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A Whole New World of Happy
Get rid of that baditude, starting with your party affiliation.
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Now on to this week’s column!
OMG. The scales have fallen from my eyes. I am 68 years old (20 Celsius) and everything I ever understood about making my way through the world has been turned upside down.
Seriously, it’s making me rethink everything. Do I really, really like The Third Man and foie gras? Are cows actually unattractive? What about Andy Garcia and black athletic socks? I once harbored thoughts on these subjects. More than just thoughts, actually. Unshakeable beliefs. But I simply don’t know anymore. I no longer trust my instincts.
Which is why, not to bury the lede, I’m joining the Republican Party. It's an attitude-adjustment thing.
As you know, I haven’t ’til now been a fan. I've gotten all caught up in the blame game: “dishonest, hypocritical, corrupt, selfish, cynical, racist, reactionary” … blah, blah, blah. What never occurred to me is, why stack up all those elitist adjectives when — if you can drop your prejudices for just one second — you realize it's the GOP who knows how to live.
I mean, I've spent my entire adult life addled with rage, fear and contempt over grave existential threats, while they’re all cheerfully golfing and tasseling their loafers and wolfing down prime rib and gerrymandering voting districts and sharing challenging ideas, such as “Isn't that Cindy a nice gal?” They seem so fucking happy. And now I know why.
My only coping mechanism has been a philosophy that I always understood to be incontrovertibly wise: “Don’t sweat the small stuff!” There are so many big problems in the world, why get all hot and bothered when you spill a glass of wine, or someone cuts you off in traffic or reality TV exists. There are bigger fish to fry.
Everybody “knows” that, right? Uh-huh. Has it worked for me? NO, IT HASN’T WORKED. I have completely let go of petty resentments, ignored slights, shrugged at other people’s irritating behavior. I’ve even made a conscious choice not to fret about certain major malevolent forces that frighten me, such as Putin and CVS — because what can I personally do about them?
Nothing, that’s what. So why get my skivvies in a bunch? That’s how I’ve looked at it.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. From this point forward, I take the Republican approach: I don’t sweat the big stuff. Climate doom? Pff. A hoax. Insurrection? Fake news. Rampant racism and homophobia? Says you, fag. A career criminal in absolute control of my party? Bring it the fuck on! No skin off our nose. But my God, do you see what the Radical Marxist pedos are wearing on the floor of the Senate? Baggy shorts! This on top of Osama Obama’s beige suit. Doesn’t that just burn your ass? Plus “history” and other elite book learnin’. “Season’s Greetings.” Science.
Hillary’s emails. Do you feel me?
From now on, I sweat only the small stuff. Sure, it’s all technically “upsetting.” I know because Sean Hannity and Marjorie Taylor Greene tell me so. But it’s a satisfying kind of hurt, like wiggling a loose tooth. Feels pretty damn good, actually — which is why the Murdochs are worth more than Brazil. Here’s the thing: the big stuff doesn’t really matter, or in many cases even exist. Like evidence against Trump or Covid. Whereas John Fetterman’s wardrobe is such a tasty confection. Cotton candy for the brain. And who doesn’t want that? Although, duh, we also need real nourishment.
So where are my Buffalo Wild Wings? And my AR-15? Get Kimberly Guilfoyle on the line. (Grand Old) Party on! It’s a whole new world for me, and everything’s on the table.