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Words, at times like these, are fatally flawed messengers, and yet they’re the only vehicle I have with which to disseminate the meager silver linings I could pick out of our current skyful of orange, threatening clouds.
The US election produced a swirling storm of emotions, which for men is especially disorienting. While I’m certainly not sure trying to find the funny in a seriously depressing outcome for pretty much all of humanity is the right way to go, it’s where my personal GPS directed me.
And so, without further ado, here’s all the positivity I’ve been able to dredge up in the week since the shit hit the fan, and all the windows, and splattered all over the eggshell interior of everyone’s new car.
· From now on, if you sigh heavily, no one will ask what’s wrong. They know.
· As president, Trump will have the Secret Service up his ass at all times, which will make it harder for him to commit any more sexual assaults. Although admittedly that didn’t stop Bill Clinton.
· More of the texts you get from now on will be from people you know and maybe even like.
· Jack Smith can go back to the International Criminal Court at The Hague, where odds are if he sticks around long enough he’ll get another shot at prosecuting Trump.
· A repeat of January 6 is highly unlikely, but if it does happen, you can go this time cuz our people will be in charge.
· It’s entirely possible that, after a few years, Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff’s relentless positivity would have gotten on my nerves.
· We won’t have to listen to them all mispronounce Kamala’s name quite so often.
· Newspapers still have sports sections and comics
· That list of things you need to fix around the house can wait. “I can’t fix the toilet, honey, I have to safeguard democracy all freaking day.”
· You can still watch all seven seasons of New Girl on Hulu. And you should. But for the love of god, don’t rewatch West Wing, as the dissonance alone could land you in the hospital.
· For tennis players: Buy a can of orange tennis balls and an ink stamp with Trump’s face on it. Stamp the balls with his face, get out on the court and go postal on them. If you don’t play tennis, taking a baseball bat to pumpkins, oranges, and peeled and roasted sweet potatoes with his face on them will also work.
· By the time your therapy appointment rolls around, your therapist will have this shit down pat.
· It turns out there are tons of non-political podcasts one can listen to, although 98% of them seem to be about murder.
· Pot is still legal almost everywhere, and caffeine’s effectiveness is utterly unchanged.
· With all the people moving to Canada, Portugal, and other non-Trump-infected nations, traffic will be a bit lighter.
· Several of my friends—and maybe yours—will retire after decades of principled government service rather than spend their days vainly trying to fight off an insane Republican agenda from their new assignments in office supply procurement, so I’ll have more daytime playmates.
· With Trump in the White House and doing press conferences and stuff, we may learn even more about Arnold Palmer’s penis, may it rest in peace.
· Big markdowns on Tampon Tim merch.
· People might not be so quick anymore to brand each other as weird, given the term’s demonstrable lack of impact.
· A “Who’s Creepier and Why: JD Vance or Jared Kushner?” bar game takes college campuses by storm.
· Previously ignored by both major parties but buoyed by one of their brethren becoming president, convicted felons everywhere will activate their political ambitions.
· Three words: No. More. Rallies.
· The Lincoln Project can go back to its original mission: building small structures out of toy wooden logs, preferably in the capital of Nebraska.
· Hulk Hogan unveils a line of tearaway T-shirts for seniors, with perforations for easy ripping.
· With JD Vance moving to DC, Ohio couches and love seats collectively sag with relief. DC’s donut shops, however, go on red alert.
· Thousands of forgotten sets of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots are revived and repurposed Dance Like The Donald games. Village People figurines sold separately.
· Joe Biden’s next major gaffe will likely be fumbling the name of his first great grandchild, due sometime this spring.
· Every time you call Trump a dictator, in the process you also get to call him a dick.
· Random acts of kindness will be met with even wider smiles of surprise than they already are.
Hang in there, everyone
