Coming October 2022: "The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson"

Draining the Swamp

Return of the Swamp Things.
Return of the Swamp Things.

I would like to use this space to congratulate all the people who, over the past year or so, have called me a Libtard.

It’s a lovely sentiment. And clever, too. See, it combines “liberal” and “retarded” into one word. And while no sane or sensitive human being over the age of 12 would merge “retard” with any word, it’s still a really funny device. Like, let’s say my refrigerator stops working—I could call it a “refrigertard.” Or if someone makes the inexplicable mistake of eating mud, he could be a “Mudeatingtard.” Ha! It’s funny, right? Super funny.

One more, just for the road. How about if someone votes for a presidential candidate, then finds out that said candidate is: A. Completely unprepared and B. Completely incapable?

Hell, what if someone votes for said candidate and repeatedly chants “Drain the swamp! Drain the swamp!”—only to see said candidate hire a bunch of lifelong politicians who have, truth be told, resided in the swamp for decades? Wait … wait—one more. What if the people chanting “Drain the swamp! Drain the swamp!” have kids who like to swim and breathe clean air and live on a healthy planet? What if those people elect a presidential candidate who hires swamp residents who also want to hand environmental regulations back to the very industries that thrive via pollution?

What would you call those people? What would you affix to “tard”?

I digress.

If you haven’t seen the folks under consideration to man a Trump administration, it’s a pretty spectacular gathering of, well, Sean Hannity’s best guests. It’s Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani and Sarah Palin and Jan Brewer and … truly, a bunch of men and women who have been around for years. Who not only call the swamp home, but piss in their own swamp.

So, sincerely, enjoy the next four years. Live it. Love it. Embrace it.

And, when all is said and done, and it’s clear you’ve been conned, take a long peek in the mirror.

Then try calling me a tard.