Dramatic Reading: Triggered: Donald Trump Jr: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Class Warfare

Lot of stories of growing up. Learning from Dad. Hating the left. 

This is chapter four and I just can’t. It’s a lot of virtue signalling to certain blocks of voters. It starts with stories of Donald Trump walking job sites with his kids checking for sand trap depths and such. Then, stories of Lil D and his various summer jobs where he forged his iron-clad work ethic. Then, all the growing up rich he did. Then, some hunting.  Also, How his Dad underpaid him when he started doing a more physically difficult job. Pull your brain basket out for the big quote.

“I thought, I used to make hundreds of dollars in tips, smelling nothing but sunscreen and salt water, and now I’m in mud and sawdust up to my knees, wiping dirt out of my eyes, and working around sweaty dudes for less money. I decided I would tell my father that weekend after dinner what I had realized about my paychecks. I assumed that he would immediately raise my pay and commend me for realizing how unfair the system was to working guys like me.”

Certainly doesn’t paint that familiar picture of hard work being its own reward. I bet it works out just like this dumb laborer thinks it will.

Okay. I must bring this all to halt to tell you that, in the book, the discussion between Trump the elder and Lil D is presented in the form of a one act play. Cringeworthy move, Mr. Editor.

Here’s what you’re looking for:

“Why would I do that? You think people are going to give you more money just because you’re a nice guy? They’re not, Donnie. Anything you want, you have to go and get it. Nothing is going to be handed to you. Nothing. You have to earn it before you ask for it! Always remember: you don’t get anything you don’t ask for.”

The narrative gets a little fuzzy here on why Lil D believes he deserves more money. In the play, it’s because he’s doing more work at the job site. So, step by step:

“Anything you want, you have to go and get it.”

Now, my analytical skills are rusty, but I think that’s exactly what Lil D is doing. He’s going to negotiate with the boss about pay. Look, it’s made clear in the book that, in retrospect, Lil D considers this to be a formative lesson in negotiation. He compares it to “playing your first pick-up basketball game against Michael Jordan.” 

 “Nothing is going to be handed to you.”

Except, in this case, the job. Now, I’m not going to say that I remember every inch of this chapter, but I’d remember if there was a story about Lil D being the best available candidate for the job. How he’d interviewed really spectacularly against an array of top contenders from all the best places. I know, I know. People give their kids jobs all the time in an effort to teach them work ethic. But, what interests me most here is what’s taken for granted.

“You have to earn it before you ask for it!”

Right. So, earlier, Big Poppa Trump says that he didn’t give Lil D a raise because Lil D had not asked for one. If we apply this fun little algorithm which presumes to calculate pay after the work has been done, Lil D has done things in the correct order. In that, he is now asking for his more money after he has “earned it.” How can he also be wrong in not asking before he “earned it.”

“Always remember: you don’t get anything you don’t ask for.”

 This is the most sinister line of all. And I use that word carefully. I don’t believe this is addressing the apparent lack of appropriate remunerations. I think this is Big Boppa Trump telling his son that he was underpaid because he wasn’t smart enough not to be. That’s the dark lesson here from the Trump parenting playbook. If something bad happens to you, it’s because you deserved it.

That’s that good, good gravy. Because it would seem to make the opposite true as well. If something good happens to you, it’s because you deserve it. Anything you have or are given, by virtue of whatever attribute, you deserve. We’ve caught a vicious little Ourbouros.

Dramatic Reading: Triggered: Donald Trump Jr: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Foundation

“I love the poorly educated.”  ~Donald Trump

Lil D is very concerned with the manner in which Democrats are tending to the inherent flaws of their political “foundation.” Which he defined as:

“It built a political party on a foundation of Jim Crow-style racism, support of the KKK and slavery, and stark opposition to Abraham Lincoln. Every few decades they added a floor to that foundation. Those floors included a widespread welfare state, hindrance of businesses both big and small, political correctness, Soviet-style socialism, and Antifa. They are the party of dependence. Without that, they have nothing.”

This is hard. This is harder than I thought it would be. I’m stealing moments away in quarantine to do it and I really thought there’d be more here. 

