The coming of Trump

 

Dignitaries will arrive in Washington and Trump will ask, Are you staying in town? At my hotel? I know an excellent steakhouse nearby. It’s the greatest. It’s beautiful.

Trump, throughout his life and career, has tried to embody and encompass all things American. Trump University, an ode to Rockefeller, to Duke, the steaks, an epithet for the old-school, all American cattle barons. Trumps wealth doesn’t compare to these tycoons of history, and his career has been mired by failure. Trump University landed him in court and Trump steaks were quickly discontinued, probably because buying a piece of meat with Trump’s melting face on the packaging is not exactly appetizing.

Never before has a man’s wealth been so absolutely assured at birth, for that man then to lead four separate business ventures to bankruptcy. You can blame the failing casino industry, if you want, but we’re talking about a man who is very eager to reinvigorate the oil industry. He has little sense, it seems. Daddy Trump would be turning in his grave, if he wasn’t floating in stasis inside a cryogenic pod, deep in a subterranean base somewhere in the wastes of ancient Persia. I suppose he’d be pretty chuffed about his son becoming the 45th President of the United States. There is that, I guess.

Enough.

What’s done is done. What’s said is said. I can’t say anything new. I’ll keep it short.

Trump represents a proportion of American values. Not all of them. Not even the majority, but enough. He won. He’s coming. Hell, he’s already here. Step outside your echo chamber. Take a deep breath. He’s not the man we need, but the man that we got. It is what it is. Step back for a moment, take in the whole picture, Bob Ross style. Relax.

At first I was amused, then I was appalled, and now I’ve relegated my emotions to pure curiosity. If 2017 is not a year of seismic change in the U.S, Europe, China and the Middle East, then I will be disappointed. Trump, you’ve promised so much to so many. If you’re at least half as shit as a lot of people expect you to be, then you’ve done enough for me. The people have elected you for a change, Trump. Do your best, would you?

Let the protesters dance in the street, let the media attack him and his family, let the world watch in open-mouthed horror. On this day, the coming of Trump, inbound inside a cavalcade, flanked by B-list performers and his ugly family, I think it fitting to say only one thing.

Good luck.

Good luck to the immigrants, good luck to the little boys and girls that think it’s okay to condone sexual assault, good luck to African Americans and here’s hoping that everything Obama did for a nation long torn by racial divides cannot be smashed by a fake-tanned hand, good luck to those on the Affordable Care Act, good luck to those who get ill and cannot afford it, good luck to those fighting in the cold and rain against the desecration of lands owned long before white man ever stood foot upon then, good luck to those who want to see their children grow old in a world where there’s enough food, enough water, enough clean air, good luck to the ordinary man, to the gun wielder, to the mum working two jobs, good luck to the drone operatives, good luck to the truck drivers, the warehouse workers, the drillers, the fixers, the numbers-people, and good luck to you, you and your own.