We. Are. This. Close

Woke up wild-eyed this morning. 

Glanced at my Rage-O-Meter. Tweeted my hellbent mob to stand by.

Check, check and check. 

Hmm, maybe running a pint low on my enthusiasm gap. 

Seriously, I’m getting a bit long in the tooth. And keeping a full pot of sustained indignation aboil is sooo exhausting at my age. Honestly, I don’t know how Trump’s boomer fanboys (and gals) do it. 

I can’t even stay awake late enough to see Baldwin sim his Carrot Top simper on SNL. 

Still, looks like we (aka The Left) are just about ready for the election. 

Seriously, we are this close (thumb and index finger held a hare’s hair apart) to winning the open borders socialism that we’ve talked about like it seems forever in my Wednesday night secret cell marching order meetings cum beer-and-pizza socials. 

This close Comrade!

Not really supposed to say this until The Day After. But the alt-right had it, um, right.

We did weaponize women (love ya Taylor). 

And blue-screen Redneck Nation (sing it Willie). 

You think that was hard? 

For our next trick we’re gonna turn your Bud Lite into Vitamin Water. 

And pry your assault weapons out of your cold, undead fingers. 

And enroll you in forced feminism indoctrination summer camp (Volleyball!).

Just like you said we were gonna do if we won.

Listen, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean you don’t have enemies. 

This close, I’m tellin’ ya. 

Oh, I’m maybe getting ahead of myself. 

Can’t really say what The Donald and Vlad and the Kochs and Fox are cooking up by way of a November Surprise. 

Tax cuts for pit bull owners. 

Mobilizing the Rolling Carbon Corps on Election Day so libtards in their Priuses can’t find their polling places in all the smoke.

You, know, the nuclear option.

Seriously, don’t put anything past them.

But we’re this close.

To unlocking up Hillary.

To forced Medicare For All.

To making everybody live in bio domes.

And ride bicycles. 

And eat low carb, high fiber diets.

And drive EVs. 

And use transit.

And live simply so that others may simply live.

And save the whales. 

And admit that climate change isn’t a hoax.

Its gonna’ be so cool.

Better than making the cover of the Rolling Stone.

We’re.

This.

Close.

(Ron Cunningham’s official motto is “What Fresh Hell Is This?”

Author: floridavelocipede

A sometime journalist who used to string words together for a living before I retired to run a non-profit cycle touring organization that will henceforth go unnamed, as I have subsequently retired from that career as well. I write a bi-monthly column, theater reviews and an occasional magazine piece for my old newspaper. If I still had a business card it would read: Ron Cunningham: Trained Observer Of The Human Condition. Because like The Donald, you know, ego.

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