I want to avoid making jokes like a late night host or Chapo Trap House. I’m convinced that the look-how-stupid political analysis model is beneficial to the right and has been since George W. Bush. I’m also convinced that’s the reason for the presence of the bad jokes in this book.

Chapter 3 has something like a three act screenplay structure with a flashback comprising the entirety of the second act. Act 1 is Lil D recounting his project management of the International Trump Hotel & Tower in Chicago. From this venture, he learned that foundations are important and faulty foundations are bad, like the Freedom Tower in San Francisco. 

“Today, they call it the ‘leaning tower of San Francisco’ and estimates are that it’ll take more than $100 million to fix -- not the best news for people who bought condos in the building, which have depreciated in value $400,000 on average.”

Cue the wavy screen and we’re off to, I assume, an amalgamation of summers he spent in Czechoslovakia. It was here as an adventuring five-year-old he learned the true horrors of a command economy. Apparently, the houses and buildings are very drab. There’s bread lines. Grandma and Grandpa are last in line because Grandpa won’t join the party. Also, their apartment was small. And the TV channels sucked. And…

“In Czechoslovakia, the government gave the people everything they needed to exist (barely) and then asked for a small amount of labor in return. People worked in careers that would maintain the status quo and provide for the state, and everyone made roughly the same amount of money. No one could make a higher wage just because he or she worked harder. There were no incentives, so there was no economic growth.”

I have very few tools to refute this analysis of Czechoslovakia’s economic movement. Plus, there’s very little incentive for me to do so. Personal growth? I guess. There’s certainly no monetary reason presented. See, I think when you hover between the bottom three tax brackets, money really is the most powerful motivator around. Most of the time.

Also, when people do the kind of long form video essays, like on Youtube, on topics like Lil D's book, all they do is go find someone or somewhere that has the expertise necessary to refute or clarify the statements and quote them. I bet that’s more persuasive if you've been to college or beyond. If you’re somewhat familiar with things like the scientific method, peer-reviewed journals, the differences between conjecture and theory, and keyhole essays. I believe it’s possible to view, without knowledge of the aforementioned, one person says one thing and one person says something different. As though discourse itself were made up of facts and alternative facts.

“Stupid” may be an identity. It’s possible that taking pride in a lack of formal education has become a badge of honor -- worn especially in the anonymizing mists of the internet. It’s possible that the liberal tears that are so often sought are the tears of frustration at being confronted with a deluge of inaccuracy. The conservative countermeasure to being wrong or transparent in their greed, racism, homophobia, or economics is to present so many shoddily constructed ideas that the liberal or “leftist” on the other side steams up and goes red-faced. It’s possible this is where the political game is now. 

The game forces someone into unpleasant feelings until the only refuge is numbness. Engagement may be the beginning of the losing. Because people who went to college are programmed to disabuse someone of their ignorance as quickly and efficiently as possible without regard to emotional stresses. Because that, perhaps until very recently for most, is how college gets down. It’s all about overload now.

That’s all I really have. Lil D then launches into his third act featuring the dangers of AOC, Bernie, The Squad, and Teen Vogue. Last one is not a joke. Apparently, it’s leftist propaganda for the young. I let my subscription lapse, so I can’t really comment. 

I would, however, leave you with this:

“I would help my friends pluck and butcher them--I butchered hundreds of chickens in my childhood.”

Dramatic Reading: Triggered: Donald Trump Jr: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Counterpunch

 “He’s stringing them together like a necklace that members of his tribe can wear in order to recognize one another.”  ~me, from before

This was a tougher one to write than I thought it would be. First, there’s the sifting through all the posturing and braggadocio. Most especially, how hard he doesn’t run from a fight.

“He knew as well as I did that there’s no such thing as being “too hot” on social, at least not as far as I’m concerned. I consider myself to be a shit-talker par excellence.”

Weird flex, Drama.

Then, it’s refuting the assertions piecemeal. I don’t have time for that. Somebody else does. 

