The first official lie of his presidency will be told on Monday
You know the oath will vaporize as soon as it is uttered. He is not going to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. So why watch?
We, and by that I mean me, and many if not most of my subscribers, need to talk about what to do on Monday. And that is because on Monday we officially kiss goodbye to an opportunity to protect and defend our constitution, to preserve the rule of law, and to improve the quality of life for all Americans. Americans did not choose an empathetic, joyful, intelligent, and professional public servant as president. They instead chose a malignant narcissist, a would-be dictator, a grifter and con man, a pathological liar, an adjudicated rapist, and a convicted felon as president. Had the man gone to court, he would have been convicted, according to Jack Smith's report, of trying to overthrow the government. Yet, he will be sworn in on Monday. And on Tuesday the reign of terror will begin, with a promised week-long series of made-for-tv raids in Chicago where 100 to 200 ICE agents will round up immigrants. We see this coming with a sense of despair and impending doom. My fellow writers on Substack have thought about it as well.
John Pavlovitz, an actual minister, says this.
No one is OK right now.
At least, no one with working empathy and a knowledge of History who’s paying attention.
It is an emotional impossibility to be living in days like one’s we’re in here and to be fully unaffected. Honestly, that would be a massive red flag that something isn’t working right internally.
Today he wrote, “The second inauguration of Donald Trump falling on Martin Luther King Jr. day feels like a sick cosmic joke: a moment so cruel in its irony that it seems as unthinkable as the coming presidency itself.” And I have to agree - a sick cosmic joke indeed.
Gloria Horton-Young, who writes the most beautiful poetry and prose on Substack, is clearly as depressed and distraught as the rest of us. She writes:
What happens next isn’t a mystery. Over half of the Americans who bothered to vote chose a dictator. They handed the keys of the Oval Office to Mr. Hitler Jr., a man who doesn’t believe in democracy, let alone the Constitution. To the white men and women who voted for him: Fuck you. You sold out your country for a con man and a tax cut. And to the Gen Z’ers who couldn’t be bothered to vote because you were too busy posting your trauma on TikTok? Boo fucking hoo. If you didn’t vote a straight Democratic ticket, you’re dead to me. No, really. You had one job.
Can you sense that she feels pretty strongly about this? Those are some pretty raw feelings right there, and I feel exactly the same. Perhaps these are your feelings too. If so, I encourage you not to participate on Monday because you know exactly what's going to happen. Don't watch the ghastly spectacle of the orange monster surrounded by soulless sycophants who have kissed the ring and oligarchs intent on gaining more power and money because they will never have enough. Don't watch the parade where he plans to include his stupid fucking garbage truck. Don't watch him swear an oath on a fucking Trump bible to defend the Constitution when you know the oath will vaporize as soon as it is uttered. Have some respect for yourself and don't turn on the TV, or if you do, turn on a non-news channel and leave it there. Be like Michelle Obama and do something else.
I am going to take my own advice. I plan to heat up my hot tub and get into it. I will listen to the birds, have a stiff drink, and contemplate my navel, wondering how we will get through the next four years. I am going to a movie matinee with some Democrat friends. I am going to sort the pictures from our last vacation. I am going to hug my wonderful wife, and plan another vacation. I will be like Michelle Obama.
As my palate cleanser for today, here is my reply to the challenge to write 80 words of fiction on the word, “Lies.”
Walking down the path with Fred, I said I hadn’t seen Harry for a while. Fred started to say something, but I interrupted. “I emailed him a list I found of the ten best places to visit in 2025. Maybe he just picked one of those. Do you have any idea where he went?” My friend said he did, and pointed toward the ground. I looked down and saw a stone with these words chiseled on it, “Here Lies Harry.”
YEEEEESSSSS!!! ABSOLUTELY.
As a matter of fact. I do not own a TV. I will not be opening my browser either.
To Whom It May Concern, Which Is Probably Nobody:
You know, any law you see in the books these days might as well be written in disappearing ink. Statutes? Erased. Ignored. Rendered moot by a wave of the wrong pen. My wife and I? We’re not playing roulette with our lives. We’re paying attention to the red flags, particularly the official manual of red flags: Project 2025. Spoiler alert—it’s not light bedtime reading.
Right now, we’re headed to Canada. Not for the maple syrup or the polite conversation, though both are delightful. No, we’re scouting out the area we might soon call home. It’s where we’ll live if the United States, our United States, becomes too dangerous for two women in love. We’re meeting with an immigration attorney, sorting out the details of my potential citizenship. I can already hear the voices of certain people saying, “Oh, you’re overreacting.” To those people: I’m married to a woman, and we’re both gay. Do I need to paint a bigger bullseye on us, or can you already see it from space?
And no, I don’t trust this new regime to just run the country poorly. I trust them to raze it to the ground. I trust them to take a wrecking ball to democracy with the same gusto the Germans had for destroying Europe.
Now, here’s the thing: please don’t give me the resistance lecture. Don’t tell me to stay and fight. Don’t tell me I’m overreacting, hysterical, melodramatic—oh, I know the script. I’ve read it before. What I haven’t seen, though, is what you’re doing. Yes, you, the one who keeps saying “we should be doing something.” What exactly is it that you’re doing? Because I’ll tell you what we’re doing: we’re staying alive.
End of memo.