The Tyrant is a Child of Pride

Maximum wetness at the White House; the Eagles; writing for GQ; and more.

In one of the reputable pockets of the internet where I had to stop hanging out because my tolerance for being told I’m a selfish idiot by people with more money than me is at an all-time low, someone asked, just prior to my departure, why leftists spend so much time mocking and attacking liberals, as opposed to how they treat conservatives. My answer, which of course was ignored, was the same as it always is: because liberals pretend they are our friends. They believe they are on our side. They purport to be our allies. So, their betrayals, their insults, the condescension and pretention, their compromises and gutlessness all sting more because they claim to stand for the same things we do, to want the same things we want.  Conservatives, on the other hand, openly despise us (as they do liberals) and would cheer on our extinction. They care nothing for our insults and are not interested in our arguments. Once your enemies have made their nature clear, you need waste no more time in mockery, in reasoned debate, in appeals to decency, in preparing your brief in the court of public opinion; you simply load your weapon and prepare for the fight.

President Trump can make this approach rather difficult.  He is a dunce, a poltroon of the highest order, the kind of creature of the elites who would have to be invented if there was not such an oversupply. The fact that he was elected leader of this country is all the proof one might need that the ‘greatest nation on Earth’ rhetoric is a joke an always has been; his ascent to power affirms every bad thing anyone has ever said about America and not one of the good things. Time will tell if he turns out to be the fascist brute of liberal nightmares, but at least from a position of temperament, he fails even at that. Hitler was a deathly serious man who was not taken seriously; Tojo and Franco at least had self-discipline and a talent for destruction. Mussolini, certainly, was a self-deluding clown who found himself in a situation he could not control, but he at least wore the costume of a strutting martinet well.  Donald Trump is drawn from the dregs of the capitalist class, a party-boy gone sour having first blown up his father’s fortune and then merely blown it; he was not taken seriously by anyone anywhere until it became impossible for the country to function without people pretending to do so.

What separates him from the tinpot dictators and vile tyrants of the past isn’t just that he was freely elected by a portion of the citizenry motivated by what is probably best described as ‘spite against an imaginary person’; it is that, deranged and awful as they may have been, those leaders at least believed in something other than their own ego, or claimed to. Hitler sacrificed a nation and the lives of millions in blood at the altar of his own overblown self-image, but he at least kept up the pretense that it was for the greater glory of the Aryan race, whatever that is. Imagine Trump expressing anything resembling an ideology, or even knowing what the word ‘ideology’ means; he does not even have the energy or the mental capacity for understanding the machinery of the state even as a vehicle for his ambition. He’s not even ambitious!  Why should he be, when he was born on top? No, ambition is too grand a concept. Trump is driven not only merely by ego, but of the dying fragments of an ego that has been so overfed and bloated that it cannot even taste anything anymore, but which eats just to be full.

His recent escapade with the COVID-19 virus is perfectly illustrative of this. Trump probably had no more opinion about the coronavirus than he did about Gerard van Honthorst until his presidency required him to have one, and one of his staff flatterers convinced him, surely with little difficulty, that it was a disease caught by losers and nobodies. This allowed him to serve both his political function (keeping government funds out of the hands of the poor and in the pockets of the rich) and his essential nature (seeing the rest of humanity as ghosts who occasionally manifest themselves in order to bring him food or praise or handjobs). Being who he is, he proceeded to banish from the flickering fluorescent bulb he has instead of a brain any notion that the coronavirus might be something he should worry about. Being the most protected and valued life in the world through a fluke of socioeconomics, it would have been relatively easy, especially for a germ-shy shut-in like him, to remain safe from infection.  But within the icy chunk of fat and blood that constitutes his insides, there is only one tiny spark of heat and fire, no stronger than the sputtering cherry of a rancid incense stick, and it is his desire for other people to reflect his ego back at him. So it was that he lumbered about, breathing in the sickness while simultaneously insisting that no one around him be such a pussy as to take the least preventive measures.

It is therefore no surprise that he ended up as the world’s most predictable recipient of the dread disease, just as it is no surprise that he interrupted his treatment and probably killed a handful of staffers by taking a fun trip around the block to wave at possibly imaginary supporters, and just as it is no surprise that he will check himself out of Walter Reed sooner than even the doctors on his payroll would recommend to demonstrate vitality and relevance to the stupidest people in America. It’s all just a show that only he is watching, and the fact that anyone else in the country insist on treating it as legitimate is just evidence of how poisoned our collective conscience has become. None of it is real to him.  Everyone who has ever worked with a very rich person knows the type, and the only reason the act draws so much disapprobation from some members of his class is that he has not bothered to master the pretense of caring, because what would that matter?  How would that reflect his greatness back at him?  How would it do anything but make him seem weak, as weak as the will of a man who lets himself be afraid of an invisible illness?

