Affairs Of State - Donald Trump, Young Women, And The Real Business Of Governance

As many have written, the second Trump Administration will not so much represent a change in party leadership, but of culture.  Trump, Musk, Ramaswamy et al are about to engineer the greatest political turnabout in American history, a cultural revolution that makes Mao's Great Leap Forward look like child's play.  Already the Trump team has show its intentions and political verve, not waiting for Inauguration Day to put its imprimatur on Washington. 

 

The old, faded, tired and worn liberalism of the Biden era is a thing of the past.  No more race, gender, ethnicity.  No more diversity, equity, and inclusion.  No more self-hating recrimination. No more peace at any price, no more climate change hysteria and cries of white privilege.  The new administration will be a patriotic meritocracy - only the most talented, able, courageous, and loyal need apply. Affirmative action, gender reassignment, and wealth distribution become footnotes of history, discredited, hopelessly idealistic, and destructive bits of faux idealism. 

The White House will be alight with glamour - a neo-Camelot but a populist one of movie stars, a meeting place for the glitterati of America, all sequined, dressed to the nines, high-heeled, perfumed beauties.  It will be an all-night club, a 24/7 rave, a place to see and be seen and not a dowdy, sensible-shoed matron in sight.  Every Vogue-ready face, every tanned limb, every sleek sheath will proclaim the coming of a new age, one without sanctimony, shame, or correctness.

There will be no tip-toeing, carefully worded speech.  The Borscht Belt, that irreverent cavalcade of high-spirited puncturing of correctness, a lambasting free-for-all, taking on all comers and leaving no one spared from their vicious wit and poison arrows. 'If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen', said former President Harry Truman, a man without a pretentious bone in his body and a defiance of all who did. 

The White House and all of official Washington for that matter will come out of the heterosexual closet.  Gone will be the lionization of weird sexual possibilities, the championing of the asymptotic ends of the sexual bell curve. Red meat, hot chicks, and let's have at it will be the new memes. The wraps, blinders, straps, and harnesses tossed aside.  The Emperor has new clothes and so does the entire city of Washington. 

Men and women in the new official Washington will pair off with regularity.  Sex will rule, not some neo-Puritanical MeToo sexual sanctimony.  'May I touch you there?' will be replaced by a go-ahead radical feminism, one which dismisses notions of weakness and need for protection - women with agency, sexual allure and desire, and all-out determination will be the in-crowd. 

'We were right' shouted the cadres of silly-billy chador-minded advocates of sexual 'propriety', those who  turned normal desire into accounting; but they were as wrong as could be.  Their penitential reformism was a thing of the past, and they were unprepared for the dismissal.  How could this be, they howled?  Such a righteous effort, such a pure, unsullied vote for women and a challenge to misogyny and woman-hatred one and done?  Gone? Tossed out as though it was a piece of old chicken?

For four years and much longer in gestation, this sanctimony became received wisdom, as set in stone and as absolutely right as the Ten Commandments; and now in one fell swoop it was swept up with the dust devils under the Presidential bed, out into the gutter, detritus, trash. 

This is what hurt most.  Transition was supposed to be gradual and genteel; but the Trump juggernaut came into Washington like the Mongol armies of Genghis Khan charging down Pennsylvania Avenue lining it with severed heads on spikes, headed for the seats of power.  This was not what progressives had planned.  Theirs was a Hitlerian-style vision of a Tausend Jahre Reich - a Thousand Year Reich which would last long beyond.  Progressivism was the final establishment of righteous historical order. Like Islam, there would be no prophets after progressives' Muhammad. 

So in comes Donald Trump, all bluster and braggadocio, at the top of his game, nothing to lose, fire in his belly and vengeance in his heart.  Not only were progressives leaving town, they were scurrying for cover.  After years of lawfare, empty accusations, ad hominem attacks, and incessant, whiney nastiness, they were about to get what was coming to them. 

For the time being, political retribution will remain on the shelf.  It is party time in Washington, a long-awaited ball, a cotillion, an exuberant end to the moody, dark, punitive legacy of the Left.  Happy days. 

