Day by day the hysteria mounts. I really don’t know how my Hillariphile friends can possibly keep this up for the next — what (*counts on fingers*) — five months. Surely there is a limit. Surely, even Chicken Little must take a break, now and then, from preaching the gospel of ruet-coelum.
No sign of it so far, however. The crescendo relentlessly crescendoes. We got past quadruple-forte sometime last week –even the elephants in Verdi’s orchestra have Trumpeted themselves hoarse, and the timpani-skins are shredded. I fear that my friends won’t have any throats left after November.
Doubtless, however, the injured tissues will have healed well enough, a year or two into Clintrump’s first term, that the choir will start tuning up again, for the next upcoming quadrennial apocalypse. They may sound a little ragged and rusty, but you’ve got to give them an ‘A’ for effort.
Something I now notice a lot: my friends are playing the ignorance card. I suppose this is a by-product of the Sanders campaign. Old Dobbin has at least exposed Hillary as the reactionary corporatist warmonger she is. Given that, what have we to fall back on?
Answer: Trump’s ignorance. Q: Can you find Zanzibar on the map, Mr Trump? A: Fuck you. I can look it up.
I don’t suppose anybody has asked Hillary to find Zanzibar on a map, and while I’m not entirely sure she could, the smart money would bet on her as a Jeopardy contestant over the small-fingered chap from Queens.
So: Trump is ignorant, and Hillary is well-informed. My friends like well-informed. They all went to college. Depressing, I know. What happened to my friends who didn’t go to college? Oh, that’s right, I only meet them on the boat, where they have saved my bacon more than once.
Time to get on the boat and turn off the radio.