President-Elect Donald Trump has vowed that on Day One, transgenderism would be a thing of the past, given no more attention than a dust devil under the bed, swept up, tossed in the trash, and forgotten. No more trannie storytellers, no more sexual quacks in the Cabinet, and no more boys in girls bathrooms.
How on earth did this absurd notion ever get traction? How is it possible that the most impossibly distorted vision of human sexuality became a cause celebre? To hear the Left talk about it, one would think that the whole country was awash in a heady, fascinatingly complex sexuality - millions of women wanting to be men, loving tuxedos, butch haircuts, and swagger; and tens of millions of men locked in these same sexual algorithm waiting for an opportunity to wear dresses and perfume. Being gay wasn't enough, although God know the Bernal Heights tough girls were about as close to teamsters and pipe-fitters as the real thing.
Hermaphrodites are an uncommon but recorded natural phenomenon - half-women, half-men existing comfortably in one skin, who if well-tempered could get along quite well in Athens, Rome, or Alexandria; but transgenderism is a weird twist of this already unusual permutation. Transgenders are women who feel they are men and vice-versa. A lot of subjectivity, no vagina+penis, labia+glans. just a general dissatisfaction with how a person was born, nothing to point to, just a notion.
Progressives came by all this quite naturally. Once you have subscribed to a particular ethos - in this case diversity, equity, and inclusivity and the oppressive nature of American society which has always denied alternative identity, minorities, or the marginalized - then you start looking under rocks. The more queer, unlikely, unusual expressions of humankind, the better. The big tent is spacious and needs to be filled.
When these same progressives found only newts and salamanders under the rocks, and found only a few sexually ambivalent studs and mares, they decided to promote the whole idea of transgenderism. It would be just the thing, the calling card of the socially reforming Left, the one issue that would not only highlight heterosexual obsession, patriarchy, and male privilege; but call out American society in general for being a culture of low-brow, bass-boat, gunrack ignoramuses.
So, under the banner of rainbow inclusivity, the Left sold the country a bill of goods. There were sexually confined, oppressed, sexually despondent Americans in every neighborhood and in every family. More importantly - and this was the marketing, promotional genius of sexual sponsorship - transgenderism is the brightest color in the rainbow, the one distinctive quality that makes you heart and soul progressive, All the rest - environmentalism, Black Lives Matter, MeToo, and capitalism - are nothing compared to coming out as trans. They are temporary, fungible, insignificant as signifiers. Only coming out as a transgender provides the imprimatur, the union card, the certificate of progressive thinking that gives indelible identity and belonging.
Yet Americans are not the fools that progressives think. Bass boats, gunracks, and tobacco chaws aside, they cannot be quite so easily snookered; and while the harpies of Washington were pushing their wares, millions of people who had their own version of ethos - heterosexuality, normal procreation, historical example, and Biblical certitude - said 'Basta!' and the weird sisters of the capital were thrown out of office.
The supposed millions of transgenders or transgender wannabes will disappear on Day One of the Trump presidency. The emperor's new clothes - the naked arrogance of the socially mesmerized Left will be visible. The entire fiction, the tall tale, the fable of transgenderism will be gone with the flourish of a pen. What never was in the first place will never be again. The charade, the bullying, the hollers of 'Come out, come out wherever you are' will end.
Bertine Hubert, aka Herbert Hubert, was one of the many caught up in the new President's clean sweep, but in her case, she was just as glad to get back to screwdrivers and bolt-cutters and her old self - a hairy thug of a man who was bored enough to put on a dress and apply for a job at the Department of Labor. No one on the vetting team questioned the 'Other' gender tick mark on the application form, nor had any intention of checking below the waist, so her union card, factory credentials, and solidly Democratic voting record were quite enough. The Department had plenty of black people and women, but no transgenders who could give labor and management a taste of the new America.
Now that Donald Trump had been elected, and the joyride was over, it was time to let the hair grow back on her legs, lose the falsies and makeup, and return to hawking and spitting. Herbert back in the day was a man's man - a beery, profane son of a bitch - and his buddies knew exactly what he was up to when he went trans, a fabulous caper that took balls and a nose for opportunity. He would be pulling down high six figures if he played the sex card right. These liberals were fools' fools and would swallow any story, and confabulated sensitive telling. America is loaded with stories of successful imposters, marvelous imitators and conmen, so why shouldn't a steelworker in the Chillicothe plant be one of them?
And so it was that Herb didn't simply resign his post, but bared all to the sycophants in HR, hairy chest and big dick, said thank you for your service, and walked out on all-embracing, cockamamie sexual fantasy.
A returning hero he was, treated to boilermakers and chili at Domino's, the man who did the impossible, walked into official Washington, did nothing but show up, cashed his check, ditched his pearls and high heels, and came back smelling of real sweat. An in-your-face coup, a bald-faced outrageous vaudevillian act, a brilliant disrupting of the queer cabals of the capital.
'Now what?', asked his shift mate.
'Barcalounger, mate', replied, 'and another round for everybody'.
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