Trump’s Victory—It’s All About the Hair

EDITORIAL

We Americans are a silly bunch. We make laws then delight in breaking them. And we participate in democratic elections that leave fifty percent of the population celebrating their newly elected president, and the other fifty percent disillusioned and depressed—until the next election.

Choosing a president has become a question of, “who would you like to have in your living room?”

Really? Most of the people who sit on my dog-hair-covered couch are a lot like me. We share an artistic outlook and fear higher math, like calculating a twenty-percent tip on a ten-dollar meal out. I want someone way smarter than me setting foreign policy and calculating the gross domestic product.

How hard are any of us willing to work to host a famous politician?  Truthfully, having a world leader in my living room would involve a major clean up. Tufts of dog fur fly through the air, and dirty tissues spill out of trashcans. Entertaining President Obama or Hillary Clinton would involve vacuuming the dog fur, scrubbing with a wet mop and duck-taping every last inch of upholstery.

 We are a culture driven by appearance. Obama’s and Hillary’s hair, tinted gray by hard work and public service screams, “I am your parent!” Who wants to hang with their parents? I would need to sit up straight and eat all of my peas. Perhaps Hillary should have used her female form to her advantage. Instead of power suits, what if she had sported a red Queen Amidala gown and an outrageous updo?

On the other hand having Donald Trump over would feel like chilling with my mischievous older brother. His shocking surfer boy bangs and orange complexion invite me to just leave the dog hair and tissues. In fact I might artistically toss around some empty beer cans pulled from the green recycling bin. His disrespect for—everyone—makes me feel free. Perhaps we will delight in breaking a few laws just for fun. 

If the election of 2016 really did get down to who we want to hang out with for four years, the majority of us (at least according to the Electoral College) just want to have fun. We don’t want to mind our parents. And we really don’t want to work too hard to tidy-up the place. Besides breaking rules is spicy. No matter how base the message, it’s entertaining to watch someone misbehave.

So here we are with our vexatious older brother in charge. How gray will our own hair grow as we consider maybe it shouldn’t just be about having fun? We might find that we do need some parental support after all. Personally, I am planning on living the next four years in DeNile. I hear it’s lovely and a great place to show off my new Queen Amidala gown I just ordered on Amazon.

 

Author: Morgan LaScribe

For more by this writer visit www.LisaAppletonGreenReads.weebly.com

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3 Comments

  1. “I am tired of acquiring wisdom. Somebody bring me a drink and a whoopee cushion.”-

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  2. As an older brother I can say with all the love in my heart – don’t invite The Duck to your homes. That and the pursuit of pleasure without doing what is good for you will get you in places many older brothers would rather not see you in. Despite their current circumstance. Remember in the end the 2016 election was a contest of the 2 most unsuitable candidates possible for the office of president. The wiener “won” by less that 25% of the population old enough to vote. The loser lost having taken ALSO less that 25% of the possible vote. Either way we have to survive 2 Bush’s O Bummer, and 1 of 2 Clinton’s. I suspect we will have to survive The Duck as well. We are Americans, we can do this. And pray for better candidates 4 years from now. Love you shell bird.

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    • Dear Sum dum Cajun Boy,
      Esteemed reporter Morgan Lascribe I think would say that The Duck (as you call him. aka Trump) would just be the kind of president you wouldn’t have to clean up for. That’s obviously what LaScribe meant on a practical level. She is a terrible housekeeper, and I think she was finding comfort where she could. On the metaphorical level of inviting Trump into such fragile places as my heart, I say NO! I have never loved ducks unless they were in a tasty gumbo!
      While predictions in my circles are that this is the beginning of Armageddon, we could well be wrong. In any case I think that we HAVE survived worse as a country and as individuals. Love you, too, Cajun Boy.

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