The idea of drinking a glass of Martinelli’s sparkling apple cider over Thanksgiving is absurd.
Holiday meals and celebrations demand more fortified drinks: bourbon, red wine, gin, canned beer, grass whisky, Jameson or some other fermented or distilled beverage. Except vodka. These are serious times and we need serious drinkers. Vodka is reserved with children.
My election hangover has slowly melted away. For the last two weeks, I’ve been walking around shell-shocked, trying to figure out how this happened, why it happened and most importantly, who to blame. As the buzzing pink elephants finally flew off into the distance, I realized the answer to all three of these questions is the same: me.
Well, not me specifically, I’m not the reason Donald Trump bamboozled the world. But people like me certainly didn’t help the cause of not having DT be the 45th president. I just never thought in a million years that a TV reality show host could possibly be the next President of the United States. Where the hell was Ryan Seacrest? Tia Tequila? Guy Fieri? The Property Brothers?
Jesus. It’s pathetic the GOP couldn’t nominate a right-of-the-middle, white, born-again Christian, from Mooseknuckle, USA to run. Instead, the cream of the crop is every four-letter word embodied into the human equivalent of a skid mark.
But like I said—it’s my fault.
It never occurred to me there was a group of disenfranchised folks that felt the world has passed them by. They look back at a halcyon time when factories pumped out smoke, assembly lines churned out widgets, farms grew stuff, prayers in schools, gays were squarely in closets, women had a roast in the pot and a bun in the over and two water fountains for you-know-who.
Now, America is filled with stoned, black, Muhammad, abortion clinic building, power bottom pornographers who want to build al-Qaeda zip lines from Mexico into your neighborhoods. The only thing the Federal government is good for is seizing guns and throwing good American jobs into the Mariana Trench.
It’s just good Christian science.
I knew there were a groups of people that felt President Obama didn’t represent them. Hell, they hated him for a variety of reasons: he’s black, he’s hyper-educated, he’s progressive (communist), he wasn’t born in the United States, etc&. But somehow, these same people forgot how crummy the USA was when he stepped into the Oval Office.
The economy was in the dumpster. Guys Trump plays golf with slipped the American people a roofie and left Obama to clean up the mess. He bailed out the auto industry, killed bin Laden, pivoted towards Asia, assisted veterans, appointed Kagan and Sotonmayor, and signed Dodd-Frank. And let’s not forget about the 2015 Paris Agreement and the fact that there hasn’t been a major terrorist attack since 9/11. Not enough? Well, tough. He did all of that while not being impeached, brought up on charges and being a jerk.
Obama made the United States cool.
But this clearly isn’t enough for the unbridled masses. They wanted to blood in the streets. For the last eight years, their 1st Amendment right to spray paint swastikas and do Nazi salutes have been infringed. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t America become great when we kicked Hitler in the ball sack? Tom Devlin, my maternal grandfather, spent four miserable years on the USS Henley. And to add insult to injury, he didn’t survive his boat being torpedoed at New Guinea to have an orangutan dictator run this control through the ground.
If you think it’s a good idea to act like a Brown Shirt now that Trump is going to be president, think again. You’re a moron. But if you insist upon being a racist, misogynist, homophobe or just a run-of-the-mill prick, at least have the intestinal fortitude to do it to somebody’s face BY YOURSELF. The only thing I like in packs are the University of Nevada football team.
But here’s a novel idea: let’s try practicing some civility from this point forward. Instead of forcibly taking somebody from their car, try forcibly buying them a beer. Cross burning is great on a cold night, but instead, try donating time/money/energy at a local shelter. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.
I get it. The world is tough. It’s tough to get out of bed in the morning. It’s tough to get ready for work. It’s tough to drive to work, do whatever you do for a living, drive home, make dinner, squeeze in some downtime and go to bed to do it all over again. Everything is tough and we shouldn’t be asking for a medal for getting through the day. I just think that Trump is going to make it 5% harder than it has to whereas Obama just made it 7% easier. All of us should act with a little bit of civility to make it just a smidge easier to get home for Miller Time.
And one last thing: how in the world can Trump claim to be a real estate mogul if he doesn’t move into the most prized address on the planet? I’ve been to Trump Plaza. It’s nice, not great, but nice. I’ve also been to the White House and holy mackerel, that place is bonkers rad. It’s baffling Trump is thinking of running the country from his gold-leafed bedroom unless he knows he’s going to be impeached 20 minutes after he takes the oath of office. Food for thought.
So, is it time to pop the cap on a bottle of Martinelli? Hell no. I’m popping corks on Wild Turkey 101 and making sure the ice bucket is within arm’s reach. We’re living in serious times and we can’t celebrate our best holiday with fizzy apple juice.
So, make sure to load up on the dark turkey meat, lots of au gratin potatoes, and cover it in gravy and cranberry sauce. You’re going to need your strength.
Ben Raskin is a writer at the Pill Mill and bartends at Keys On Main Wednesday and Thursdays. Follow him on Twitter @BennyRaskin. One of these days, he’s going to write an apology to orangutans for constantly comparing these noble beasts to the president-elect.