Time heals all wounds. But not herpes. And Trump—now officially president—will be the open sore on our nation’s collective genitals for the next four years. And there is no political Valtrex to help.
To sooth my genital pain, I had planned to write a post ridiculing Trump’s inauguration speech. You know, the speech he wrote in his really, really ugly bathroom:
But when I read his remarks—you can read them yourself here—it became clear that he didn’t actually write any of them. The address did contain his trademark half-truths, empty promises, and hypocritical claims. He also made enough nationalistic references to make lady liberty blush. But the tone of the speech felt off. Very off. He expressed his insane jingoism through the use of multisyllable words. He said “crucial” and “enriched” and “carnage.” And not once did he whine about the media, stroke his own ego, or insult someone. He actually sounded like an adult—albeit an angry, delusional one.
Because Trump didn’t actually write his speech, I won’t bother to ridicule him for what he said. That means I won’t, for example, point out the absurdity of his statement that there’s “no room for prejudice . . . when you open your heart to patriotism.” (Hitler and Stalin’s hearts were full of patriotism, and they managed to squeeze in quite a bit of prejudice.) No, I’ll let that slide, at least for today. Instead, I’ll leave you with this inspirational picture: