On Trump, “The Graduate,” The Exploding Plastic Inevitable, & The Champagne Room
We’re all gonna die, aren’t we?
“Plastics. It’s a great future in plastics, will you think about it?”
Clearly, if all of the world’s Benjamin Braddocks had invested in plastics and fucked all of the world’s Elaine Robinsons, we would’ve ended up here sooner.
But, that didn’t happen. Moreso than Mike Nichols’ 1967 film The Graduate, it was pop artist and late 20th century American pop cultural bon vivant and touchstone Andy Warhol telling us one year later in 1968 that “in the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes” that really should’ve sealed this deal. But we didn’t listen to him, either.
Warhol was also the creator of the “Exploding Plastic Inevitable,” which Wikipedia notes “was a series of multimedia events organized by Andy Warhol between 1966 and 1967, featuring musical performances by The Velvet Underground and Nico, screenings of Warhol’s films, and dancing and performances by regulars of Warhol’s Factory.” Ultimately, the Exploding Plastic Inevitable, like so much of American life in 2017, was a hyper-sensational cultural explosion of light and sound, a barrage of all things at all times that, by the end, venerated only one man or thing.
On January 20, we inaugurate Donald Trump. Impressively enough, Donald Trump’s entire rise to fame has involved turning everything he’s ever touched — from skyscrapers, to condominiums, board games, steaks, universities, television programs and the destruction of the Republican party — into just another exploding plastic inevitable thing in which he’s invested.
Furthermore, he also didn’t just fuck all of those metaphorical Elaine Robinsons. No, before fucking them, in a grand show of foreplay, he first grabbed them by their collective pussies. What a guy. Speaking of Trump, women, and all things Plasticine, as we all did at the Republican National Convention, we saw Melania Trump unveil herself as the “so human she couldn’t possibly be plastic” Fembot 2100 model, word for word preaching Michelle Obama’s four-year old prosperity gospel from the conservative pulpit.
The Ben Braddocks of the world are Bernie Sanders’ age now. Sadly enough, it’s January 19, 2017, and there’s Bernie, a life spent without doing the meaningful fucking and investing in plastic. As a result, he’s now sadly beaten, broken, and just there on the sidelines. Yeah, he’s the guy who should’ve been there to contest this plastics man, this wholly commercialized man, this literal human representation of the aforementioned Andy Warhol’s obsession with de-contextualizing both art and commerce into replicated worthlessness unless you’re the highest bidder. But, he’s not. Oh well.
Donald Trump swept into office by promising poor Americans that it wasn’t too late to invest in the “plastics” dream. Yes, I know. The Graduate was released in 1967, thereby making a desire to invest in “plastics” 50 years old. Yes, I know this also makes the half of the country that voted for Trump’s “plastic” promises into a group of desperate humans-as-horny 22-year olds now all attempting to fuck an “Elaine Robinson” who may look 40, but in this metaphorical reality is actually 90-plus years old.
Yes, the above picture is an advertisement for a website that is as real as our American reality where we’re probably going to be creating a lot of plastic things. Though Donald Trump appears to hate China, it’s amazingly enough the Chinese model of global market saturation via plastics over-production that he’s more-than-likely going to ape to resurrect the American marketplace. In a savvy move, Trump’s promised jobs to coal miners, machinists, and other individuals who, unlike Benjamin Braddock in 1967, lacked the college degrees to ever fuck Elaine Robinson or double down on plastics.
BUT, in 2017, they’re going to get their chance. Again, metaphorical Elaine Robinson is 90 years old. PLUS, we now unequivocally know that plastics over-production will destroy what’s left of a depleted ozone layer. But, when the past you’ve lived has been so underwhelming, the “great future” in plastics, as absurd as it may seem to contemplate in the present, is all so many in America have left to consider.
Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon
Going to the candidates debate
Laugh about it, shout about it
When you’ve got to choose
Ev’ry way you look at it, you lose
In our plastic future, we’re all famous for 15 minutes, but then…we’re gonna die. And if you’re a Scorpio, you’re probably gonna die fuckin’.
Indeed, I’m going to sum up my treatise on our last 15 minutes here in this Exploding Plastic Inevitable called America with some words from comedian Chris Rock regarding so many of our fellow Americans’ forthcoming relations with 90-year old Elaine Robinson. Our president may tell us that the news, hell everything, may be fake, but the fucking is about to be real. So fucking real. Thus, without further ado, the following:
Ladies and gentlemen of the G.E.D. class of 1999
I have one piece of advice for you
No matter what a stripper tells you
There’s no sex in the Champagne Room
Oh there’s CHAMPAGNE in the Champagne Room
But you don’t want champagne, you want sex
And there’s NO sex in the Champagne Room