No, being a convicted felon is not a “badge of honor.”
Just because they say it doesn’t make it true.
“Daddy…”
“Yes Johnny?”
“I want to be pwesident when I gwow up!!”
“Why that’s wonderful, Johnny. But you know it’s not easy to be president of the United States right? You have to work very, very hard. And that’s not all, you also have to be…”
“I know daddy… I have to be a conwicted f… f… fe… feline…?”
“Silly Johnny, so close. That’s another way to say cat. But the word you’re looking for son, is felon. Now, for you to be called a felon, you have to commit crimes, get arrested, go to what we call a trial, and have a jury, which is a bunch of people you don’t know sitting in a box and watching you fart in your sleep, find you guilty of the crimes you were charged with.”
“I wanna commit cwimes, daddy!”
“Not just anybody can do that, kiddo. Some people have this stuff called “morals” or “ethics”. I don’t, but your mom does, at least she pretends to, some of the time, although definitely not when we made you, cuz back then she was a total slut and now she always says she has a headache even though I know she’s lying and then I have to go to the nail salon to get a happy ending in the back room because after all, a man has needs doesn’t he son, but the point is Johnny, that those morals and ethics things are totally overrated, and they just aren’t super helpful if you want to be president. But, if you can try really hard not to have them, ever, like not at all, well, then you’ll be off to a great start, because that’s what it takes to get folks to call you a felon. And in this country, if you’re not one of those, you can’t be president.”
“I want a happy ending daddy!! Can we go to the nail salon now?”
[Trying not to cry] “I’ve never been more proud of you Johnny.”
(And, scene).
Is this where we are now? Is it? Is it really? It can’t be right, because it sounds absolutely ridiculous. So maybe it’s not exactly where we are now, but it’s also not that fucking far off from where we are. And it’s way closer to where we are now than it fucking should be. And by “we” I mean the MAGA “we” and by the MAGA “we” I mean the entirety of the Republican Party, because that’s pretty much where they have to be in order to square the fact that their moron of a melon-hued messiah’s new status as a convicted felon is not a bad thing, but instead, a “badge of honor.” Although, in keeping with Trump’s particular version of the word, maybe it’s a badge of “honer.”
At least this is what they’re telling themselves, and telling the rest of the cult, even if they don’t actually believe it. They’re pushing this bullshit narrative that convicting Donald Trump has only made him “stronger.” That it’s made him “more powerful” and their support for him even more “resolute.”
It’s just up the escalator from he’s being indicted “for them”, and down the hall from, “if they can come after Trump for this, they can come after you too”, even though none of them seems to stop to consider the fact that unless you were to pay a porn star hush money in order to help yourself win an election and then disguised those payments as legal fees, they would not in fact, “come for you” on charges like his, but then again, these are the same kinds of people who voted for Ted fucking Cruz, and no one likes Ted fucking Cruz, so anything is possible really, but I digress.
It’s not true of course that this makes him stronger or more powerful. It’s not true that it will win him more votes. It’s NOT true that Black Americans will vote for him because he’s been convicted, although that IS some next level racist fucking shit and not a one of us should let it slide.
This is bad for him. No matter what they say. No matter how many times they say he’s “proud” to be convicted, he’s not.
It reminds me of my first ever dating app date, which coincidently, was also one of my last ever dating app dates, with a guy I’ll call “Rocco.”
Rocco didn’t like when I corrected him over the phone on our “get to know you” call, after he said “Hurricane Sandy” hit New Orleans when he should have said “Katrina.” But facts are facts and I’m that asshole who isn’t gonna smile and nod through someone mis-naming a hurricane, so I didn’t, and he didn’t like it, and that should have been enough of a red flag that an in-person date never should have happened. But it wasn’t, and the date ended up being exactly the kind of head-shaking, hidden camera seeming, is this really fucking happening, car crash of a catastrophe, one would have expected it to be, when looking back in retrospect.
I mention Rocco, because Rocco thought very highly of himself, and he wasn’t even remotely shy about letting me, and our waitress, know just how highly he thought of himself, with every smarmy word he uttered.
You see, Rocco was an extremely successful man. A “self-made” man. But not an ordinary man. Rocco was the self-proclaimed master of Cutco knives. And as he explained it to me in the kind of endless detail which made me wish I was having a root canal instead— his chosen profession meant that he should strut through life with the confidence of a samurai warrior.
To him, selling Cutco knives wasn't just a job - it was a calling, a higher purpose, a sacred duty bestowed upon him by the kitchen gods themselves. With each slice and dice demonstration, Rocco dazzled his clients with his smooth sales pitch and ninja-like knife skills, turning mundane kitchen chores into a theatrical performance worthy of a standing ovation.
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