Standing in line at the grocery store yesterday, an exchange between neighbors really brought home to me all that Trump has done for this great nation of heroes, purple mountains majesty, cheesy curls, curly cheese, and two-year election campaigns. The checkout girl was a lovely young woman about ten years younger than me, with elaborate tattoo sleeves and long, dark hair. Ridgewood (where I live) is a healthy mix of Eastern Europeans and Hispanics from Ecuador and Mexico and so forth, along with African Americans and all the other sorts of Americans. Anyway, an older white fellow in front of me in line was needling the clerk about politics, citing his Trump support for sending all the brown people back and quoting statistics he "saw on the news."
"Yeah, I'm Puerto Rican and have tattoos, but at least I'm not ignorant," the clerk scoffed.
I'm grateful to Donald Trump for this shining moment. Why? Because a mere few years ago, before the dawning of the Donald and his tireless fight to save us from political correctness, I would never have known that nice-looking Polish gentleman was a huge racist. And he had a reeeally thick accent. So he had clearly, you know. Thought this whole immigration thing through.
Harvey Milk has long been a hero of mine. The first openly gay man ever to be elected to public office in my home state of California, he famously said in 1978, "We are coming out to fight the lies, the myths, the distortions...and I want you to talk about it. You must come out. Come out to your parents, your relatives." These are powerful words. The message could not be more simple: be yourself, and entirely yourself, and be open and true about it. If you're gay, be openly gay. And if you're a racist bag of dicks with a coiffure that looks like a long-haired marmalade tabby just hacked up a hairball on your face, then be a racist bag of dicks with a coiffure that looks like a long-haired tabby just hacked up a hairball on your face.
Have you ever sat through a holiday party back home and wondered whether or not Uncle Kenny was getting a little too impassioned in his defense of border militias? Wonder no longer! Come out, come out, Uncle Kenny! You must come out. You must wear your colors with pride. So what if they're a sort of tepid, pasty beige? All the better! Be yourself, Uncle Kenny. We are here for you. Come out.
It can be difficult for families to cope with sudden changes like this, when previously Aunt Flora merely had a "Beware of Dog" sign on her house because "the blacks don't like dogs" (I have actually physically heard someone say this), and now Auntie is wearing a Confederate flag print house dress. Transitioning is a challenge and can be fraught with pitfalls. If your loved one decides to self-identify as a Trump supporter, here are some definitions of key terms and phrases that might cause awkward moments unless they're fully understood.
"I hate seeing signs in Spanish. I mean, this is America." -- I'm a racist asshat.
"We should repeal birthright citizenship." --I'm a racist asshat.
"Mexican immigrants to states that used to be Mexico before we invaded Mexico in an internationally criticized war of unchecked aggression are ruining the economy." --I'm a racist asshat.
I hope this clarifies matters.
Thank you, the Donald Trump. Thank you for doing so much for our closeted racist community. If a Nobel Peace Prize is not in your future, I will be very much surprised. And remember: if you are a card-carrying angry white person with a chip on your shoulder who thinks Obamacare ruined the nation, and that the Tea Party makes some really great intellectual points, and that the Founding Fathers want you to tweet rude things about Megyn Kelly's vagina at her, then come out!
We are all better off knowing what you really think. Trust me.