Much has been written about the last four whirlwind years in American politics, mostly focusing on political division and a Pandora’s box of contradictory messaging, policies, anecdotes and leadership. It was a boon for political, news and comedy writers. You sure didn’t have to wait long to find something to write about. In fact choosing which fetid piece of bizarre-itude out of the maelstrom of choices was the central problem. It went something like this:
President: (says incoherent stuff for about 20 minutes until the entire press corp is numb from the onslaught of subject changes and then says he’d love to be a dictator)
Press: (rubbing neck from whiplash) Whew. Ok… so do we write about:
When faced with so many choices and limited column space, it’s a lose-lose situation. No matter what you pick, you’re ignoring the fact that the man with the nuclear football is standing in front of modern-day professional journalists rambling like your great-grandpa Huck, who used to compulsively collect used toilet paper tubes and build likenesses of confederate generals out of them until he couldn't find the door to his house. Even if you did write the “meta-story” fully half the readers would cheer him on, rather than stare at their phones in horror like they just watched a #covidiot tagged YouTube video of someone who did “The Clorox Challenge” recovering in the I.C.U.
This, as weird as it seems, created the context for nearly an entire nation all but ignoring an active coup attempt, while the rest of the world, presumably, laughs at our comeuppance. Such bizarre behavior has been indulged for so long, that a sitting U.S. President can openly mount a coup attempt while everyone sloughs it off. Generally trying to overthrow a lawfully elected government is taken somewhat seriously. Jim Garrison in J.F.K. wasn’t howling with laughter in the courtroom, and Tommy Lee Jones only smiled when it was particularly sinister.
Then again, the omnipotent diabolical forces portrayed in J.F.K. were competent, organized, and secretive, whereas this latest coup attempt was seemingly put together on the back of a bar napkin written in “Just For Men” hair dye and televised each day on every news outlet. Comical execution aside, we should probably take seriously someone trying their damnest to overthrow the government, even if “their damnest” sucks, particularly when that someone is the President of the United States and that government is the oldest democracy in the world.
Reality really is more bizarre than fiction. Particularly if we’re talking coup d’états.
As we all hunker in our bunkers this year, scarfing down microwaved turkey dinners and staring into the middle distance to Dark Side of the Moon, I thought it would be interesting to look back at Thanksgivings past to get some perspective. COVID has given us plenty of time for reflection, and that’s rarely a good thing.
I think we all have an idea of what Thanksgiving should be. We don’t see it in reality, but it’s there in myths and legends, fed by advertising campaigns and old movies. “Sure, my Thanksgiving is a dumpster fire,” we think, “but somewhere out there people are having a great time and eating noodle salad!”
The fact that other people out there are normal is comforting. It’s kinda like Bigfoot: you never see him yourself, but it feels good to know some grizzled prospector-type guy is out there with a flashlight and his phone looking for him. We want to believe.
Or so we thought. I mean, what inhumanely torturous process turns cranberries into gelatinous slop anyway? Do we really know anything?
Turns out that the Thanksgivings shown in a lot of movies aren’t the romanticized versions from our advertising-addled cranium. In fact, some have a downright horrible lesson, right there in front of us the whole time but we weren’t paying attention.
So crank that guitar rift, sit back and choke down that disgusting jellied cranberry sauce from 2018 as we explore some darker lessons Hollywood has secretly taught us about our favorite turkey day over the past 40 years.
Donald Trump is sitting on a toilet seat in the White House, in the same spot where Abraham Lincoln used to sit.
How he misses his New York penthouse with its golden toilet seat, solid gold 14 karat.
“What a screwed up old dump this place (White House) is,” Trump tells himself. “Lots of old rooms with sh’..ty furniture with floors that creak when you walk on them and paintings of old guys most of them losers (former presidents), except for Andrew Jackson.”
Trump thinks he (Jackson) was cool he wiped out the Cherokees and beat a guy to death on the front lawn of the White House (this last part is historically inaccurate, but Trump doesn’t know American history).
“I’m too good to be living here.”
(Trump has an ever-moist sense of self-pity).
Trump goes to bed alone.
He hears a rattling at the door and sees a light. A ghost enters wearing chains.
“Who the F are you?” Trump says.
“I am the Ghost of Misbehavior Past,” the ghost wails.
“Get the F out of here.”
“Make me,” the ghost wails.
IRREVERENT is a parody of a news magazine, and opinions, random thoughts, gestures, gesticulations, comments, bizarre rantings or anything anyone on the planet (or elsewhere) may possibly find objectionable, actionable, stupid, pointless, and/or misleadingly silly may or may not be shared by the management of IRREVERENT Publishing, LLC. Celebrity voices in the IRREVERENT Podcast are impersonated. People, products or services mentioned or depicted in IRREVERENT Magazine are referenced only for criticism or comment, and are not intended to imply an endorsement of IRREVERENT nor any other product or service unless explicitly stated otherwise.