Many of the same liberals (led by Rachel Maddow, a walking testament to our national misunderstanding of what it means to be smart) who have cast him as the Antichrist are now scolding people for hoping the coronavirus kills him.  This is the ultimate illustration of how hollow the liberal opposition to him is, and of how, at root, it is nothing but a shocked propriety not at his vanity, his cruelty, his policies or positions, but at his unwillingness to put on a serious face and act as if he takes the responsibilities of the presidency seriously as he lays waste to government. It is also the same reason they do not care when his politics dovetail with those of his alleged Democratic opposition, and the reason they so willing embrace monsters left over from the Bush administration as long as they frown and wear a TRUMP SUCKS hat. Those of us who truly understand and care about politics and power long ago figured out what the Republicans are all about, with or without Trump, and rolled up our sleeves, checked our ammo pouches, and got work. The rest, still drunk on the sweet nectar of bipartisanship and the comforting illusion it provides that American politics are not hopelessly corrupted by capitalism, still sit miles behind the front lines, wondering why instead of writing strongly worded op-eds we just keep shooting.

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NINE WAYS OF THINKING ABOUT “TAKE IT TO THE LIMIT” BY THE EAGLES

I.

So he says to me “Take it to the limit one more time.”  And I’m, like, one more time?  How many fucking times am I going to have to take it to the limit?  I mean, if this is the last time, fine, I’ll take it to the limit.  But I didn’t hire on at this job to just take it to the limit every time you decide you want it taken to the limit.  There are other places to take shit than the limit, you know?  And yet he gets paid more than I do.

II.

No, sir, I’m afraid not.  No, you’re not.  I understand that, and nobody likes to get a ticket, but I get people every day blowing past here, and I pull them over and they tell me they were just trying to take it to the limit, when in fact they’re way over the limit because they were ignoring the posted…there’s no need to raise your voice, sir.  Yes, you absolutely were.  I have it on the radar gun.  Well, that’s your right, sir, but…look, do you want me to put you on the highway and show you the sign?

III.

Come on, honey.  Just this once.  How do you know?  No, but if you’ve never done it, how do you know you won’t like it?  Baby, I swear, I never ask you for anything ever.  If you don’t like it I’ll never ask you to take it to the limit again.  Just…just take it to the edge of the limit.  How does that sound?  You want a drink first?  I swear I’ll never ask you to do it if you just take it to the limit one more time.  Come on, seriously.  That wasn’t me.  How could I have loved you and you never knew?

IV.

Solve for taking where “it” equals a photon in wave form and “the limit” equals the speed of light.

V.

Yeah, I live at…I don’t know my account number.  Sure, it’s 324-51-9717.  5719 West Coastal Avenue, that’s right.  Yeah, well, that’s what I’m calling you about.  They’re doing it again.  The specific nature of my problem?  Well, the bright lights have faded to blue again.  Yes, again.  It happens every night right around the end of the evening.  No, they’re…well, they’re still bright, but they’re blue.  Because usually they’re, like, yellow-white?  I guess?  Regular light color.  No, I won’t be home between noon and four tomorrow, I have to work for a living.  Yes, I’ll hold.  Christ, I don’t even know what I pay the bill for.

VI.

The problem with your mother is…well, look at it this way.  I spend all my time making money, you understand?  Because I want you kids to have everything I didn’t have when I was growing up.  And I want you to get a good education.  So that’s why I work hard.  But your mother, she spends all her love making time.  What?  Why should I have to explain that?  It’s self-explanatory.  She…well, Christ, Billy, if you just give me a minute.  She spends all her time…her love, I mean, she spends her love…what I mean is, she uses all her love, which by all rights ought to go to me, as her husband, making time.  What?  I mean exactly what I said, Susan.  Making time.  Yes, you can too make time.  I mean, I can’t because I’m always…no, you’re twisting my words around, Justin.  Making time!  Making time!  It makes perfect sense, Susan.  Is that what all your tuition money is going for?  Christ, what a lip on you.

VII.

Yeah, I’m home.  I’m looking for my freedom, man.  Yeah, I already checked the laundry.  It’s…yeah!  That’s it, that’s exactly what I thought!  Right behind the door, right?  Because that’s usually where we keep it.  Right!  Right!  At the party, because we had just finished it, and you said, “Right back there, behind the freedom door”!  But, I can’t seem to find it anywhere.  What?  Chem Dawg, I just picked up an eighth.  Yeah, I’ll save you some.  Where?  The…no, no, the freedom is behind the freedom door.  I can’t find the door.  Yeah, for, like, two hours!  Do what?  Do what now?  Just follow the walls until a door shows up?  That’s heavy, man.  That’s really heavy.

VIII.

I keep having the same exact dream.  I’m in this southern rock band, and it’s 1975, and we’ve just written the biggest hit of our career to date.  But we spent all of our royalties on cocaine and mechanical bull rides.  Mostly cocaine, and three or four mechanical bull rides.  So I’m really burned out, and even though we have the #4 song in America, I have to go to work as a prostitute.  The john who’s turning me out dresses me up in a brown felt cowboy hat and a fringe suede jacket and calls me “Pussy-Eating Johnson” because the only movies he’s ever seen are Midnight Cowboy and Jeremiah Johnson.  No, it doesn’t bother me that much, because that’s what I wear most of the time anyway, but it turns out that ladies and queers are mostly into disco now, so I’m not making a lot of money, and it’s really humiliating.  And the thing is, I keep having this same dream, over and over again, and what’s really weird about it is that I’m not even in the Eagles!  I’m in Barefoot Jerry!

