I’m sorry if this letter comes as a shock, but we have to have a talk. The last few months of separation from you have taught me that it’s time to say goodbye.
Please don’t be hurt. It’s not you. It’s me. And… it’s him. You know the guy I mean. I know he’s abusive and lies all the time, but he’s got me in a corner and he’s grabbing me by the pussy, so I’m a bit stuck. I just can’t help thinking about him all the time and he’s so demanding of my attention. Don’t worry, I’m not making a big right turn. If anything I’m discovering my inner progressive.
So, I have to move on. And to be truthful, maybe it is a little bit you. The baggage involved with our relationship is keeping me from moving forward. Every comment I make is judged by my perceived reaction to your loss. Because of our past connection, I am unable to prove my current opposition to him. The only way to move forward and make a difference is to let what-might-have-been go.
You have to realize that my relationship with you was one sided and not fair to you at all. I was just using you to get to him. You were my weapon, the only weapon I had. I was with you, not through loyalty to you, but in opposition to him. But you were using me too. Admit it. We could have had a long-term thing that was comfortable and familiar, and it would have had a great honeymoon period, but in the long haul, it would probably have gotten messy.
So from now on I won’t talk about you or come to your defense when his friends cut you down, because I won’t let them use you that way. I won’t let them move the orange spotlight or change the conversation.
I know it’s a cliché, but I hope we can stay friends. I’ll always have feelings for you and will honor the time I helped support you. And I hope that we can still save the other relationship that truly matters most to both of us. Our mutual love. America.
Presidential Role Reversal
Men. You have to treat them like shit. They always get carried away by their own testosterone. I keep a really ugly unflattering picture of my male employees around so that whenever they do something I don’t like I can remind them that they’re just a male bimbo to me. He’s just not strong enough generally to cope with the job, so a man’s place in the office is on his knees.
My husband’s job is only to cater to me. I have days where, if I come home — and I don’t want to sound too much like a female chauvinist, but when I come home and dinner’s not ready, I go through the roof. I mean, I could have nailed George Clooney, so he’s lucky I’m still with him.
All men flirt with me, consciously or unconsciously, that’s to be expected. They do. They’ll walk up, and they’ll show me their bare chest, and they’ll grab their crotch. I’d fuck ’em. Although, I promised myself to refrain from messing around with the teenage boys. But I make moves all the time on married guys, though. Because I can just go up and grab their dick and they love it.
I don’t like my man to be too successful. I get bored with them then. I think after they get to be a star, the fun is over for me. It’s like a creation process.
I demand that they wear only tuxedos and they need to take steroids and weight lift to have perfect bodies. Not like that awful celebrity on TV, you know the one I mean. He’s disgusting, both inside and out. If you take a look at him, he’s a slob. How does he even get on television? If I were running his show, I’d fire him. It’s so sad he’s not a ten. But you need a bigger dick than that to be a ten.
I’d look him right in that fat, ugly face and say, you’re fired. He is unattractive both inside and out. Look at that face. Would anyone fuck that? I fully understand why his former wife left him for a woman- she made a good decision. But he was a nasty mean enabler too, allowing her to have an affair.
Hopefully this piece offended you. Everything in it was an adaptation of an actual statement by our current President just changing the gender.
THE MANY NAMES OF DONALD TRUMP
by C. Mascott
I’ve been laughing for months at the wide variety of nicknames for Donald Trump that have been floating by on social media, while I’ve been crying over the state of our nation, but it was a retort by Pennsylvania State Senator Daylin Leach that illustrated the name calling had crossed the line into what could be considered an ‘art form’. When the President suggested that he would destroy a Texas lawmaker’s career for supporting civil asset forfeiture, Leach, who also agrees with the policy, challenged Trump shortly after his statement on social media with the slur of all slurs by saying “Why don’t you try to destroy my career you fascist, loofa-faced, shit-gibbon!” This glorious phrase of a nickname inspired me to catalog the many names of Donald Trump.
Donald Trump has always had silly nicknames. It’s something that predates his presidential campaign. His most well known moniker, ‘The Donald’, was given to him many years ago by his first wife Ivana. She claims it was simply a result of her broken English. But everyone’s favorite pre-election name choice for Trump it has to be the one he received in 2013 in a twitter war with John Stewart, where the comedian referred to him as ‘Fuckface von Clownstick’. It stuck and is still in use but it pales in comparison with the comical creations the average voter has supplied since.
