Big Dumb Animals: The Break-Up & Why the GOP May Not Fly

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the elephants.

You. Big. Babies.

All of you. Elon. The Don. The Con…gress. All of you. Grow –THE H– up.

Elon–buddy. You seemed wise and objective enough to give even die-hard Trumpers pause to consider your concerns with the Big, Beautiful Bill. Until yesterday.

What happened, guy? I have never seen someone torch so much goodwill, unnecessarily. And I say this as someone who likes you, is rooting for you, and thought you added validity and vision to the party. This is from someone who fully gives you credit for infusing interest, energy, and urgency into the great issues of our day, who fully believes you helped deliver the election to the right. I was with ya, buddy…until you started the most juvenile, gossip girl gabbing.

Show me on the budget where the bad man hurt you.

And you may be telling the truth. About the bill, about Epstein’s list, or whatever palace intrigue you know or think you know…I have no idea. And I don’t really care anymore. Because the way you are responding is beneath you, beneath the opportunity you have been given–not just in the administration, but in HISTORY. You are behaving beneath the critical moment that you need to rise to.

You may be right, and we may need to listen–and we will never know because now you look petty, bitter, and self-serving.

Massie, Roy, & Rand also have legitimate concerns about debt and the BBB. And they have taken it on the chin for months from the public, the pundits, their party, and their own president. (We will get to you next, Don.) They have been called names and had their loyalty and motivations questioned. But not once have they muddied or undermined their moral and monetary objections with what appears to be rage-baiting revenge. That’s it, Elon. The second you tweeted “Time to drop the really big bomb….”  you lost all credibility with me. It screamed REVENGE. You essentially said as much, and it made you look like a rejected, wounded whimperer. And then, my word…you started doom-scrolling and reposting old tweets??? Come on, have some dignity.

And Mr. President…much the same to you, sir. You are the leader of the free world. Do not engage. Give Melania your phone and take a fistful of ashwagandha. Fall on whatever sword is available, whether it belongs to you or not so that we have eight years instead of four to clean up this mess we have been handed.

Susie!! Where’s Susie Wiles?! I’d hide if I were y’all. Today’s melodrama has been an exercise in juvenile jackwagonry. Be better tomorrow.

But wait, there’s more. Because it is not just immaturity being displayed.

Whether you realize or intend it, this tit-for-tat-frat-spat is displaying a willingness and desire to see ALL OF US suffer. By both of you. By ALL OF YOU.

The “big bomb dropped…” may land partially on Elon and the President, but I doubt it. Even so, it’s easy to recover from your burns when you have billions of dollars and can soar above some of the flaming realities the rest of us live in.

But y’all’s “bro-mance-bombshell-bullsh**” for sure landed squarely on the American people. Boom! #bringoutyourdead

I said in my recent post about the Big, Beautiful Bill… “the powers and people in charge have had an on-going pissing contest for decades and only the American people end up wet.” Case in point. This is that. Soaked.

This is not adult behavior. And I don’t know if it’s just that I am surrounded by quality young people, which I am…or that I don’t have snapchat…but this isn’t even the behavior of young adults I see. Look around, Commander & Chief. We are on the precipice of very, very bad things…globally, economically, socially…We won the election but the war rages on. The frayed threads of our nation are not yet mended. And while we trim and tie them, the radicals, the judges, and an angry Egyptian are still lighting matches in hopes we burn.

We don’t have time for this kind of foolishness. We don’t have the bandwidth for this right now.

We could not be in a better political position than we are right now. And you’re blowing it.

It’s Christmas in Washington. Silent night! The left has become the rare and oft wished for gift that keeps giving. Glorious. For the love of Ralphie and his Red Ryder, all you have to do is sit patiently and wait on everyone else to unwrap it. Swalwell, Jasmine, Tapper, Acosta, Autopen-pal in prison, KJP’s “I’m an independent,” Grumpy James “the Oligarchy!” Carville… Get mad! Get masculine! What an embarrassment of riches we have!

Y’all they are sitting on the greatest political scandal in history and it was coming to a fever-pitch of white, hot light, and accountability…until now. Because “Trump did this…Elon was that…”

Did y’all not get the memo? I just know I sent it.

We don’t have to do anything except work hard, follow-through, and say little.

That’s the strategy, folks. OPERATION LET THEM KICK THEIR OWN ______.  I really feel like we talked about this? No matter. We move forward now.

What we have seen the last ten years is that no one person could withstand the might of the machine that has been carefully embedded, organized, and armed against us.

But what we saw in November is that a TEAM can win. A highly-intelligent, highly-funded, highly-visible TEAM could drag all the lies out for the unbelievers to behold. And like that hope for a return to normalcy, sanity, and common sense twinkled again. (I refuse to say Golden Era, it’s just weird.)

We have work to do, mi amigos. And yet, we have the GOP in congress acting like we have time and money for pet-projects and paybacks. Zero seriousness whatsoever about the crisis we are in financially.

Y’all don’t have time to travel. Y’all don’t have time for summer. The coronation has ended. Now we fight to keep the crown.

Wash your face. Get some sleep. Get a mediator…I’m tough but fair and available for a reasonable price. But dang it, Dumbos! If I have to stop this car one more time…and “mom you” like children into maturity…everyone will have something to cry about. Seriously. I mean that. If this happens again…we will ALL be weeping.

Pick your motivational poison and drink it up. Glad shirts, wooden spoons, sad stools, or a fricking feather to help you fly…whatever.  Start an after-hours fight club in the Red Room and bloody yourselves into a loving and right relationship. Or don’t.

But don’t you dare bring this trash out on the lawn again.