A brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
You may or may not remember the blog mini-series entitled The Quarantine Chronicles that I wrote way too many editions of. Well, now I bring you Election Diary 2020. It’s one big bulldog ball of a post for you to ignore instead of many.
My goal here is to release the last shots of venom from my mind via my Mac’s keyboard, so I can go back to more important things than American politics. I’m an art, beer, food, music, bikes, comedy, books, boobs, movies sort of guy. And one of the things I hate most about Trump is that the reckless stupidity, racism, xenophobia, and bigotry that he spews—and inspires his moronic followers with— is way too much for me to ignore and to not comment on. Also, he started fucking with Wifey’s career (and thousands of others) with Executive Orders and threats of right-wing political cronyism. And that is some fucking bullshit on a whole other level.
Like the unneeded mega-post I wrote about sports photography, this post will seem a bit manic because of its size and girth. I’m not manic; I was just too lazy and or inebriated to post what I wrote daily, so you get a big ass post filled with f-words, footnotes, unfunny commentary, pathetic attempts at humor, and way too many opinions that no one asked for. They say, “Opinions are like assholes; everybody’s got one.” If that is true, this opinion piece is a giant, gaping asshole that’s oozing blood, puss, oily fecal leakage, and a seething hate for one of the worst people ever to walk this wretched earth; Donald J. Trump. Or as I like to call him, “Fuck Face.”
Lastly, the photos used in this post are mostly crap photos I took on failed photo hikes, goofing off at home, or at work. Sorry. I also apologize for the editing, I will be fixing errors for weeks.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 3RD – ELECTION DAY 20201
My brain says, “Keep sleepin’, foo!” My body says, “The clock shows 8:02, but we both know it’s 9:02. Fuck that Daylight Savings Time shit! Get your lazy ass out of bed and start your day!”
I got out of bed.
But first, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the dresser mirror in front of me. I didn’t have my glasses on or my contacts in, so I couldn’t see shit. Just a blob of Jason. Probably for the best.
As I sat looking at the blurry blob of me looking back, I realized that it was Election Day, and I immediately felt my ass cheeks clench. Yes, I had to poop. But I was also nervous and was once again haunted by memories of November 2016.
AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL-ISH FLASHBACK MONTAGE:
I remember two vivid memories from that 2016 election: I had gone to bed early Election Night. I had grown tired of seeing the big map behind the helmet-haired TV presenters turn Red, and irritated with Wifey’s continued optimism, even when things looked their bleakest. I was also very drunk and very out of gin2.
Soon after, Wifey came in to chastise me for giving up. I rolled over, let out a loud, lime and pine flavored belch, pulled the covers up, and said something like, “What’s the point? That fucking fuck face fucker is going to fucking win. We’re fucked! Now leave me alone.” Yes, I really did sound like a drunk bratty teenager.
The second memory was getting up to let Jake (the dog) out early the next morning, turning on my phone and seeing a comment pop up on Facebook3 from a long-time pre-facebook friend of mine in the UK, “IT’S TRUMP!!??” Reading that one line punctuated with few surprise-face emojis made me feel like I got punched in the stomach.
That feeling in my stomach hasn’t gone away since. Not because I am some flag-waving, USA!-USA!-USA! chanting pseudo- patriot (You know, the sort that flies a “Don’t Tread on Me” flag outside their middle-class suburban home because they think brown skin people want to rape his ’98 truck or steal his wife.), I just tend to not think much about this country—or any country! But it’s the not having to think about it that makes this country great, and the exact reason people from other countries want to live here. I could go on and on in regards to that subject, but I won’t4.
As those memories temporarily re-faded, I sat a few more moments looking at the shapeless blob in the mirror, sighed, skillfully farted so as to not lose any messy battles with my sphincter, and got up. Hoping that when I get up tomorrow, or someday soon thereafter, I won’t have to ever think about the orange, racist, money-grubbing, piece of shit Fuck Face ever again. Fuck him and his voters right to hell and the rocks they crawled out from to support him. CALM THE FUCK DOWN!! IT’S TOO EARLY FOR SUCH RAGE!! YOU FUCKING SPAZ!
