Out of All His Closets

 On a serious note, my innate compassion has been almost impossible to overcome the last few days. It’s so damned annoying and puts me on a steeper emotional roller coaster  than I normally live on. 

When I saw the profa felon fall out of all his closets and fawn over Mamdani like the pubescent, abused, gay Democrat that he has had to carry unrecognized and unloved or unlived most of his life, I was happy for him. I hoped for nearly 24 hours that it might lead to better days for him and for us - that in this demented state, wishing for a ticket into heaven, he might clear his conscience and live his truth. He might have no more reason to punish the world for his misery.

Then, he walked out yesterday without makeup or hairspray, in his Mamdani clothes, and I imagined someone being tasked with managing overnight to find that outfit for him. I pictured toddler Twitler throwing the world’s most memorable temper tantrum for a superman costume and no one even hearing him. And that’s how owning a cult  of misfit sycophants became necessary for him. 

And that took me to, “Quiet, Piggy.” I went back to watch the video again and felt it. One of the monsters who created and abused him surely pointed fingers at him and said those words to him when he threw tantrums begging for the things he thought he needed. It’s heartbreaking for me. 

I’m working my hatred for everything he has done back to the necessary forefront in my bank of emotions. Meanwhile, this might be the first roller coaster of any kind I have hated.