Hear the Whistle
OK, so I'm minding my own business reading the online local rag, my beloved startribune.com, and I come across an article by staff writer Patrick Condon about the big ol’ partisan divide to the suburb of our immediate east—safe, comfortable, big houses, fine retail a-plenty, non-food desert and beautiful countryside all within the bounds of a local government with a slow-growth compared to other suburbs’ agendas. The article is chock-full of ironies with a touch of calming affirmations of my own stellar political views. Let’s go now to the School of Ironic Study.
Twenty-year-old PUBLIC COLLEGE student (as in WE THE PEOPLE subsidize the little fucker's education), who just can't decide. He kinda knows what's up and he may have had happenstance to listen to MPR , but maybe there was a parental big screen blaring a perpetual FOX News rotation of easily debunked scandals, yarns and "Breaking News" or the other cable news stations and talk radio drumbeat of the false equivalence of Secretary Clinton's cretinously handled email server to a proud sexually assaulting charlatan whose relationship with the truth is as stable as his business history not to mention his finesse with the ladies.
The landed gentry dude whose family settled here in the mid-19th century. He hates to admit that as a onetime Adlai Stevenson supporter he must now vote for Trump because he doesn’t trust Secretary Clinton. Didn’t I see that guy in the “FOX News Brainwashed my Dad” documentary? I shall have to revisit you Irony #2 for another 1,000 word foray into the absurd.
Irony #3 (this one is my fave)
The young woman hair stylist who “believes” in Trump’s “qualities” better than Clinton’s on account of the whole anti-choice thing. Because who better to protect The Fetus than a pussy grabbing serial philanderer? I guess she doesn’t know anyone affected by the draconian policies of pre-Roe V. Wade America. I can only assume that our fair-haired young woman to the Near East either knows no woman affected by institutional misogyny—which is to know no women at all—or could care less about the women who fought so hard and faced such derision and violence fighting so that she could not only have a modicum of agency over her own body, but happily vote against her own interests, both personal and professional. You’re welcome, I guess? Hers is the attitude that makes me especially hysterical as we near the end of this election cycle, all puns intended.