IX.

Hey!  Get moving!  I don’t give a shit it all fell to pieces, you put it back together and get it the hell out of here!  There are people at the limit waiting for the fucking thing!  They don’t get it from us, they’re going to get it from Hinder!  Is that what you want?

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Let us say, just for the sake of argumentation, that you find yourself on the editorial staff of a large national men’s fashion or entertainment magazine.  This is nothing to be ashamed of; certainly, it is humiliating and embarrassing, but we all must make a living.  Should you wake up one day in this position, you must handle the situation with grace and good humor, as you might an embarrassing disease like hyperhidrosis or genital warts.  However, be warned that you will be required, at some point, to feature on the cover an entertainer of modest renown.  You must do many things to keep your job:  have him photographed in a flattering light wearing an expensive suit that looks as if he slept in it; take him to lunch at a restaurant with a one-word name that has only been open for seven months or less; and, most importantly, construct a cover headline that will tell the reader that he has a vague but strangely insistent attitude towards his current fame and fortune.

This can be very difficult, but we are here to help.  Simply ask the nerd who fixes your computer when it does that one thing with the VPN for some “percentile dice” and consult the following table.  The headline will be “TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET/BRENDON URIE/JEREMY SAULNIER IS _________”.

01  HERE TO STAY

02  BUSTING LOOSE

03  PLAYING BY HIS OWN RULES

04  MAKING IT BIG

05  IN HIS ELEMENT

06  TAKING IT EASY

07  RIGHT ON TIME

08  THE LAST MAN STANDING

09  HERE FOR YOU

10  PLAYING IT COOL

11  NOT HERE TO MAKE FRIENDS

12  CLOSE TO THE EDGE

13  SINGING A DIFFERENT TUNE

14  IN IT TO WIN IT

15  THROUGH FOLLOWING ORDERS

16  UP FOR GRABS

17  PLAYING THROUGH THE PAIN

19  COVERING HIS BASES

20  LOOKING GOOD

21  GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS

22  PLAYING FOR KEEPS

23  SHAKING THINGS UP

24  ON A ROLL

25  MAKING A COMEBACK

26  LEAVING HIS MARK

27  TAKING HIS SHOT

28  GOING ROGUE

29  OUT OF BOUNDS

30  KICKING THE HABIT

31  FINDING HIS HAPPY PLACE

32  ON THE MARKET

33  OFF THE MARKET

34  OFF THE RESERVATION

36  LIVING THE HIGH LIFE

37  LIVING THE GOOD LIFE

38  LIVING THE LIFE

39  COMING HOME

40  TAKING CHARGE

41  OUT OF PATIENCE

42  WITHOUT LIMITS

43  BIGGER THAN LIFE

44  BREAKING OUT

45  EVERYWHERE HE WANTS TO BE

46  TAKING A STAND

47  TRAVELING FIRST CLASS

48  WORKING HARD

49  BLOWING UP

50  GETTING THE WORD OUT

51  SINGING THE BLUES

52  GOING FOR IT

53  SHEDDING HIS SKIN

54  OUT OF TIME

55  IN CONTROL

56  MAKING HIS MOVE

57  PASSING THE TORCH

58  REAPING THE REWARDS

59  STAYING IN HIS LANE

60  SHOWING YOU HOW IT’S DONE

61  LEADING BY EXAMPLE

62  A MAN WHOSE TIME HAS COME

63  THINKING BIG

64  STAYING TWO STEPS AHEAD

65  TESTING THE WATERS

66  NOT BACKING DOWN

67  CROSSING THE LINE

68  READY FOR HIS CLOSE-UP

69  HOLDING STEADY

70  CLIMBING THE LADDER

71  PAYING HIS DUES

72  THE KING OF (BLANK)

73  THROUGH BEING COOL

74  NOT WAITING HIS TURN

75  ROLLING WITH THE PUNCHES

76  GETTING BETTER ALL THE TIME

77  TRUSTING THE PROCESS

78  KEEPING THE FAITH

79  ALL BUSINESS

80  ALL WORK AND NO PLAY

81  THE REAL THING

82  THE GENUINE ARTICLE

83  THE TRUTH

84  A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS

85  GOING WILD

86  GROWING UP

87  LEARNING HIS LESSON

88  KEEPING A PROMISE

89  SHOWING YOU HOW IT’S DONE

90  WALKING THE LINE

91  HAVING IT ALL

92  PLAYING YOUR SONG

93  WORKING AN ANGLE

94  SETTING THE PACE

95  A MAN ON A MISSION

96  THE LAST ACTION HERO

97  OLD SCHOOL

98  PUTTING HIS BEST FOOT FORWARD

99  SPEAKING HIS MIND

100  BREAKING THE CODE

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This week’s links: chaos in the Oval Office; chaos in Florida; chaos at the polls; chaos at the Census Bureau; and Jimmy Carter’s “rock ‘n’ roll White House”.