The “red meat” as it’s referred to by Lil D -- no doubt another shot at vegans-- of this chapter is stringing together: The Mueller report and subsequent testimony, the reaction of the “left” to the election of Donald Trump, and acts of violence or harassment suffered by people on the “right”  into what appears like a chain of causality stemming from irrational hatred of all things Trump. Political distinctions of victims in these tales of Antifa and woe, predictable as they may be, aren’t really important. These are people on the Trump family’s side. These are people perceived as close to Trump, even if only politically. 

Trump’s voters are presented with an unspoken equivalency. They are under attack from “the left,” “leftists,” “the radical left,” and “Democrats.” Though he, in a thus far uncharacteristic backpedal, states that some Democrats are good people.

Now, I know I made a bit of a leap back there. I took a leap from the attacks, physical or otherwise, endured by people close, in whatever way, to Donald Trump and turned that toward Trump voters. Early in my notes, after reading a particularly pungent bit of chest-puffing regarding the release of the Mueller report, I grabbed this quote:

“If that’s what you’re expecting, you’d better go buy a different book.”

In my notes, I saw this was the second time he’d invited the reader away from his lovely pages and wondered if he was insecure. Well, I mean, he is. The non-stop alpha male chest-beating prose tells you know that much. He’s making one last attempt to kick out the uncool kids by appealing to their sense of revulsion at his personality.

Remember: 

"Also, if you find any of the following even remotely offensive: patriotism, masculinity, hunting, MAGA hats, the american flag, guns, religion, Roseanne Barr, criticism of stupid ideas, capitalism, skyscrapers, or the use of the word 'Christmas' during the Christmas season, then you should definitely stop reading."

He’s been identifying exactly to whom he’s talking. The insults serve to obfuscate and confound those not in the special group of cool kids. Cool kids to whom those type of insults are of the water-off-a-duck's-back varietal. Cool kids that are also the subject of vicious and violent bullying. This is where he, a man of wealth, power, and status, aligns himself with the inner children of the outsiders. Or, more specifically, those who consider themselves outsiders.

Dramatic Reading: Triggered: Donald Trump Jr: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Trigger Warning

I'm reading this book because I checked it out at the library as a joke on my wife and now I'm stuck with it. This Is My Read.

"But today, "discourse" only exists for leftists. when conservatives do it, they call it ‘hate speech.’"

"You'll also get to find out a little about me during the ride, if only as a way to dispel the conspiracy theory on the left that I was born with horns."

Look, I'm not going to beat around the vulva. This guy is a douchebag. The six pages of chapter one paint the portrait of Dorian Douchebag. I use the metaphor because there is a fiction to this. It’s clear from the bravado that this is something of a performance. I believe he’s using, what I like to call, “The Crowder Technique.” It allows Lil D to say obnoxious things and if someone is offended or wants to challenge the ideas meaningfully, then he was just kidding. It’s a way of testing the water in conversation. However, this isn’t a conversation. It’s a book. So Lil D must artificially inject the alienation of “liberals” who would opt out of a conversation or performance such as this.

See that joke I made up there? The vulva joke? See, you may have thought that in poor taste. You may have been a little put off. You may think that sort of joke is inappropriate for the format given that there are older relatives lurking around these soft and easy avenues of Facebook. Whatever reason you didn’t care for that, the fact that you think it is something you have a right to do. Telling me in the comments that you think so is something you have a right to do. Freedom of expression is not one-sided. I do not have a constitutional right not to be put on blast for making a ill-received joke. In fact, no expression has that privilege. That’s called criticism. There is no freedom from criticism.

“Also if you find any of the following even remotely offensive: patriotism, masculinity, hunting, MAGA hats, the American flag, guns, sex, religion, Roseanne Barr, criticism of stupid ideas, capitalism, skyscrapers, or the use of the word “Christmas” during the Christmas season, then you should definitely stop reading.”

Lil D thinks otherwise on the whole freedom of expression thing. But it isn’t about that. It isn’t about freedom of expression. The previous quote is a way of separating the cool kids from the not cool kids. It’s a way of alienating people who will challenge ideas and a way of bonding with those who won’t challenge your ideas. It’s othering. And done with this lack of subtlety, it’s absolutely juvenile.