But, with his election as US President, the general public can’t seem to settle on a single descriptive universal nickname, a singular name like the one worn by his Secretary of Defense, General ‘Mad Dog’ Mattis that concisely conveys the essence of the man. (Who wouldn’t think twice taking on an adversary named ‘Mad Dog’?) But there is no single nickname that has emerged that elegantly describes all the various aspects of Trump that people wish to malign. Instead his detractors seem to be dazzled by the seemingly endless possibilities of comedic and satirical potential Trump’s physical appearance and bizarre antics provide.
So, even though I had quite a list of my own going, I challenged my friends on social media to share with me their favorite Trump nicknames and the selection was astounding. There were creatively simple plays on the Trump name like ‘Herr Drumpf’, which points out the pedestrian heritage of his ancestral name before his grandfather was deported from his homeland, Germany, for ducking military service. Turns out this immigrant had his name changed at the US border.
Other nickname suggestions were purely insult ridden choices which didn’t seem to care if they scored low creativity marks, like ‘tRump’, ‘Grump’, ‘Don Dumb Dung’ and simply ‘fucking chimp’. But, perhaps the most ethereal selection, came from a friend who apologized by saying she doesn’t “know how to spell the vomit noises that come out of my mouth”. Surprisingly though, the most creative nicknames fell into very definable categories.
Trump’s favorite method of direct communication also gave rise to a category of names that suggest that preference. The ‘Twit-in-Chief’ loves Twitter, so calling him ‘Tweety Bird’ and ‘Twitter Trumpshit’ are understandable name variations. But with the elegant moniker of ‘Twitler’, we get double the pleasure and double the fun of two categories in one.
Trump’s behavior is troubling to many Americans who see parallels with his populism, his attacks on the press and his isolationism, with the zeitgeist that gave rise to Adolf Hitler’s leadership in Nazi Germany. Paired with jabs at Trump’s trademark bad coif, the names ‘Adolf Hairpiece’, and ‘Hair Furher’ are logical adaptations for those who find his fascist tendencies to be deserving of the most focus. But a personal favorite in this category is ‘Der Gropenführer’, implying a slightly more perverted version of a classic fascist dictator.
“Orange is the New Bleak” could be the name of this new reality show set in the Oval Office and Trump’s uneven spray tan has made it the color of choice for nickname choices too. From a variation on the most artificially orange food know to man, ‘The Cheeto’ is born. Other orange tinted choices include, ‘Mango Mussolini’, ‘Orange Homunculus’, ‘Orange Foolious’, the ‘Orange Anus’ and the ‘Nectarine Narcissist’. The consensus seems to be that if Trump’s cabinet was a boy-band they would be dubbed The Big Orange Ogre and his Nazi Henchmen.
It’s inconceivable that this pathological liar and volatile personality, is occupying the highest seat in the land and is representing the United States’ interests in diplomatic situations, so there are some folks who bastardize the presidential title to find their favorite alternative name to match his alternative facts. Some are ruled by ‘The Commander in Disbelief’, ‘The Man-Baby-In-Chief’ or ‘The Predator in Chief’ (referencing the many claims of sexual assault against him through the years). But most names in this grouping play off the acronym POTUS (President of the United States). Trump’s code name has been changed to read POSTUS, BLOTUS or PEEOTUS (referencing his alleged sexual act of choice).
But perhaps the most surprising set of nicknames are those derived from fairy tales. Mary Poppins gives us the biggest word you’ve ever heard for Trump and this is how it goes: ‘Super Callous Fragile Ego Extra Braggadocious’. The Wizard of Oz gives us ‘The Cowardly Liar’ while ‘Humpty Trumpty’ will build a great wall and we can only hope he’ll have as big fall over it as his nursery rhyme namesake. Willy Wonka’s Oompa Loompas are a common fictional comparison as well, due to their shared signature color, but the fairy tale character that is the favorite Trump stand-in is the evil Rumplestiltskin, a trollish figure who keeps a beautiful young girl imprisoned against her will, where she is made to do his bidding by laboring like a slave in a sweatshop spinning him piles of gold. However in our modern story the crybaby star is ‘Trumplethinskin’ whose fragile ego is so easily and constantly bruised.
