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Work of art.

Kathy Griffin’s Bloody Massacre is Utterly Deplorable, And I Dig It

I guess that’s what makes me American

It’s taken me awhile to adjust to how Great America has become or is becoming — I’m not sure what applies, but what I’m certain of is that this endorsed method of madness is being stuffed down my throat without much coating for comfort.

I’m sure you can relate.

The sheer horror of helplessly watching a madman who fits the description of the manic man-child who never had to grow up, because why bother when your future contains the blueprint to a gold-plated fortress — assume the highest office of the land — is a describable feeling that will forever remain bitterly torturous.

Trump won because most Americans were over it! I mean come on! Four years with Obama seemed like a doable punishment, but then he had to take it even further by being knighted for another fucking term!

The pain and agony of watching a Black family in the White House, soiling the halls of history with evidence that a new America is on the horizon must’ve been unbearable. And, yes there is cause to ponder how being White will survive the mix of watercolors, so how the hell do we rectify this national crisis?

We construct a yellow-haired brute from scratch.

Sure, he’s been around the block and dealt his fair share of blows to the meek and unfortunate. His resume is a collage of privileged brutality with the aid of a city that makes it so damn easy to be an asshole — when you literally climb the stairs to heaven to chill — after the end of trading in favors for the elite.

Trump’s remarkable victory in November may have stunned the world, but we can’t pretend that we don’t recognize the fundamentals of our historically rocky existence.

I never gave a shit about voting until the name Barack Obama hit my lips. Before then, America was a vessel that hosted the fact that I was lucky enough to be a citizen, but aside from that, the relationship was rigid at best.

All of that changed when a man with an African background, and a name that didn’t quite vibrate with a destiny that matches White men of power and might — hit the stage with anointed fury.

He held the applause until America knocked him out with the blow of vengeful immaturity — not to mention outright bullshit.

I relished the Obama years with drunken joy, I also drank a lot, but that’s beside the point. On a serious note, that period served as an in depth demonstration of my personalized view of America, which was pretty darn swell, and it could’ve lasted forever but, as you know, that goes against the laws of nature.

We now have Trump, and his arrival is like the root canal that we put off until it’s absolutely necessary. We hate the fact that we have to be drilled into submission and even though there is the shot of Novocain to help soothe our woes — it’s hard not to wish the operation didn’t have to occur in the first place.

We earned the yellow-haired oaf/brute (sorry, I like to use both) because that’s what happens when “Great” and “America” collide to breed the code that feeds into the manuscript of imperialism.

So here we are, rearranging thoughts about the turbulent climate as we hashtag our way through retweets while quoting his tweets with messages of our own — that convey exactly what we expressed half an hour ago, only this time the number of likes are higher.

The race to The White House can’t compare to the ongoing competition that involves us all — as we are tasked with coining the winning insult of the day or week — and if we’re really blessed — we will be prominently featured on the platform of your choice.

As much as I love reading what you have to say, and believe me, most of it is brilliant as fuck — I’ve been craving a heaping of potency that takes just one shot to give me a high that lasts for what seems like forever.

I got exactly that when the image of comedian and crazy White woman Kathy Griffin holding the bloody head of President Donald J. Trump hit the web.

It was glorious and orgasmic in the way that recalls fucking in public places and writhing with pleasure at the sound of footsteps and voices.

It’s a morbid portrait of what we’ve become, and how the new normal is channeling the deepest red hue for the shower of shame, as we remain hostage under the exceptionally irrational regime.

Griffin has since apologized for her epic mistake as celebs clamor for the opportunity to be the most sincere in their quest to passionately denounce such a callous and deplorable act.

Even Griffin’s New Year’s Eve partner-in-crime, Anderson Cooper sincerely expressed his disgust even though, I can swear that he released that statement while bellowing his famously high-pitched laughter.

Here’s the thing, when hear about White men slicing apart innocent victims in the name of Christianity and the promise that their president continues to make as if the impact of his words and actions are free from guilt — it’s hard to maintain any level of decorum.

Apparently I’m settling into Trump’s America a lot better than I expected because I find Griffin’s bloody Trump mask to be delectably appropriate when you consider the blood on the hands of the man in question.

Trump has willingly and actively ushered in an era that encourages the purity of hate to the degree of instructing us to function in a society where homegrown terrorism is deemed sufficient and acceptable — because White Americans need to reclaim the assurance of being White again.

As long as I, and others like me have the horrific reality of facing everyday with the likelihood that we could be attacked or killed simply because of the threat we pose to Trump’s growing army of lawful thugs — I will continue to be fixated on the gorgeous grossness of his bloody head in Kathy Griffin’s tight grasp — and not hate myself one bit for wishing it were a painting hanging on the stark white wall in my imaginary Malibu cottage.

I guess that’s what makes me American.

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