It is quite a scene to behold - joyous Trumpists coming into town on Mardi Gras floats, all pasties and G-strings, showing off their birthday suits in style; and mourning Bidenites dragging their way out the exits, a beaten, dispirited lot.  Except for Kamala Harris who unbelievably but characteristically proclaiming victory and touting her run for President in 2028.  

She, the woman who singlehandedly did in the Democratic Party, engineered a coup of a sitting President to feather her own nest, who ran on race and gender ('I am a proud black woman') and nothing else, a sense of entitlement worse than Hillary Clinton's and sent to the showers by an American public who were tired of elitism, blackness, and female 'empowerment'

Back? Her?  You must be joking, but arrogance and presumptive righteousness are the stock and trade of politicians and honed to a sharp edge among progressives.  

America is in for a Barnum & Bailey circus, a wild jamboree, a cavalcade of high-stepping majorettes and drum majors, all of whom provide the music and dance for the serious business going on behind closed doors - a radical uprooting of political privilege, ensconced bureaucrats, and the ponderous government of state. 

Trump's hero is Javier Milei, the new President of Argentina whose mantra is Afuera!, goodbye to big government, and whose iconic image is the chains saw.  'You ain't seen nothing yet', shouted Elon Musk to a crowd of thousands on Inauguration Day. 

Procreation - How Something Simple Turned Into A Circus Menagerie

Lois and Amanda got married in a same-sex ceremony moved to Bernal Heights, lived the flannel-and-jackboots tough girl life for two years, and then realized that their life together, however happy and delectable it was, was missing something - children.  Both women had grown up with many siblings, and a house full of kids was their ideal until it dawned on them that they were as immutably gay as the Rock of Gibraltar, and that life was a zero sum game - you chose a life partner of the same sex but gave up procreation. 

 

Not exactly it turned out, for reproductive health had come a long way since their coming out, and as unpleasant a thought as artificial insemination might sound - Amanda having grown up on a farm could only think of the cows rammed up the twat with a syringe full of bull semen - it was the answer to their dreams. 

But who would be the donor, they both wondered?  Not just any fool who jerked off in a cup but a Harvard graduate, or better yet a blonde, blue-eyed Stanford man.  Neither woman had anything against Jews, but that's what they would likely get from Harvard.  

To their delight and surprise, the market for sperm had grown exponentially, and there were now counselling agencies which could mix and match single sex married women with the right donor.  Prices varied according to desirability and donor anonymity was assured, and the Gay Women's Fertility Center, a top of the line, five-star agency guaranteed satisfaction.  

Although their clients would have to wait and see whether or not the promotional enthusiasm paid off, surprises at birth were not common. Clients would get what they paid for within the bounds of the realm of probability of course, given the complexity of the double helix and the fact that two individuals, donor and recipient  were involved. 

 

Once the first step had been taken - money down and signatures on the bottom line - Lois and Amanda would have to decide who would be the carrier.  Pregnancy was no walk in the park, and since both women had strongly and urgently denied their womanhood long ago - lesbianism for them was not just two women preferring sex with other women; it was a neutering, spaying decision.  They wanted no part of anything feminine, woman, or C&C - Cunt and Cervix.  Pregnancy was a disgusting thought, but one of them had to do it, and a flip of the coin - a la Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men, a movie they both loved - simply wouldn't do it. 

Mandy had an idea.  'Lois, what about my brother? He's a hunk, blonde and blue-eyed, and smart as a whip.  He would do it for nothing.  You would be the recipient and the child would have both our DNAs. What do you think?'

Lois thought a minute - this option as ideal as it sounded would still give her morning sickness, bloat, discharge, and the awful moments of a painful birth; but in the end she agreed, the brother was approached and a date set at the clinic for 'the transfer' as the agency called it. 

Now, the fertility clinic was used to anonymous high-quality donors whose sperm was used to impregnate hundreds of women, so without thinking the brother's donation got frozen and stored as Donor #34263F to be used at a later date for other clients.  All of which meant of course that Lois' and Amanda's child would have hundreds of half-brothers and -sisters. 