After my wake up routine is done, I stop by Wifey’s office (formerly known as The Chamber of Farts) to say hey. One minute of chit-chat and a request for more coffee later, Wifey excitedly tells me to get showered and go vote, NOW! Yes, dear, I will, but first, I need coffee, food, and to take a dump.
Then, somewhere between dumps 1 and 4 (thanks homemade refried beans!) I started writing this shit. Now here we are two hours later; my giant “Karen’s Husband”-sized mug of coffee is drained, dump number 5 beckons (someone had a fried egg with some of the aforementioned leftover homemade refried beans and a giant cup of coffee for breakfast), and I need to go vote.
“GO VOTE BEFORE I KILL YOU.” — Wifey5
I sort of like where this post is going, I’m finding it a bit cathartic to write, so my plan is to vote and then go for a walk in the woods to take some photos. I’ll pick this up later today or tonight6. There will be no gin in the house as I watch the results come in tonight, but I can’t say there won’t be other things.
I voted, BFD. There was little drama other than waiting in line for about 20 minutes (a first for me) and one bearded white dude trying to vote in person outside of his district without the proper certification yelling, “THIS IS VOTER SUPPRESSION! IF I WAS FROM ESCANABA INSTEAD OF GRAND RAPIDS, WOULD YOU BE SAYING THE SAME THING?!?” I don’t even know what that means, but I have a feeling they would.
With my perceived useless vote out of the way, I headed to Meridian Park for a hike with my camera. Or should I say I headed to Meridian Park with my camera and left the battery blinking away in the wall charger at home! Shit.
I drove home, ate a quick lunch, got my battery, and then headed back to the park. By this time, my want to hike was all but gone, the sun was high and harsh, the fall leaves are all but down, and there wasn’t a critter in sight other than a couple of easily spooked ducks. I took a few macro shots, sat on the bench near the pond to ponder life for a few minutes, and then drove my ass back home. Not the walk I hoped for.
At this point, my interest in the election became secondary to my want to watch Champions League football, get goofy, and start prepping dinner as the sun sets on Election Day 2020. Fuck it.
I go to bed late, I toss, turn, look at my phone every half hour, and then finally get a few hours of piss-poor sleep.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4TH
Here we are 24 hours after I voted, and sadly, America did NOT vote out the Fuck Face in a landslide that would have him choking on his Adderall shit-stained XXL tighty‑whities. Things are a mess, to say the least, in the land of fatties and o-zone depleting, gas-guzzling SUVs, but hopefully, the uncounted mail-in votes in Michigan and PA can help get Joe to 270.
Sure, the fuck faces will probably hold on to the Senate, but right now, I could give a fuck. I just want to see the Fuck Face gone. Since most of the shit that Fuck Face is threatening Wifey’s career with (and several thousands of others in similar positions) was done via an Executive Order—which Biden will 99.999% surely overturn—I could give a shit. We’ll worry about that another day.
Not sure why I felt the need to type this morning update in a pool of my own post-Zwift ride sweat, but I did. I can feel things festering as I type.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 5TH
My Wednesday was spent Zwifting, cleaning, and grocery shopping between checking updates on the election results. A huge chunk of my dimwitted self is resigned to four more years of Fuck Face. But every so often, I get a jolt of optimism for Joe. Seeing Michigan flip to Blue made me happy, I’ll tell you that fucking much. I remain optimistic for a Democratic win and four years of blissfully boring thwarted by the Senate attempts at policy changes. I am also very familiar with the phrase—especially where Fuck Face is concerned—”Evil always wins.”
“No, NO! No family meeting! I’m not dealing with the drama!” — Wifey7
As early Thursday morning morphed into the day, I shunned going into the shop and hit the magic Zwift machine for 45 minutes of fake climbing. There was much sweat and much listening to loud, abrasive, techno music that I would find unlistenable in just about any other situation outside of a Watopian KOM or a sex-crazed rave after a coke and ecstacy binge (I assume).
After the sweat dried and I ate some lunch, I changed into civilian clothes and headed out to the yard for Round II of The Endless Leaf Rake.
