Gonzo Trump: searching for a journalistic madman to translate the madness
It’s all been happening fast — maybe too fast to keep up. When President Trump fired FBI Director James Comey, (a man who by all accounts was such a boy scout that his proficiency in knot tying was world renowned and his farts smelled like smores) I began to question how truly deep the inane idiocy of our quickly devolving empire had gone. That was followed by a week of mass fuckery in messaging from the White house as Trump himself contradicted his team on the why of the dismissal. Then the Comey memos accusing President Trump of asking to quash the Michael Flynn investigation dropped, a special prosecutor had been named, subpoenas issued, an audio tape of the Speaker of the House Paul Ryan swearing the GOP members to secret regarding Trump being funded by Russia, several indictments, and a hundred mind-numbingly stupid tweets about it all.
There have been times in my life where I have felt exacerbated by the information stream. There have been times where I felt those who seek to lead us to do so because of a need for power and influence without the character to wield power and influence. There has not been a time before now that I truly felt the need to piss into the wind just so I could feel some passing warmth.
What the entire fuck is happening? Is one party essentially complicit in undermining our sovereignty, elections, and democracy so they could push an ideological agenda? That’s where we are? Trickle down Keynesian Ecofuckinnomics has been such a colossal failure that we need to sell our souls to the Kremlin to push more tax cuts? We need to promote a pedophile because the other side has demonized to something worse?
Hunter S. Thompson once wrote, “ The ugly fallout from the American Dream has been coming down on us at a pretty consistent rate since Sitting Bull’s time — and the only real difference now, with Election Day ’72 only a few weeks away, is that we seem to be on the verge of ratifying the fallout and forgetting the Dream itself.” Well, I’m hear to tell you that the dream died a long time ago and we’ve been trying to make a baby by fucking her corpse.
Someone on Twitter once asked the great Patton Oswalt, “Where is our Hunter S. Thompson in this Watergate scenario?” His reply was simple — “Sadly, I think our HST in this thing is the entirety of Twitter?”
Is that true? Do we not have a codifying, if not crazy voice of a madman who seems to be shaking his fist at the sun until you put him in context? Who is going to be the person who steps up and says the things we need to?
I’m not saying we lack those with the vocal and testicular fortitude to speak up. Keith Olberman, risen again from the depths of journalistic Hades, dialed it up on the GQ YouTube channel. Dan Rather writes deeply sensible paragraphs on the tragedy unfolding in America today. Paul Krugmen sprinkles sanity like a tea-spoon of sugar on frosted flakes.
The politeness of society has melted away, and the shock and awe of gonzo writing exist in nearly every meme, every article on Medium, every tweet. The anger is real, the people are all fucking crazy, and this political hurricane of piss we find ourselves swirling around in is about to land on the house with a witch named Paul Ryan.
There will be those on the right who put their version of reality, their version of country, and their party in front of the facts. They will deny their eyes, their ears, and the river of fecal extravaganza rising around them until the weight and smell of that shit is so overpowering they have to move.
In the wise words of Samuel L. Jackson, I offer the following two quotes:
“I am sick of these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.”
“Hold onto your butts.”