Before the baby was born, the women gave up their Bernal Heights duplex and moved to Napa where they could work remotely with the occasional trip in to San Francisco.  While at first the neighbors - mostly wine industry managers, winemakers, botanical supervisors and the like, i.e. definitely not the Mexicans who picked the grapes - looked askance at this new family, they caused no fuss.  Besides, the women had given up the dykey look for circle pins and shirtwaists and fit right in. 

When Bridey, their daughter, was seven, Amanda got a call from her brother who reported that there had been a security breach at the fertility clinic and some donors' anonymity - his in particular - had been lost, and he now knew that he was father to 189 children up and down the East Coast. 

Amanda was at first taken aback, but loving her brother as she did, found it satisfying in a way that he was the father of so many.  A Bardolater, she remembered Shakespeare's procreation sonnets where he urges his young man to have as many children as possible, so divinely beautiful was he.  It was his duty, the 'poet' urged, his responsibility to populate the world with intelligence, sensitivity, ability, and insight.  'That's my brother', said Amanda. 

 

The women lived in a brave new world of diversity, equity, and inclusivity and there was neither secrecy nor shame in any sexual combination and permutation.  The gender spectrum was real, and it mattered not where on it you fit as long as it felt right and good. Procreation, unfortunately still bound by ovum and sperm dynamics, was nevertheless fungible, and couples of all possible sexual inclination were exploring fertility; so it was not without curiosity that Amanda and Lois went to their first Donor #34263F jamboree. 

They were not sure what to expect, for lesbian parenting couples certainly would be in the vast minority, so dreams of hookups and menages a quatre were unrealistic; but to see hundreds of Bridey's brothers and sisters would be a treat for them and her.  A family reunion of impossible proportion, a child's garden of playmates and a field full of new friends. 

Amanda asked her brother if he wanted to attend, but she was not surprised when he demurred. His was a one-off brother-sister thing, and the fact that his DNA was now common property, a cheery thought in someone more egocentric, was of no interest whatsoever. 'And some of these bitches might come after me', not an impossibility particularly since the law was not yet crystal clear on the subject of donor paternity. 

 

The conservative press somehow got wind of the event and sent a reporter in mufti to attend, and the piece went viral.  'Perversion...twisted, fucked up pseudo-buggery...Sodom and Gomorrah...' were some of the more temperate responses to the article; but Amanda and Lois were progressives and such viral screeds were far beyond their media orbit.  To them the jamboree was a delightful family affair, and they did in fact meet some likeable lesbian couples; but it was Bridey's event, a happy-go-lucky time of innocence for hundreds of seven-year olds. 

The New York Times finally picked up on the story and championed the notion, a celebration of diversity, procreation and family all wrapped up in one.  Lois and Amanda saw the report this time and were proud of their decision and that of so many other women. 

'Shall we do it again?', Lois asked Amanda one morning over Earl Grey, a question left dangling until the bell rung for the microwaved croissants, and the train of thought was interrupted, deliberately thought Lois, but then again all couples regardless of sexuality have their differences 

I Suppose That Means There's No Easter Bunny - The End Of Santa Claus And Airy-Fairy Political Giveaways

President Joe Biden in a paroxysm of federal spending, has opened the sluice gates, turned on the faucets and let forth a grand ol' opry, end-of-term giveaway extravaganza. In its last heaving throes, the Democratic Congress has signed off on unaccountable trillion of taxpayer dollars, poured into bridges to nowhere, buckets of welfare handouts, faded, failed social schemes of uplift and self-esteem, and every other idea that never got off the ground in his four years in office. A final I love you wave to the American people, a Christmas gift, a last hurrah, and an in-your-face take-that to Musk, Ramaswamy who will from Day One turn off the old man's spigots.  

Democrats have always been a tax-and-spend party, a legacy of Franklin Delano Roosevelt who opened the Treasury doors to all comers until the nation could get its financial house in order and get back to business.  Rescuing the country from the Great Depression was one thing, but the assumption of government autocracy was another altogether.  Democrats knew a good thing when they saw it, and began decades of unaccountable social idealism - billions after billions in feel-good programs of charity and compassion which had no markers of performance, no end dates, no rates of return.