You have no idea how badly I want to use words like dumb, stupid, and moronic to describe these middle school rhetorical and manipulation techniques, but in good conscience I cannot. Because they work. They’ve worked on people. They are working on people right now and combating them is hard. It stems from the desire to use any number of the synonyms for ignorant. But doing so will only increase the alienation. It’s infuriating. Because it’s a trap.

There’s a lot of traps in here. It’s a minefield. There’s a lot of statements made in these six pages that are solely there to be the clickbaity headline on the internet. It’s savvy. That’s why so much of this book, I believe, will not be worth going over in these posts. Also, I’m hoping to all that is God that I can make these much briefer. Because the chapters only get longer. And his “jokes” aren’t funny. They’re not even worth deconstructing. I’ll leave that for Chapo.

I know that a lot of you are very familiar with these concepts and could easily suss out the flaws in the logic so forgive me if I’m boring you with some of this.

In the last quote, he’s not just listing a scattershot of concepts which will weed out the liberals. He’s somewhat subtly equating all those things. He’s stringing them together like a necklace that members of his tribe can wear in order to recognize one another. He didn’t forget vegans, by the way. He gets them in a "joke" about what liberals can do with their copy of his book.

He then mentions how he’s hoping that all the liberals are gone and it’s now just us patriots. He goes on and further mentions he didn’t want to “break out my MAGA hat.” Mentions the MAGA hat twice in two paragraphs. It’s product placement. They are 25 dollars and you can buy them directly from the Trump campaign website.

Once the cool kids are firmly and orderly seated at the cool kid's table he pivots to the thing his roasting of the “bunch of oversensitive babies who find everything offensive” was always leading toward, racism. That’s right, racism. Lil D declares that calls of racism are the default position of anything with which the “left” does not agree. He reverts from the “joking” that the statement “Math is hard?” could be considered racist back to earnestness.

“The problem with using racism as a label for everything you don’t like, of course, is that racism is still a real problem that persists in this country -- not nearly to the extent the left would have you believe, of course, but it’s still one of our major issues.”

Folks, I have not read ahead, but I think we’re going to be noodling out some “racism against white people” jams. The big scares come from what Lil D thinks are the real problems facing America today. Including:

“There are stacks of books we’re no longer allowed to read, public figures who are no longer allowed to speak in public, and crucial debates we are no longer allowed to have-- all because they might hurt someone’s feelings.”

Lil D then raises the specter of book burning and the thought that this very tome might be one headed for the fire. Previously in the chapter he’d encouraged liberals to buy his book and recycle it. I guess...fire bad?

Thoughts I'm Paying For: Excerpts From College Term Papers: Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Confucian Superwoman

I once wrote a term paper near the end of my college career arguing that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the superwoman in a universe ruled by Confucianism. I recently found the book on Confucianism I used to write that paper. The pages are still marked. I will now reconstruct my argument. It’s safe to say I got through college without taking much of it seriously. I’m not saying I’m smart. I’m saying I’m not.

                “The moral law is a law from whose operation we cannot for one instant in our existence escape. A law from which we may escape is not the moral law.”

Buffy cannot escape that she is a vampire slayer. Therefore it is the moral law that Buffy be a vampire slayer. When Buffy acts as the vampire slayer she acts in accordance with the moral law. If she acts other than as a vampire slayer she is acting against the moral law. It is very hard to be a vampire slayer, but it is worse to exist in discord with the moral law. This accounts for most of the character’s intrapersonal drama. I probably gave several examples from plots of the show, as I was basically mainlining the show on DVD. And then I through this down just to show off:

                

                “The life of the moral man is an exemplification of the universal moral order.”

It is very difficult Buffy is subject to several limitations set by “the moral law”. Exemplfication is a tough trick. Her romantic relationships are totally limited to people who are part of the same supernatural world. She belongs to a supernatural caste which she can only successfully navigate with someone who is completely in that world. And they don’t make the best boyfriends.

Poor Buffy. She never had a chance to be mundane so it was all she ever wanted. 

Thoughts I'm Paying For: Excerpts From College Term Papers: Macbeth

Just like it says at the top, folks. This is a chunk out of a paper I wrote in college. I never titled anything. I wrote these papers with the wildest of abandon. Let's power through.