The man is comical and his behavior is shocking, but at the end of the day, as we laugh through our tears, it is important to remember that the most concerning nicknames for President Trump are not satirical or comical. Hearing them used I am filled with dread as I ponder the fate of our nation. These names do not come from his detractors, but from his most ardent supporters. They call him ‘Savior’, ‘Messiah’ and ‘King’.
The Song of the Scream
by C. Mascott
A woman in Aleppo screamed as she committed suicide to avoid being raped when the rebel forces fell
A woman in Ohio will scream as she dies trying to give herself a home abortion
A woman in New York screams to deaf ears on the subway as she’s beaten for simply covering her head
A woman in LA screams and cries herself to sleep , passed over for the new male boss that has no expertise in her field
A woman in Pakistan screams as she’s stoned by her family for marrying the wrong man
A woman with a black eye in London screams at her kids to pack their few possessions more quickly so that they can escape before their abuser returns from the pub
A woman in Chicago screams over the body of her drive by murdered child lying on the sidewalk
A woman in Indonesia screams in fake sexual pleasure, playing at pleasing and teasing, knowing her john is perverted enough not to care that she’s actually not really a woman yet
A woman on the floor of the Senate in Washington recites the screams of a woman oppressed and is told to be silent
A woman watches all this and more from her digital window
with them, for them
It is a primal scream
deep, devoid of all light
one of those kinds of screams that rips from your soul every pretension of happiness,
every touch of refinement
a bestial scream of ultimate pain
the kind of sound that would rise holding the head of a decapitated loved one
or in the bittersweet searing and ripping pain of birthing a stillborn child
but woman has been told only to release this scream
in a stream of politically correct discourse
this scream must only be expressed through the softest of language, the gentlest of tone
because no one listens when a woman screams
no one likes a woman who screams
too feminine, too emotional, judged
the woman speaks quietly, trying to be heard. And is spoken over
she waits silently, patiently to speak her turn again
a turn that never comes, for the other voices escalate in self importance
drowning the quiet voice in the noise of their own agenda
She speaks softly again, hoping to be finally heard with the force of repetition
and receives condescension in return
what has being soft gained woman?
what has being silent gained?
what is needed to be gained demands an end of silence,
an end of etiquette
demands we let loose the primal fierceness of the mother, protector
demands we use the gift of emotion as a weapon to fire our resolve
to scream with every ounce of all we possess
to declare with a voice of power
not needing outside confirmation that we are worthy enough to use it to say
I am not less than
I am not yours and you do not choose for me
you shall not chain me
what exists now, has been built by the hands of my oppressors
it is wrong and I reject it
For I am so much more than you can conceive
and I know I scare the shit out of you
because I can scream,
and when I do
there is no sound you can make that could drown me out
When I force you to hear my glorious voice next to yours
you feel minuscule next to the sound of my fury
and you should
for my song is unleashed because of your contempt
and it sings of the majestic, it sings of the holy
it sings of the aberrant , the spreading sickness and takes it to task
it sings with the strength of moral certainty
striking resistance in the jealous hearts of empty heads and bankrupt souls
I am coming to claim what has been denied
with a scream so definitive I pray it will never be questioned again
but who knows what the future will bring
for our screams will vibrate the quantum strings
to play a song never heard before
the sound of woman
the sound of fury
the sound of birth
of something completely new
loud enough to make the universe dance to the song of the scream
Digital Artwork, copyright cmacott2017
A draft of the speech Frederick Douglass gave at the dedication and consecration of the battlefield at Bowling Green:
Less than a score of days ago, our government brought forth, on this continent, a new reality, conceived in hate, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal (but only if they’re white and male).
Now we are divided by a great verbal war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so deceived and so dedicated to alternate truth can long endure. We are met on a mythical battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of Bowling Green, as the final resting-place for truth, which gave it’s life, so our leaders could see our nation die. It is altogether repulsive that we should have to do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. Brave truth is dead and in its death this land has been defiled far beyond our poor power to free it from the stain. The world might note and long remember what we say here, but it may not. It might just be considered fake news, for history is being purposefully rewritten and will be forever tarnished by the falsehoods told here.
It is for us, those who see the the newspeak happening, to be here dedicated to the unfinished work which the death of truth has nobly set before us. That from the honored death of truth, we take increased devotion to oppose those who caused its demise – that we here highly resolve that truth shall not have died in vain, that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom, and that an honest government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall still be possible on this earth.