really? REALLY? What did they think made them special? Was it a deep need to feel special? A need to belong to something other than the Brownies or Cub Scouts or garden club? He would betray EVERYONE closest to him, yet somehow Mr. Play-acting Soldier Man, Ms. (wait, that’s too Lib) — Miss or Mrs. Erstwhile Winged Victory, little boy with illegally acquired rifle out with his mama’s blessing who kills 2 and wounds another, and all the myriad others somehow thought THEY were SPECIAL? That it would be different this time? He’d changed? Is inciting mass insurrection worse than familial abuse? Is it the same?
Now the American Goebbels Networks, Riefenstahl News, Pravdas, the People’s Dailies, all of ‘em have already put the past betrayal in their behinds and are back to desecrating America, peace, freedom, liberty, rights to life, liberty and justice FOR ALL, the pursuit of happiness, and the people’s charge for a more perfect Union.
After the sunny Tuesday reminder of what America can be and become, we return to a cold January of reality. If being betrayed on a massive scale doesn’t turn the MeeeeeeeVolk faction into something, anything else, what will? What do so many people need that they need to belong to the Herd of the Angry Armed Betrayed?
What will change all this?
We wind up with our best hope being that consequences will be visible, that they’ll matter, that the enemies of this nation’s dreams will turn on each other and fracture their political power, that it won’t be violent, that, well, the angels of our better nature prevail or at least temper the anger.
But still. After all the betrayal, millions of Americans thought it wouldn’t happen to them.
Fer Gawd’s sake.
Even with the sun shining here in Chicago, it feels like a cold, gray January day.