MacDuff's status as archetypal hero is most demonstrable at the point when Macbeth has MacDuff's wife and children. It is an action like this, which almost always precedes the hero's 'dark night of the soul' or 'moment of doubt'. MacDuff could have, until this point, walked away. Macbeth had in no way directly wronged him. He could have not done anything, but the slaughter of his family thrusts him headlong into his role as the hero.

Basically, my theory was that Macbeth was not a tragic figure, but the natural progression and end of an archetypal villain. Top that!

Bad Poetry 202

 I wrote “Cigars” about a friend of my brother’s who drown when he was 14. The conversation I had with him within the poem was, to the best of my recollection, true. I held a certain amount of amorphous guilt about his death. I’d seen him a day or so before his death and, for selfish teenage boy reasons, I ushered him away. I had a certain amount of trouble reconciling my feelings partially due to the fact that I had any. In the town where I grew up everyone knew a dead kid.

Cigars

A year ago today

We sat at my table

And talked about the big and the small

A year ago today

We talked first loves

First lusts

The   women we had and

The women we wanted

A year ago today

We stood over a machine

And speculated what was making

It tick and wheeze and sputter so

A year ago we stared at stars

And wondered their purpose

We sat smoking cigars

Their pungent odor

Irritating our eyes

I told you my worries

You said “Everything works out”

You smiled and made it all simple

I don’t smoke cigars anymore

My eyes still water though

Because a year ago tomorrow

I saw them pull you

From the water.

A pretty childish punch at the end there, but hey, at least I was trying to write my feelings, right? Oh, and the “me” in the poem was totally lying. I still smoked cigars.

Photographic Essay: Junkyard: Backyard Industry

Many of my standard themes are present here. I like exploring images which question how man-made objects relate to a natural environment. Also, I try to understand how objects relate to the identity of their owners.

Bad Poetry 201

Here's more angsty bullshit from so long ago. If only that version of me could hear me screaming, maybe he'd stop.

Prime Time

Hurry up and watch!

Quick sit down to see

open your dead eyes

stare with hypnotic absence

As men smear the blood of infants

across the glass

Old men in dull gray suits

rip the viscera of the living

to entertain that dead

Broadcast Death and Pain

They murder you slowly

Killing with the sights

the sounds and the smells of terror

You can't get enough

there's one in every room

These same gray men

have made a junkie of you

Shoot up for hours on end

Ask that kid of yours

that one you don't understand

Beg them to Call the Corner

Because someone has killed you

You're Dead

Dead of Radiation Sickness

So...I'm better than people who watch television. I think I wrote this in front of the television. The word "hypocrite" seems to good for this version of myself.

What I did today - - A Perpetual Photographic Essay

Whenever people ask me what I did during the day, I always say 'nothing'. I'm a liar. Prepare for photographic evidence.












Just keep repeating the Mantra: "Someday I will live alone."

Bad Poetry 101

Here's some bad poetry from when I was in high school. Apparently my feelings about women were rather inconsistent. These two gems were right next to each other. Get ready for some of the worst kind of bad poetry. It's Sanctimalicious!

Up and Around

It'll seek you out today
Seep into your room like smoke
Caress the wounds it left
If your mind wasn't numbed by pain
you might realize the irony
Now it cries its liar's tears
and begging with empty words
He would never hurt
it was it
an undefinable thing
whose excuses like a river
pressures of work surging
beyond the banks
the water drown you both
you were both victims
you were physically surrendered
and made to endure
he was made to surrender control
he would never hurt
it was it
an undefinable thing
you'll see this more clearly
when your eye heals
get some sleep you'll need
your strength
it's on its third beer
its tears have all dried up
all you can see in its eyes
is hell

Jesus! I almost want to add a "MUWHAHAHAHA" to the end there.


Love Poem #38C

If I were a painter
you would be my painting
If I were music
I would be a musician
You're the object of my passion
These are all lies
lies some joker tells
to invade your space
it doesn't matter how trite
or hackneyed these expressions become
you'll still succumb because these words
are your excuse for failing to guard your gates
Everytime you into these
atrocities against creativity
another poet dies
If you make my words meaningless
You're a whore not only of body
but spirit as well
You sold my soul and didn't even ask
I'd say you owe me
Oh I see
You need some words
If I were a pedophile
you'd be my prepubescent playmate
So can I get some!


