In the midst of confusion, sadness, and disbelief I was told by a intimate friend (I will not mention her name for the sake of protecting the privacy of her name) (Ann. She was Ann) that maybe some people would be interested in listening to my thoughts on this election. So I sat on my laptop, cleared my thoughts and opened up a document.
Then I began crying. So I drank hot chocolate. My dear friend (Ann) rub my shoulder for me bit and then I got myself in a good mood, and then sat down. And began crying. And then more Ann helping me to feel better, and then more hot chocolate and so on and so again for six hours, or more The chain between back rubs, hot chocolate being was briefly interrupted when I needed to go to the store to buy more hot chocolate packets (“Just please give all of the boxes,” I remember saying in tears to a very terrified stockroom boy) And now I’m ready to go.
As a student in the the fourth grade the teacher I had was Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies class. Our class was introduced to two fictional presidential candidates that were smart, but slightly bookshy-looking cartoon tortoise, named Greenie and a stylish jaguar called Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy in which he stated that, if elected, he would close school before the scheduled time, provide additional recess and endless meals of chocolate pizzandy (a local Pawnee delight in the era of deep-fried pizza, where the pizza’s crust was candy bars). Then I read a talk from Greenie who promised to take her time and steadily consider the issues of our school, and do to address these issues in a way that will benefit the greatest people. After that, Mrs. Kolphner asked us to cast our votes on who should be our class president.
I’m sure you’re aware of the direction this is headed.
But you shouldn’t, since the night before we cast our votes, Greg Laresque asked if the third candidate along with Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The very essence in democracy is everybodyis a candidate” is eligible to vote.” Greg cut her off and stated, “I nominate a T. Rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone and his idea is to flinch as much as he can, and eat the teachers.” and everyone laughed. Before Mrs. Kolphner had a chance to blink she was informed that Dr. Farts the T. Rex was elected as the president of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-like victory, with my single vote going to Greenie the Tortoise , who played as “Minnesota.”
Following class, I became devastated. After the kids had went home and Mrs. Kolphner walked in and wrapped her arms around me. She informed me that I had performed a fantastic job in promoting for Greenie the tortoise. In tears, I recollect saying, “How good, exactly?” She replied, “Very, very good,” and I responded, “Good enough to –?” and she smiled and went to her desk to pick up some silver stars that she handed to children who had done an excellent job at something. As I cried and put it in the back of my Silver Star Diary, she wanted to know what irritated me most.
“Greenie was the better candidate,” I stated. “Greenie should have won.”
“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I replied.
“Oh, no,” she replied. “The point of the lesson is: People are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”
Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” This could be a more sloppy and more effective way of getting my point across rather than the lengthy anecdote regarding Mrs. Kolphner. Do I need to delete all that and start from this? Whatever. I’m now pot-committed, and do I have extra caffeine in the hot chocolate? My head is like an alien spaceship.
The idea is that people taking their own decisions are, in the end superior to the autocrat that makes their the decisions on their behalf. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T. rex.
As with most people, I cope with tragedy through the five phases of grief, which include denial anger bargaining, depression and acceptance. A letter addressed to America written by Leslie Knope, My denial of the results of the elections was an intense experience. My frustration could be (in Ron’s own words) “significant.” My bargaining was brief but it was also creative. I offered my life and my soul and that of my friends for 60,000 votes more in Milwaukee and to anyone who would accept.
I am aware the fact that Donald Trump is the president. I know, from an intellectual perspective that he was the winner of the election. However, I am not convinced that our nation has sunk into the slop of hatred that he lives on. I do not accept the notion that we’ve given up and given in to discrimination, racism, xenophobia and crypto-fascism. I am not a believer in the notion that we have resigned ourselves to racism, xenophobia, mis. I do not accept that. I fight against that. Tomorrow, and today and each day up to when the election comes around again, I denounce and fight this story.
I am a hard worker and develop ideas. I talk to others who are like me. We relax and drink hot cocoa (I am a huge fan) and make plans. We plan like mofos. We think of ways to defend ourselves and be a good citizen in this tense world which is always trying to be a victim of the bad. We will be nice to one another, and be supportive of one another’s ideas, and we’ll be anything but accepting this as the way of life.
Let me also give a little advice to the girls following this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the adults of America who are concerned about your futures and futures of you I am so sorry that we made this mistake. We chose a huge, snorting T. reptile that doesn’t like you, care regarding you, nor even think about you, until looking at your body by way of his creepy T. eyes, or trying to grasp you as the toy his dad bought him (or would have when his dad been a lover of him). (Sorry it was an insult to the gut.) (Actually I’m not sorry, I’m a bit pissy, and I’m in a good mood So, just get rid of it Superego!)
Our president-elect is everything that you need to fear and hate in male role models. He has spent his entire life telling you, as well as women just like you, that their lives are worthless unless you use them as sexual objects. A letter addressed to America written by Leslie Knope, He has denigrated you and slammed you, and placed you in a box to be viewed but not understood. It’s your duty and the responsibility of women and girls just similar to you, to come out.
You will be the one to rule this country, and possibly the entire world very soon. You should not pay attention to this guy or the 75-year old, gray-haired, doughy-faced nightmares similar to him, when they attempt to explain which way to go or what to do, or what you should and shouldn’t do with your body or how to or should not do in your own mind. Don’t be intimidated or disenchanted by his streams of retrogressive nonsense. You will not have the time to feel scolded, because you’ll be engaged in studying and interacting with women and girls similar to you. When it comes time to be cowed, you’ll easily flick off his petty, miserable and sexist worldview just like a flies in your salad of potato chips.
The present is his sad to say, but he’s no longer the past. The future belongs to you. Your strength is a million times that of. Your strength is billionth of his. A letter addressed to America written by Leslie Knope, We’ll acknowledge this fact however, we won’t accept it. We will fight it and we will overcome it.