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This shit isn’t fucking funny

Why President Trump’s Twitter Account Isn’t a Laughing Matter

None of this shit is funny.

No matter how you justify SNL’s new season with the laughter and viewership it deserves. No matter how many times we retweet and re-share the ugliness of what we’ve become — even in the patronized indignation of a man that was not born to lead under any circumstances — we’re still perplexed by the musings of a shallow being — of click-worthy ability.

President Trump is fundamentally a bad person.

It’s also factual to state that the bullish New Yorker can’t even stand himself. The night he birthed “covfefe” was the escalation of his disdain. There have been tons written about Donald J. Trump — and as varied the output — the one thing that matters is that he is prone to sudden outbursts and incessant name calling.

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He’s a joke. And it’s NOT funny.

His reckless tantrums wouldn’t be an issue of national security if frantic updates from the Commander-in-Chief about impending doom — and the reasons why “small islands” in the middle of the ocean — didn’t hold the weight of non-stop panic.

He’s the reincarnation of King George III of England who was also prone to the madness of rulers — who have lost their shit and need to be subdued with the privilege of jewels and the lives that perish to keep Whiteness the worthy default.

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English actor Nigel Hawthorne being “mad’ on purpose during the 1991 theater production of “The Madness of King George”

It’s not remotely funny that in response to Americans currently in the heat of one of the worst disasters in the history of our existence — the presidential Twitter account commences to unleash hideous jargon about why innocent lives deserve to drown with their “power-hungry” mayor as a reluctant witness.

It’s not fucking funny that we aren’t taking this sinking ship seriously.

Paul Ryan and the well-suited henchmen that are deaf and dumb to the messaging emanating from the seat of power — have blood on their hands. The gross negligence assigned to a region that is one of us can’t ever be validated with forms of identification.

We elected a celebrated gangster into The White House and somehow imagined that a wealthy thug who proudly refuses to pay his taxes — would possess the empathy required for situations of national duress.

And now we gleefully endorse the satirical offerings from institutions that have made a fortune from the skill of comedic translation. You will continue to give Trump his due when you tune in and delightfully applaud the skits of our lifetime.

But, why are you laughing?

The memes, the clever comebacks, the religion of hating the most hated guy in the universe — always ends up being another day shelved with evidence that historians will be orgasming over — for decades to come.

What about now? How do we calm this motherfucker out of our comedic tendencies and into the realm of a bloody revolution?

Well, we have to be revolutionary.

I’m a straight up pussy. I have all this fierceness and yet I hide behind words and the keyboard that I play with — when I’m restless. But outside of literary pleas and late responses to comments from friends and foe — I’m basically doing what you’re doing.

Except the adherence to Alec, Kate and the guest stars and cast members that fill in for the funny people in the Oval Office.

I can’t laugh about the President of the United States, using his Twitter account with the carelessness of a two-year-old who seizes any opportunity to test the maddening crowd.

Trump is the only one who should be laughing — uncontrollably.

Without him the Emmys and all the shows committed to his movements would be extinct. He has made networks richer and his mind-boggling posts — are actually giving Twitter the incentive for the 280 characters.

We’re uplifting the realization that we are stuck with a man-baby — with a terrible tan, yellow hair and the potent need to pick fights with other leaders who are trying to survive the consequences of activated or natural disasters.

From London to the “small island” that is woefully inaccessible — there are transcripts that prove why the world will surely end before we can believe it.

We have to stop laughing.

We can extend our expiration date by taking this ungodly shit seriously. We can stylize the progress we are seeking by ignoring the streaming of Kardashian babies and forgetting why Saturday Nights with NBC — used to be tragically fun. We can ignore the twitter account in question and give the platform owners a new issue to conquer — when their source of revenue becomes drastically depleted.

Dear Capitol Hill — you are silently laughing at the gaping wound of a nation that you ignore with the authority of a splattered legacy — that began with burning Native Americans — and the chains of slaves — that still rattle with every second of irresponsibility — that entertains Saturday Nights — but hampers the week with the sorrow of disintegrating souls.

These carcasses are tapped in the horror of America. The country that is laughing at how the monster of our fears is fêted — under studio lights of privileged performers with very little to lose — and all the awards and dollars to gain.

Who are we as people when we allow moneybags with specific motivations to delegate how we save Americans from America.

We are idiots with gullible clicks and a particularly destructive affinity for twitter accounts that purposely offload major cash that none of us are receiving unless we run the world or Silicon Valley.

Think about it. Yeah, it’s not funny. Today, the laughter ends for me. What about you?

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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