A few years ago, I used to air my politics online, but I came to the realisation that being political on the internet was like an old man screaming at traffic, or like shouting into an echo chamber. I doubt I ever changed anyone’s mind or opinion or trousers by writing long polemics and then engaging in the ‘debate’ in the comments. And since I decided to be apolitical in my cyber life, I’ve enjoyed social media a lot more.
But … there’s always a but.
I can’t bite my tongue any more.
It’s time I went on a bent about this whole in or out question that’s been raging ever since forever.
There’s a valid left wing argument for being out, and it’s often overlooked because the out argument is inextricably tied up in accusations of bigotry, stupidity, and self-interest. And yes, there’s a valid right wing argument for being in too.
The trouble is, I don’t want to live in Donald Trump’s hair*.
I’m sure it’s nice and all, what with the fluffy weave, the great big brain it sits on and it is a big brain. It’s the best brain, it went to all like the big colleges, scholars say it’s the greatest brain.
But what if I want to cross the hairline and see other parts of the scalp? Well, that’s going to be impossible because of the wall he’s going to build. Nobody builds better follicle barriers than him.
I strongly suspect too, that his golden mane extends backwards down his neck, cascading beautifully down his spine, until it reaches its roots, where it grows majestically out of his gold plated ass crack. There’s probably a 7-11 in there somewhere too.
What if I get lost, take a wrong turn and end up looking at his disappointingly short Trump Tower?
No. No thanks. I’m Out.
*Yeah, this was an excuse for an unimaginative ad hominen insult.
