When people have asked me what MDMA (Or Molly, or Ecstacy for those of us old enough to remember when it was called that) feels like, I’ve always said it’s like when you first open the dryer and take your favorite blanket, still warm, and press your face into it. That dopamine rush, of love, and safety, and home, that’s what MDMA feels like. And then, after it wears off, a day or so later, it feels like that same blanket, now cold and just a blanket, is wrapped around your brain squeezing the joy, elation and happiness right out of it. The GOP has eaten quite a lot of DJ Donald Trumps drugs in the last year and they’re kicking in hard now, and if we allow him to become president, we’re all in for one hell of a come-down.
I can understand why the GOP wanted what he was selling, at least from their point of view. The way they see it their country has been subjugated by a president that doesn’t speak for them, doesn’t look like them, and hasn’t rebuilt it the way the GOP would after the economy crashed (under a GOP president, SUCH a bummer). To put it in more ravey terms, they’ve had a real shit 8 years and really need a good kick to the serotonin receptors. And DJ Donald Trump has just the prescription for them.
He tosses them to the hoards like he’s feeding hungry ducks. Eat this pill for immigrants, yeeeeeessss, we’re building a wall! SO LONG Ramon. Bang this one for guns, oh shit this is good stuff, I can take my gun everywhere? I can take it when I swim! Coming down? How about a double stacker for trade, Jesuuuuus I’m peaking! We’re gonna WIN WIN WIN Trump can sell ice to the guys who sell ice TO the Eskimos. I never want this night to end.
Standing on his podium, DJ Donald Trump has whipped the electorate into a frenzy, arpeggiating his trippy ideas with a calculated rhythmic gesticulation at his own personal Electric Donald Carnival. And lesser DJ’s, ones who believe in generally the same type of music as Trump but would never give their crowds such strong shit, so extreme a bass drop, have seen their audiences shrivel and die. Ticket sales are off. So now they’re beginning to play Trump’s music so they can hold on to the dilated masses so desperate for the rush of change he promises.
But just like the group from Orange County who are now your best friends and back-rub partners this night cannot go on forever. Trump’s disco is a wild and crazy night that would end the way most movies about wild and crazy nights end, with schism, disaster and trying to remember where your keys are. I can’t fault Trump on his showmanship, he puts on events with the psychological frenzy of Daft Punk actually playing the trash-fence (it will happen one year, I promise) but his frenzy is dangerous. The Hangover was an entertaining movie to watch, but try living it and see how funny you think it is then…