Thanks to Roosevelt the Democratic Party became the perennial no-questions-asked Santa Claus, a give and thou shalt receive more ethos of ungrounded largesse.  In the most distortedly ironic justification for such profligate spending, Democrats said to the American people. 'It is your money, and we are returning it to you'. 

Highway robbery was what it was, taking from individual taxpayers money they would never see again, down the rathole in schemes of vain idealism. 'We shed a tear for our fellow man', shamelessly grieving lawmakers said as they flooded every corner of the country with fairly tale programs of uplift,  generosity, and doing the right thing.

In the most callow, thoughtless, politically driven gesture of Biden's presidency, he simply opened every coffer, every money bin, every treasury, and every account to show the American people what a good man he is, to establish his legacy as a person of good, and to etch in voters' minds the Democratic ethos of generosity. 

All for naught as the Trump, Musk, Ramaswamy legions come to town, dedicated with a disassembling passion not seen in even the most conservative Republican administrations.  This unconscionable waste and fraudulently political spending would stop.  Accountability and performance would replace aimless generosity and emotional investment. 

 

From where did such mindless idealism come?  Although it was facilitated by FDR who built the foundations of the neo-socialist state, it had its origins further back in American history.  The Progressive Movement (1890s-1920s) provided the credo, doctrine and liturgy.  George, Sullivan, Steffens and others combined pre-socialist distributive notions with sentiments of populism and 'collective investment'.  

Although the movement lost steam and energy as the country turned from social idealism to surviving the Depression, it never lost its appeal.  There was something about the fabulous entrepreneurial juggernaut of American capitalism that was unsettling, and the Russian Revolution of Marx, Lenin, and the Soviets gave new weight and credence to American progressivism. 

Time after time, regardless of the febrile intellectualism of socialist leaders, the profound corruption of the labor movement, and the vitality and promise of the private sector, progressives held on to their idealism and increasingly self-righteous sense of community with the poor, laboring classes. 

Now, in the full bore of the conservative restoration in Europe, the Americas, and Asia, voters are turning away from liberalism's false promises towards a more firmly-based, historically relevant future of individual enterprise, economic opportunity, private initiative, and personal responsibility.  Government is no longer looked at the great caretaker, the provider, the guardian; but the thief, the brigand, and the con artist. 

The American Left sees what's coming - the inauguration of Donald Trump will usher in an administration of radical conservatism only imagined by Ronald Reagan.  The architecture of the Big State will be dismantled, federal departments will be eliminated, states and municipalities will be told in no uncertain terms that they are now on their own and can no longer depend on government largesse to keep them in power.  

Unproven, unaccountable federal programs will disappear and the leashes and harnesses taken off the private sector.  Tax burdens will be relieved at all levels of society, and individuals and corporations will have more of their money to spend as they see fit. 

Most importantly, at the core of this reformation will be a change in ethos - idealism and feel-good, faux charity will be gone; and opportunity will be celebrated in its stead. Economic prosperity, social mobility, and full participation in everything American will be a function of individual and corporate enterprise, not government hand-holding.  Diversity of intellectual ability will replace the identity culture and by so doing will people all institutions with the most talented.  Respect for religious conviction, so important in the founding days of the Republic, will return.  Patriotic sentiment will replace depressive, downside only, thinking. 

The new President of Argentina, Javier Milei stand before a magnetic board on which are the handwritten names of government ministries.  One by one, he pulls them off and throws them to the floor. 'Afuera!', he shouts after removing them, 'Afuera', and to plaints from the Left about the poor, the marginalized, the disenfranchised, he shouts, 'No hay plata'. There is no money! and I will be damned if I take any more from the good citizens of this nation. 

Giorgia Meloni, President of Italy in speech after speech condemning illegal immigration, demands the same responsibility - enough is enough, she says, and if any public money is to be spent, it will be spent on Italians. Citizens of Chicago shout the Mayor down for spending billions of their money on outsiders, mooches, and gang-bangers. No hay plata!

The hysterical spending of Joe Biden is important because it is politically existential.  The political tied is turning on every continent, and such bald-faced financial irresponsibility will soon be a thing of the past. Biden will not be remembered for his generosity, but for his foolishness.

It is good for America than not only is this failed Administration soon to be history, but that the death knell of progressivism has tolled.