It’s incredibly sad this appears to be the level of discourse we’ve sunk to. Regardless of how I personally feel about Trump, who is quite likely the most incompetent and self-serving person to ever hold the office, the amount of hyperbole surrounding his administration is staggering. What’s worse, the indignant zeal, the sheer vehemence directed toward those who voted for him, is nothing short of appalling.
This Super Tuesday, it became readily apparent that Bernie Sanders and his unprecedented run were finally done for. So now that we’ve finally dispensed with the one candidate that genuinely cared, who remains? Donald Biff Tannen Trump, Ted Insane Zealot Cruz, and Hillary
Nixon Clinton. Well, if those are my choices, then I may just vote Trump to finally burn the whole thing down, because we clearly deserve it.
I’d first like to begin by saying I’ve written about this topic [intlink id="leviathan--story-time"]several[/intlink] [intlink id="every-little-thing"]times[/intlink] already. But while those were basically artistic impressions, this is an outright essay on the mild disquiet I feel every day while embedded in this society, and what probably causes it. I’m warning you right now that it’s exceedingly long… about twelve pages going by word-count alone. You’ve been warned.
This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the public power monopoly regulated by the U.S. Department of Energy.
Well, there we have it. Barack Obama is the 44th President of the United States. For the most part, everyone I know views this as a preferable outcome. One, for whatever reason, perceives Obama as a “dangerous charlatan.”