right wing hysteria

Let’s dispense with the “Democrats are just as bad” defense. First, I don’t much care; we collectively face a party in charge of virtually the entire federal government and the vast majority of statehouses and governorships. It’s that party’s inner moral rot that must concern us for now. Second, it’s simply not true, and saying so reveals the origin of the problem — a “woe is me” sense of victimhood that grossly exaggerates the opposition’s ills and in turn justifies its own egregious political judgments and rhetoric. If the GOP had not become unhinged about the Clintons, would it have rationalized Trump as the lesser of two evils? Only in the crazed bubble of right-wing hysteria does an ethically challenged, moderate Democrat become a threat to Western civilization and Trump the salvation of America.
Indeed, for decades now, demonization — of gays, immigrants, Democrats, the media, feminists, etc. — has been the animating spirit behind much of the right. It has distorted its assessment of reality, giving us anti-immigrant hysteria, promulgating disrespect for the law (how many “respectable” conservatives suggested disregarding the Supreme Court’s decision on gay marriage?), elevating Fox News hosts’ blatantly false propaganda as the counterweight to liberal media bias and preventing serious policy debate. For seven years, the party vilified Obamacare without an accurate assessment of its faults and feasible alternative plans. “Obama bad” or “Clinton bad” became the only credo — leaving the party, as Brooks said of the Trump clan, with “no attachment to any external moral truth or ethical code” — and no coherent policies for governing.
We have always had in our political culture narcissists, ideologues and flimflammers, but it took the 21st-century GOP to put one in the White House.

The GOP’s moral rot is the problem, not Donald Trump Jr.

This was written by Jennifer Rubin, a life-long Republican who I have disagreed with on just about everything in the history of life. If there were more Republicans like her, we likely would not have a congress that has utterly abdicated its co-equal role in government to put a check on an unhinged president like this one.

She has principles, at least, unlike far too many tribal Republicans who exist on a steady diet of right wing talk radio, Fox News, and Glenn Beck peddled bullshit.

anonymous asked:

Just so you know, if you ever write a one-shot about Chloe and Lucifer as president and first gentleman, I would read the shit out if it. I didn't even know I need it but now I think that would be the most hilarious thing

pure crack based on my tags from this post, Lucifer’s feelings about Trump, and the fact that I think we could all really use this.

“Wow,” says Chloe Decker, President-elect of the United States of America, as she stares at her new office. A windowless corner cubicle, it is not. She laughs a little unsteadily, as the gravity of it finally, finally seems to be hitting. “So, uh, that’s it, I guess. Not bad. And before you ask, no. We absolutely may not have sex on the desk.”

Her devoted spouse pouts. “Bloody hell, you already stopped me from jumping on the bed in the Lincoln Bedroom and now this. It’s like you’re determined not to let me have any fun at all. Besides, I can’t do anything any more degrading to it than he did.”

Despite herself, Chloe snorts. “Answer’s still no.”

“Oh, come on, Senator. Just once?”

“No, I said. And you’re going to have to get used to calling me Madam President, remember?” Chloe turns to grin up at her husband. In exactly six days, America’s First Gentleman is going to be one Lucifer Morningstar, and America is going to have absolutely no idea what hit it. The Westboro Baptist Church has already announced plans to picket the inauguration, delighting Lucifer inordinately, and the right wing nut job online hysteria factory has been double-overtime blowing gaskets on theories about how these are the biblical End Times and Satan has taken over America (“oh bless them, look how hard they’re working to prove I’m the Devil, it’s adorable”), but the rest of the country is too relieved at getting rid of Chloe’s predecessor to care. There is still a distinct whiff of orange about the whole place, and of course he’s been a massive sore loser and has made the transition as purposefully unhelpful as possible. But Chloe is armed and ready to go. She wasn’t intending on running for president so early in her career, though she did have it in mind after quitting acting and following her dad, a greatly respected U.S. Senator from California who was shot at a re-election event in 2000, into politics. Like him, she’s one of the critically endangered species who thinks she can really make a positive difference in people’s lives, and after a stint in the state legislature, two terms in the House, getting elected to the Senate and her dad’s old seat soon after she turned thirty, and being tipped as a rising star in the Democratic Party to take down Führer Cheeto Voldemort in 2020, here she is. It’s a surreal and emotional moment, to say the least. But they made it.

“Well,” Lucifer says, as they continue to stare at the Oval Office and Chloe tries to imagine herself sitting there, reading briefings, making decisions, fielding calls from foreign leaders. The work part, at least, is not going to be a problem for her. “As the presidential spouse, do I at least get to plan the entertainment? Play piano at state dinners, order the strippers?”

“Lucifer, we have gone over this. Absolutely no strippers at state dinners.”

“Right, right. We are running a classy White House again.” He snaps his fingers. “And I suppose the media will have a fit if I spend a lot of money decorating the place to make it look less like your dead grandmother’s sitting room. All that china and striped wallpaper, really. It’s already bad enough that we have to have those Secret Service gits in sunglasses following us everywhere. Do they think I can’t protect you?”

