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I’ve accepted, grudgingly, that empty Miracle Whip jar filled with dead maggots with sentience Donald Trump is President of the United States. It’s a reality both horrifying (for obvious reasons) and validating, as his ascent and the support that allowed him to ascend is the best possible verification that America desperately wants to be Crash but is actually the first hour of Get Out. As much as I hate that he’s our President, I enjoy that he’s made our nation butt-ass fucking naked.
That said, I still haven’t yet fully processed and accepted that Michelle Obama is no longer the First Lady. And I know I haven’t fully processed and accepted this because whenever I hear any reference to the First Lady or FLOTUS, I still think of Michelle Obama. Like, earlier this week, when I saw headlines about the First Lady reading Dr. Seuss to kids, I thought “Man, I’d love to read Dr. Seuss books with Michelle Obama. And not as a kid. But, like, right now.” But then I clicked on one of the articles and was like “Who is this woman? This is not my First Lady.” I felt a little dizzy, and wondered if instead of clicking on that link, I’d somehow turned to QVC because the woman they’re saying is the First Lady looks like she should be selling Dyson Supersonic Hair Dryers for 40% off instead of pretending to be the First Lady. And then I remembered that Michelle Obama is no longer the First Lady. And then I got really sad and hungry for some green eggs and ham.
I’m sure I’ll get over it eventually. But I don’t want to.
