They go low, Democrats clutch their pearls.
They go lower, Democrats apologize for making them go lower.
It is another lovely day on America’s political playground. The little GOP kids have firm turf control over the coveted monkey bars and slide. The Dems are huddled in the corner pretending it’s still 1995. They’re listening to The Smashing Pumpkins, drinking Crystal Pepsi, wearing flannel, and rallying for anyone named Clinton or Pelosi to lead them.
So the GOP kids come over and threaten to beat the snot out of them for being so weird and irritating. In place of a vicious beating, they’ll take their lunch money instead, of course. The little Dems hold out their dollar bills while indignantly chanting that they are the group with great morals and they are taking the high road by not fighting back. Their peaceful virtue will win the day! As the GOP kids walk away with dollars in their fists, they kick a few of the kids, pour oil and salt all over their grassy patch, and then one really rotund fellow shouts “Take that, Pocahontas!” at a girl in the corner.
So it goes every day, that the little Dems hand over their lunch money righteously. Broke and hungry, one scrunchy-clad kid in the corner suggests standing up to the GOP, the others quiet her down and say that they will never make friends with the GOP kids that way. “And look at little Fred over there, picking his nose by the water fountain! He isn’t on anyone’s side. He sure won’t join the Dems if we start fighting back against the GOP. Fred wants unity and peace.” Says little Pelosi, “The people of the playground are tired of our wails as we are beaten. We need to stay quieter to win their friendship.”
As the spitballs fly faster and more frequently, the Dems stay huddled. They watch the GOP beat up on the littlest kids, the kids who look different, and they sit tight. Their plan is simple: If they are polite and still enough, some of the kids in the GOP gang will feel bad about throwing so many stones and peeing all over the swing set, and will come join them in the corner.
Except only one has crossed the playground so far, and he’s thinking about going and hanging out with Fred-the-booger-eater over by the water fountain.
In the meantime, the biggest kids in the GOP group keep shouting that Dems are fart sniffers that are polluting the playground with their stink, and that if anyone joins them, the whole playground will be so polluted with farts that everyone will die. Most of the kids not hanging out at Fort GOP raise their eyebrows questioning the legitimacy of such an accusation…but then admit that they neither want to be a fart sniffer, nor do they want to die by farts.
The Dems stomp their feet and yell that they are not fart sniffers, and death by farts isn’t even a thing! One of the Dem boys sets up an easel with charts and graphs clearly illustrating that death by farts can’t happen…not that they discriminate against the flatulent. He shouts the statistics and the peer-reviewed references backing up his findings, and the other kids keep swinging and ignoring him. Besides, the girls at the sandbox love their hilarious new “Demifarts” t-shirts with the GOP’s catchy new slogan.
Day after day, the Dems stand on their burnt patch of grass shouting “We are not fart eaters! You guys are so mean!”, and the other kids laugh and laugh. One of the little Dems inadvisably lets out a little toot, and that solidifies their reputation. The rotund GOP fellow stands atop the highest climbing bar, points to the shamed little boy and reminds everyone that the groups wants fart death to come to the playground!
So, another plan is hatched among the pant-suited club: They will call over a playground monitor to arbitrate the abuses. Even if the monitor doesn’t give the naughty group detention, at least the sight of authority stepping in might quiet the GOP down for a bit. However, the playground monitor is a GOP kid’s grandmother. She pats the Dems on the head, and then walks back to her station under the shade of the big oak tree.
The GOP kids start heckling the grandmother to confirm whether or not she smelled any farts over in that corner. Her silence seemingly confirms the rumors, and the “Demifarts” shirts become more popular than ever with the sandbox set.
One incensed Dem girl draws a gross, angry doodle on the concrete about the chubby GOP kid, and another Dem girl shouts really loudly that one of the GOP girls is a cunt. Horrified by their incivility, the Dems put them in timeout and refuse to talk to them for the rest of the school year. Also, they are sooo not getting their yearbooks signed now.
A formal apology is written and delivered along with a box of Twinkies to repair the wounds. A few of the GOP kids think it is hilarious to load the Twinkies with firecrackers and throw them at other kids.
Things are not going well over in the Dem corner. Acoustic sounds of “Wonderwall” are irritating even kids within the group. So Pelosi decides it’s time for a showdown. She calls out the nearest GOP big kid, grabs one of her VHS tapes of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen singalongs, and prepares to beat the bully about the head with it. Of course, the GOP kid, who closely resembles a turtle, turns up with a lead pipe, and shortly after that Pelosi doesn’t remember anything from the past five years.
While she’s still unconscious, the Dems applaud her and cheer that she should always represent them in showdowns; she was pure class as she hit the dirt.
The urine stench from the GOP area is getting more pungent and the Dems can barely stand it anymore. So they decide they absolutely must take back the monkey bars at the start of tomorrow’s recess.
Finally Fred-the-booger-eater shuffles over from the drinking fountain, after overhearing their plans for more easels, singalongs, and quiet praise to win new turf. Pelosi’s also offering that if there needs to be another showdown, she has just the New Kids on the Block pillow to set them straight…and win their love.
Fred bitchslaps the nearest Dem in the face, and shouts, “Fight back!”. Get your own lead pipes. Make up your own stupid slogans and nicknames! And when one of you gets angry, don’t gag her, for for crying out loud! No more apologies, no more Twinkies.”
He shakes his head marveling at their naiveté. “You’re never going to befriend the bullies, so stop trying. They don’t like you. Their parents don’t like you. That lunch lady under the tree doesn’t like you. In fact, most of them think you’re trying to poison their dogs with farts. Yeah, that’s a new thing they’re saying now. You hate the puppies and want to fart them to death. I think they’re even starting to believe it. And they want others to hate you, because that’s how they get more lunch money.”
“Look, it’s nice that you guys want me to join your club, but I’m not even sure what this club is about, except being very, very polite and taking favorability polls. You know what’s easier? Not being at the receiving end of firecracker-loaded Twinkies and fart jokes. Plus they’re telling everyone that they get free pizza and cookies for being in their club. There’s no way the school is going to do that, but the kids over there are lining up for free cookies, just in case they appear. Kids are scared of you, and they like a line. And, hey, at least they’re really excited about whatever the hell it is they’re doing. I mean, they’re awful, but really happy about it.”
Little Pelosi starts to pull out her favorite copy of Robert’s Rules of Order, but Fred puts his hands up. “None of this is going to change until they get some help at home for whatever made them so gross and mean. So quit trying to change them. Fight back!”
He turns as he shuffles back to his drinking fountain where he plans to nap through tomorrow’s recess, and shouts back over his shoulder, “And for shit’s sake it’s 2018, you have got to start listening to Beyonce.”
To be continued…