Man, I was just an imperial sized douchebag.

Story Strands (Rusty)

Rusty stank. He smelled like ointment and cheap beer. He smelled like rotting fruit and menthol cigarettes. The smell drove itself up into your nose and pushed your head back. Sometimes the smell woke me in the morning before the Dean Martin records. He played them all day. Every morning before school, I'd force my eyes open before the music started. The ominous crackles before the music starts to play. The sound still brings me to eyes wide open red alert status. Whenever I need to shake a case of the slows I just pop Deano into the CD player. This was one of those times.

No one expects that their long march into a losing battle will be heralded by Volare. . Deanos ghost wails with all the might my pawn shop pioneers will allow and all I can do is pace a cartoon hole in the floor. Today's the day I tell myself. Today's the day and there's no putting it off. I try and wish it away but it won't budge. It's sits on my mind like a gargoyle on a church. I had to lie in court. I had to lie the truth about Rusty.

When the District Attorney holds up the photos of my mother laying on the kitchen floor, her eyes staring straight up through the ceiling of the kitchen. her arms outstretched to greet the angel of death. Her legs still kneeling. She died praying. The blood pooled around her head, like a saint in a stained glass window. Her corpse affirmed divinity.

Story Strands (Bob)

So here's the skinny on this. This is a bit of story that never went anywhere. I give it to the forces of Creative Panic to shape it. My hope is that some others will come along, add, edit, or flame this until it's forged into something useful. Or I'll just do it myself.

Bob watched his two children fight non-stop for 30 minutes while he prepared the grill for the Saturday night BBQ. Bob splashed lighter fluid over the charcoals when he heard Bobby Jr's shirt rip. His little darling Susan had ripped her brother's sleeve right off. The two didn't even look up to see if he was mad. They just kept going. “You two stop that now or I'm going to pour this on the both of you and set you on fire.” He tried desperately to sound like he was kidding. They ran a good distance, to the other end of the yard, slapping and snarling at each other the entire way.

Bob was handsome, but not decidedly so. He looked handsome enough to be on cable television. It also turned out that it was the only job he could really do well. He did walk on stuff for HBC. And every other month he made a movie for the Sci-Fi Channel.

Reading someone else's mail feels exciting and dirty

Dear Darling,

I write to you knowing that you will never read this. I know I walked away when I shouldn't have. This letter is my attempt at distilling the best times we had into a single perfect moment. It's funny but I always loved you most when you were angry. Angry with me.

When you said “I love you” even when I think you really meant it; it seemed, I don't know, somehow hollow. But the time after we ate at your mother's house and I started a fight in the car. I still remember how you said you wanted to call me a son of a bitch but that would be an insult to sons of bitches. I thought “she must really love me, and she's funny. That's me all over I guess. I'm never really sure that an emotion exists within someone until I see it's polar opposite.

Remember the time when we were standing on that little footbridge near downtown by the newly installed sundial and fountain? Yeah, the time I should have kissed you and I didn't. You craned your neck and leaned against my chest and I just thought you were cold or tired. I could feel your curly hair piercing through my T-shirt introducing itself to my chest hair. My chest hair understood immediately, just took a while for the brain to get the memo. I will never experience a more seductive moment in my life. I still think you knew that when you did it. I was just a coward. I felt like a kiss from me would defile you somehow.

But I'd have chances o' plenty to defile you. You'll never know how much I appreciated your willingness for sexual experimentation. How you helped me handle my juvenile insecurities by allowing me to believe I could fuck the memory of other men out of you. You went through the rigmarole of sexual adventure so I could communicate my desires without the shame of speaking the words. I know this will disappoint you, but those are words I still cannot say. Reminds me a little of our last fight when you hurled the most sustained stream of insults I'd ever heard. That's to this day, mind you. I doubt I could replicate even a few seconds of it. I do remember the last one though.

“You kinky motherfucker.” Nothing you said before or after ever hurt so bad. Those words stab right into the heart of my shame. Still do.

I don't want you to think I need you to apologize, because I don't. I'm simply cataloging my strongest memories of you.