“Considering what happens to you when I’m around, and that we have a lot of crazy people with guns very angry at us, I’m perfectly fine with them.” Of all of this, Chloe has worried most about the effect on Trixie, transplanting a thirteen-year-old girl across the country from Los Angeles to Washington D.C., transformed overnight from an ordinary tween worrying about starting high school and boys and pimples to the single most scrutinized child in the world, who will never have an entirely normal life again. Malia and Sasha are going to be by later for a chat, and Chloe has invited Barack and Michelle as her special guests to the inauguration, after all the campaigning they did for her – along with her ex-husband, former California Attorney General Dan Espinoza, and U.S. Representative Ella Lopez, from Detroit. Her new vice president, Dr. Linda Martin, has already been dubbed “America’s Mom,” and the internet loves her. (They also love Chloe and Lucifer.) Amenadiel had kittens about an angel interfering in human politics and didn’t do any events, while Maze, to prove a point, did about twenty a day. They, however, had to strictly forbid her from starting them off by running on stage dressed in black leather, cracking a whip, and yelling, “VOTE FOR CHLOE AND LINDA, PUNY MORTALS!”

As for Lucifer himself, it turns out that if you give him one of his favorite subjects (Chloe) and clear instructions (talk about how awesome she is), he is an absolute lethal weapon, stone-cold closer, on the campaign trail. Easily drew the biggest crowds, and was, of course, more than happy to take a million selfies with everyone afterward. What’s noticeable is how that feeling seems to have finally permeated the air around here again, how relieved and hopeful everyone is. They’re expecting a record crowd, and Hillary Clinton sent a personal note of thanks and congratulations. Yes, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did a lot of shit in four years. A lot. But Chloe is going to fix it, at least as much as she can. And for all his requests to jump on Abraham Lincoln’s bed and have sex on a desk built with wood from the U.S.S. Constitution, she wouldn’t have anyone else as her partner on this.

“Anyway,” she says, as they step back and start to walk. There are a thousand events to finalize, a draft of her inaugural address to look over, a few interviews to do, a press conference where she is very much looking forward to answering questions about how much the Cheeto is hating having a woman kick him out in total humiliating one-term disgrace (the Electoral College split was close to 400-138 and the popular vote was 55%-33%-12%  – yes, Gary Johnson and Jill Stein are still running, and even more bewilderingly, yes, people are still voting for them) as officially America’s least popular president ever. Chloe’s first meetings in the White House are all slotted for women’s groups and minorities and everyone else who needs their seat at the table back. “I have something else I want you to do.”

“Oh?” Lucifer looks intrigued. “And what is that?”

“Anyone I’m appointing to any post anywhere, I want you to meet them. They’re all going through the usual vetting process, of course, but you’re a lot faster than any bureaucracy – and frankly, a lot more efficient. Whatever they tell you about whatever they want or what they’re planning to do, I can use it to decide if they’re right for the job. Sussing out the scandalous secrets of the American government sounds like exactly the sort of thing you’d be good at. After all, you’ve already said plenty that this place is basically exactly like hell.”

“Ooh, Madam President.” Lucifer stops, stares at her, and grins wickedly. “You are playing a little dirty after all, aren’t you?”

“If Satan is taking over America, I intend to put him to work.” Chloe links her arm through his. “Which reminds me, on that note – ”

“Yes, I was just getting to that, thank you. Did you know that the presidential spouse usually holds the Bible on which the president is taking the oath of office? It’s terrible, I won’t do it.”

“Really?” Chloe’s eyebrows nearly arch off her head. “Really? After all this, holding the Bible on Capitol Hill for literally one minute is where you’re going to draw the line?”

“But my dear – ”

“Fine, you giant whining baby. I’ll ask Trixie to do it. I think that says something more important, anyway.”

Chloe is just trying to remember what she was actually about to say before he hijacked her train of thought, when an aide hurries up. “Madam President-elect? We need to go over a few things, if you could possibly –”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” She does have to get used to being at everyone’s permanent beck and call, so Chloe stands on her tiptoes to kiss Lucifer on the cheek, sternly admonishes him not to get into any trouble, and follows the aide. There are a few wrinkles to iron out with the order of events, she is scheduled to host Justin Trudeau in three weeks and Canada has sent a polite welcome dossier (being Canada) that she needs to read before their talks, and Penelope Decker has called about five times to make sure the dress she’s picked out for the inauguration ball is the right one. By the time Chloe is let go, it’s almost the end of the afternoon, and Lucifer has gone walkabout. Oh dear.

She is just about to ask the Secret Service if he’s taken his Corvette out for one final spin (no more tooling around in two-seater open convertibles for the president’s husband, it’ll be armored limos from this point on) when she hears a funny noise from behind one of the doors. She frowns, tilts her head, and then it comes again – which she then recognizes, breaks into a run down the expensive carpet to the door in question, and yanks it open.

Inside, Lucifer Morningstar has Donald J. Trump around the neck and hoisted into the air with one hand. Trump is wheezing and kicking, while Chloe stops dead, stares, and then bellows, “LUCIFER!”

Lucifer glances at her in innocent surprise, looks between his wife and the man whose job she is taking, shrugs, and finally drops Trump with a thump. His hairpiece falls off and slides over one eye, as he is gibbering even more incoherently than usual – seems Lucifer might have given him a taste of the full Devil Face. While she of course absolutely does not endorse this extremely illegal treatment of a sitting (alas) U.S. President, Chloe to bite her cheek hard. “Lucifer,” she orders. “Do not ever do that again.”

Lucifer looks at Trump meaningfully.

Trump whimpers.

Lucifer shrugs again, steps over him, and offers his arm to Chloe. “Come on, Madam President,” he says. “Time to go run this bloody country.”