First, I saw this article. Just the kind of thing to get a bleedin’ heart like me right in the feels.
President-elect Donald Trump’s treasury nomination oversaw the aggressive foreclosure of homes belonging to vulnerable populations — particularly the elderly — when he was chairman of OneWest Bank, Propublica reported.
Now, it doesn’t take much for me to go off on a tangent, so this easily did the trick. How very typical of Trump, while not even remotely draining the swamp, to add a predator like this to his mix of obscenely wealthy hooligans. There is no part of looking out for the working class in this, not even a part of looking out for the moderately well-to-do middle and upper-middle classes. This isn’t even just predation on the poor. This is just predation on anyone with a bank account that’s not part of The Club, and caveat emptor to them, too.
But it got me wondering. What is the message to America’s poor here? So I got in touch with my inner Trump voter with a minimum of black candles and binding imprecations against the foul, unclean thing, and I learned me a thing or two about America and its past glory. Mischievous imp that my inner Trump voter is, it made me guess its name. Imagine its surprise when I guessed Trumplestiltskin, but that’s another story for another time.
I digress. What matters is that I learned that Trumplestiltskin harbors no ill will against the poor, but especially the poor trapped by race-baiting Democrats in their poverty-stricken condition, like it’s a debilitating disease for which there’s no cure. No. My inner Trump voter just loves poor people and has the cure for their incurable disease. It only took a few hours of sprinkling Trumple (which I call him for short now, because we’ve bonded a bit) with holy water and cursing him in barbarous tongues to secure his permission to share his insights.
Now maybe America as a whole, but especially the poor which will most greatly benefit from his wisdom, will finally understand the secret to America’s greatness and seize some of that greatness for themselves.
Mortal, you summoned me from that place in your heart reserved for the infernals to what? Opine on a newspaper? Are you daft? Well, fuck it. I’m here now. What do you have?
This guy is working hard to make lives better…for wealthy investors, as he should be! For poor people and victims of predatory banks? What, are you stupid? You don’t work for a product. You sell it. Screw the poor.
Let’s drop the PC crap, cuz screw all that respect shit, too. I’ll just call it the way it is. Fuck the poor. Let them eat dirt. Make America great again.
You know what made America great, what made it the great land of opportunity it used to be? If you didn’t have an opportunity where you were, you picked up and moved your stuff and your family to where there was opportunity and you worked your ass off through every obstacle until you either succeeded or crashed and burned. That was nobody’s business or problem but your own.
Damn, Trumple. That sounds idyllic. Tell me more.
That’s damned right. When your forefathers found themselves where it made more sense to face the unknown and take on more risk than it did to stay where they were and scrabble for a meager existence, they chose hardship in the great unknown over the hardship they knew. They risked everything. The ones who succeeded deserved every bit of their success. Nobody remembers the ones who didn’t. They didn’t matter. The ones who succeeded, that’s greatness. The chance for anyone to strike out on their own and find greatness was America’s greatness. You didn’t need to be a lord or lady or duke or count or prince or king. You didn’t need a coin in your pocket. Hell, you didn’t even need a horse or a wagon. You just said, “the hell with this!” and shipped out and made your own fortune in spite of every obstacle.
That sounds truly heroic. I’d want this.
Darn tootin’. Every once in a while, those obstacles were injuns. Scary bastards. Kill you in your sleep they would, and take your scalp. Savages. You know how many injuns could hide in the room your sittin’ in? As many as want to. Those obstacles? Ya killed ’em. They didn’t know nothin’ about land ownership, so it’s not like they “owned” the place they’d been living in for generations. And they were in your way. So you killed ’em. On a good day, you’d kill a lot of ’em.
Yeah, and you’d get where you were going eventually, and take your bit of land. Sometimes it was land the government gave you, because it was theirs to give somehow. Sometimes you just took it. And you worked our asses off along the way there.
You didn’t get to stop for groceries while walking through wilderness back then. You lived and ate off the land. And when you got where we were going, to where the free land was such that even poor but honest hard working people like you could get some, you lived and ate off that land. And by golly, you made it, you succeeded.
And now, generations later, leeches want to take your success away from you. Let ’em do it the way you did. Fuck ’em. Screw the poor.
I’m not sure that’s such a heroic narrative after all, now that I think about it, because it ends with a cheat, a fraud, a scam, and if someone doesn’t fall for the scam, they’re the bad guys for not being easy marks.
What’s the cheat?
What do you mean, what’s the cheat? In the name of…
Okay, okay! Look, I’ll even help by walking a poor through these simple steps in today’s terms. Even they should be smart enough to understand. Even you.
Look, broke dick. You live in a shithole. You’re used to sleeping through the sound of gunfire. You’ve done all right with the inside of the unmaintained deathtrap you rent from a slumlord. The neighborhood looks like shit. You’re afraid for your own safety from both your neighbors and from the cops. You’re worried for your kids. They’re not even safe at school. You push your kids to do as well in a shitty public school as they can so they can have a future, but even the news says that education doesn’t guarantee anything except debt. You don’t have any decent grocery stores in your area. The ones that are there charge too much for a shitty selection. If you’ve got a job, it’s probably a shitty one. And on your best nights, you go to sleep thinking at least tomorrow won’t be worse than today by much.
What are you sticking around for? What have you got to lose? Pack up what you absolutely need. Who cares about that other stuff? Seriously, you’re a poor ass. You think you have some treasures in that extra shit? No. You don’t. Because you’re poor. Not only are you shackled to your present condition by things, you’re shackled to your present condition by cheap, poor-ass things. They’re not even fucking good shackles. Hell, that by itself might almost embarrass a person into leaving. “Help, I’m shackled by cheap, poor-ass things!”
