By Seamus O'Sparks on August 26, 2015 — 2 mins read

(Long Post Warning)
Somebody asked me the other day what I thought of Donald Trump. Under normal circumstances I might have said something flip such as, “Donald Trump is like a wet fart-unpleasant at large but entertaining enough when you’re stoned.” Or I may have waxed lofty, “Donald Trump is the premier American creation. A brutish Star-Spangled Frankenstein’s monster whose appeal confirms that people are stupid enough to equate their own cynicism with intelligence.” However, these are not normal circumstances. And on good days I can recognize the curve ball for what it is. So I responded with, “Do you really want to know what I think of Donald Trump?” Then I laid out my spiel. And here it is: There is no “Donald Trump.” I have uncovered evidence to suggest that all is not as it appears here. What we are witnessing is the perpetration of the ultimate prank. A capricious social dupe so bold and multi-dimensional that only one person could pull it off…Andy Kaufman. After laying low for more than three decades, Andy has returned to vex us. And his timing is perfect. In our climate where discourse is so much spew and we run our mouths like toxic engines, we have created a prime ecological zone for a beast like The Donald. People adore him because he, “says what is on his mind.” So does a child with Aspergers. Or me when I am on a bender(and I have NEVER been adored for that). More than this, I believe, people like him because what he says is mean. As an aside, those folks who do not appreciate Donald seem to dislike him for these very same reasons. I wonder if the anti-Donald brood would feel the same if his spritz aligned with their views (See Bill Maher’s popularity)? Because, when we get down on the tiles with it, the language of mean is the only communication that we respond to anymore. Here in the simp zoo, ugly talk cuts through the white noise. It is our lingua franca. So, it seems, now is the moment to release the bastards from their belfries. And Andy has constructed the biggest bastard since Dr. Carrasco-a golem powered by our own nasty energy. He says things some of us like to hear but, more importantly, he says things the way we like to hear them. And now he’s loose to whip up on any last vestiges of enlightenment that may still be nervously lurking. We see our own processed rage reflected in this character. And we see that it is good. It piques us-rain or shine. Of the people, by the people, for the people. Well done, Andy. In the kingdom of the idiots, the piss-artists are king.

Posted in: Politics, Random

The Story of Seamus

Seamus O'Sparks is the seventh son of a Seventh Day Adventist who went on a seven-day bender starting on July 7, 1977 at a strip club called Seventh Heaven at the corner of 7th St. and 7th Ave. in the West Village.