I’m starting to recover my (dry) sense of humor about the world, not merely as a black-humor-is-the-best-defense mechanism, but in being able to laugh, rather than rail, at fools.
I might end up under the treads of a tank, but at least I’ve remembered that nobody can make me stop laughing at them. The bubble is popped, the blister is lanced, the pimples pinched.
I’m still struggling. But just knowing that there are people out there–relatives–who live so desperately in a black-and-white world that they accuse the reports of Trump staring at the eclipse as being fake news in order to embarrass our impeccable president, well, it amuses me.
It undermines the bullshit illusion of infallibility that they project on every topic, from global warming to abortion to “history,” too. It’s all just bravado and bad logic, a lack of critical thinking–it was never a well-thought-out point of view…
…Just a really weird game of telephone that led to a pet-shop beta fish with the nuclear codes. I get that the stakes are high, after all. But that’s no reason not to laugh.
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If you liked this post, please check out my 80s-style horror novel, One Dark Summer Night, a fairy tale of you-done-screwed-up-now monsters.