Get off your ass. Pack your shit. Hit the road. Succeed or die trying. Stop staying in failure because it’s the failure you know and feel comfortable with.
We’re not being dicks to you. This is tough love. But if you can’t deal with that, truly poors, just fuck you. Maybe even die already. Because we did it, and so can you.
Look, take your suitcase and your rifle, and start walking that way down the road. Just like your ancestors did.
Yeah, there’s dangers out there. Your ancestors had dangers out there. You deal with it. Rise to the occasion. Look, I’m even trying to give you pointers.
Now, we’re all out of injuns these days, but you’ve got all kinds of other people out there now who will just as soon kill you in your sleep, rape your women, and, you know, be savages. Now, if you walk fast with that suitcase, you should be able to make 15-20 miles in a day, easy. So, from where you are, let’s see. That’s gonna put you either here on the map right in the middle of other poors, so when you camp the sidewalk that night, sleep with one eye open. They’ll kill you and take your shit in a heartbeat.
But don’t let the local constables see you camping. They can be as savage as the poors and the injuns, but they can get away with it.
Now, if you go this way, that’ll put you here in much nicer neighborhoods, a really nice place to camp. The people there might be a bit rude, but they’re generally too sheltered to attack you themselves. They’ll just call the savages to remove you.
So, just like in the good ol’ days, if you’re camping and someone attacks you, kill ’em.
No, no, not the cops, asshole. Those are the good guys. They’re just beating you for being poor and homeless to help you leave. But you’re not “homeless” now, see? You’re becoming like your badass forefathers who let no hardship keep them from success.
No, back then, it took only a couple of minutes to get outside of town limits where your chance to succeed really starts to shine, because now you could live off the land. You’re going to have to walk a little farther to get out of town, because now, in a lot of places, it’s kinda like one town directly after another for hundreds of miles. Depending on where you’re stuck, it might take you a month or so on foot to get to prime country land. That’s where the rich living is!
So, for about a month maybe, keep hiking through neighborhoods with your suitcase and your rifle, and, by the way, it should be assumed I mean your family, too. Everyone that can handle a rifle should have one. Now, you gotta eat and keep yourself up and presentable while you’re still “in town,” so it should be no problem for your and your family with rifles to just, I don’t know, go somewhere and ask for food and some soap. Or. Well, that’s just details.
First, you and your suitcases and family and rifles need to make it out of town, after that, it’s easy. Well, not easy, but nobody said it would be. It’s just that finally nothing is holding you back. Now, look at the map here. “Out of town” this way puts you on an interstate highway. I don’t reckon too many drivers will stop to pick up a heavily armed family of poors carrying all their worldly possessions in shitty suitcases and gym bags, so count on walking. Once you’re well and truly out of town, you’ll see plenty of good game land off on either side, at least sometimes. Sometimes it’s just peoples’ back yards, and you want to stay away from those. But when you see what looks like it might be good hunting lands, you’d do well to get off that interstate, because I’m pretty sure highway patrol and state troopers might get curious about a heavily armed family of poors hiking along the shoulder.
Or, if you go this way, that’ll put you on a state road, and this way over here will put you on a county road. Me, I’d pick those. Now, if you see any developed land, you still want to stay away from that. That’s someone else’s claim, and out here, in Great America, those folks might choose shooting over calling the cops, but they’re likely to call the cops to come get your bodies when they’re done. Stick with hiking and camping your way out. So if you see a good-sized patch of land off the highway, and there should be lots after a few more days travel, well, you could camp and hunt on that, but I’d lay real low, because that land belongs to someone. You just can’t see them. The problem is if they see you. They’ll want to know why you’re on their land and come check you out. Long before they get to you, they’ll have already scoped you out with their rifles, and they’ll see that you’re a family of heavily armed poors…on their land. You don’t need a lot of public school math to do that math. Do it.
And yeah, on second thought, be really careful about hunting out there, too. Never mind big gubmint and over-regulation of hunting and all that noise. None of these people will really want you shooting their game. And if it’s not in season, local Wildlife & Fisheries badges might get to you before the local sheriff does. None of those options look really good for you.
But overcome! Your forefathers did it! Well, not your forefathers, but you know what I mean. And not entirely like that, but they did it!
Now, after months of marching around towns and countrysides as a family of heavily armed poors, eventually you’ll get to where the free land is. Well, not free free. Some of your forefathers had land grants. Well, not yours, but you know what I mean. Look into that. It’s not my job to look into it for you. I’m just telling you. Leave the hell you’re in. Go get some of that free land. Or find a town and trade your labor for a room somewhere and get a job there, which I can just about promise you is a better job than you were going to find back in your hellhole. Surely getting a place to stay in a small town away from the city will be a piece of cake for a family of heavily armed poors, and employers in the area will respect your spunk and can-do attitude.
Because if there’s one thing us Trump supporters in hard-working real America want when we want to make America great again, it’s for a bunch of heavily armed poors from the city to find their way to our towns, use our charitable resources to set up camp, and compete with us for the few jobs we have left, which would just drive our wages down more.
We fuckin’ love that.
So please, poor asses. Do what your forefathers did. Get off your lazy, fearful asses and go make your own success.
Seriously, Trumple, you don’t see the cheat in that? I weary of your contemptible presence, unclean spirit, and give you license to depart for those shadowy realms from which you came. In the name of…