Raking leaves was wonderfully mind-numbing, and it felt nice to be outside in the not-that-unusual-anymore warm November day. The dogs joined me for a while to frolic in the leaves (Jake just sat in them and drooled), and there was some nice chitchat with one of our neighbors.
“COUNT EVERY VOTE!!” — Republicans
“STOP COUNTING THE VOTES!!” — Republicans
“FUCK OFF! — Me
Four giant bags of leaves later, I was finally able to get a shower, finish some errands, and then slip into my “house slippers” for another early evening of mind-numbing, footy watching, food making, and election angst.
Thursday evening ended just as Tuesday and Wednesday evenings had; me unable to sleep, tossing and turning as the flames of this dumpster fire keep on burning, Proud Mary style.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 6TH
And they’re still countin’. Things looking good to get Fuck Face out of the White House. My home state of Pennsylvania looks to be stepping up, and Georgia—GEORGIA!?!—looks like she might help out. Who the hell knows when this will be over. I guess 2020 couldn’t resist at least one more jerk of the mental chain before the year ends.
The few hours of Friday that I wasn’t worried about the election, a bit wasted, watching footy, or eating spaghetti at 10:45 PM, were spent stocking inventory and hanging out at the bike shop. It is always fun to spend some time in the shop with Chris, especially when we’re not swamped.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH
Annnnnnnnnd…. they’re still counting shit. No worries, count away, I’m feeling a bit more confident that we’ll be rid of Fuck Face. I’m getting anxious for the confirmation, so I can then turn my attention to hoping that he (he being Fuck Face) receives every bit of hell that awaits him for what he did to divide this country and spread his stupidity and hate. I’m also getting tired of writing this bullshit. And I have no idea why I got up at 7:45 AM when I didn’t go to bed until after 11 and didn’t fall asleep until after 2 AM! Fucking hell, I’m a mess!
The relief that I feel coming out of me right now is a high that I will never forget. Sort of like that high I had once back in ’89 at a house party my friend Amy hosted. I remember my best friend Craig dancing to Pink Floyd with a top hat like Floyd were jamming out show tunes (at least I think he was). I digress…
Wifey called me from the road on her way to a hike to let me know the news. I turned on the news and saw people in the street celebrating, hugging, crying, and letting 4 years of emotions out. I swear I could feel my mind clearing like it was getting the biggest mental enema in the world. I turned up the music, danced, screamed, exchanged hugs with B and nearly cried. Fuck yeah.
OK, OK, I’m done. Thanks for letting me get all this shit out. And thanks for putting up with me and allowing me to use this former cycling blog as a platform for my mental word vomit. I promise that in the coming months, I will ween myself off the four years of rage, worry, and embarrassment at what Fuck Face did to divide our country and write about something less annoying. There are people in my orbit that were dimwitted, bigoted, misogynist, racist, right-wing assholes before Trump, and I have no doubt they will continue to be so. It saddens me that they’re like this, but I can control whether I associate with them or not (only when I am absolutely forced to), and now I no longer have to see their misguided views amplified by the (perceived) leader of the free world.
“Fuck it! Spark one, pour one, put some music on and let’s party!!!” — Me
There is a lot of work to be done to get our country’s reputation back, and even more work to do in regards to race relations, strong-armed racist cops, affordable healthcare, women’s reproductive rights, LGBT rights, a return humane immigration policies, education, fucking climate change, and the goddamn COVID. But for now, I say, “Fuck it! Spark one, pour one, put some music on and let’s party!!!”Just don’t let ol’ Joe get jiggy with it. It might kill him, and he’s not inaugurated yet! K. can do whatever she wants. Party on.
- Not to be confused with the PornHub Premium special, Erection Day 2020!
- November 3, 2016, was the official kickoff of my lifelong affair with gin and tonics turning into a full-blown sexscapade as Trump’s reign started and eventually morphed into the COVID-19 Global Pandemic. I ended the affair late in the spring of 2020 after finally realizing that I was probably actually making things worse. I still partake in the drinking of beer and what not but no more gin. Sigh. I do love me a good gin and tonic, but three-plus years of drinking them were probably three years too many. My bad. Having said that, if Fuck Face wins another four years, I will drink, smoke, and pop anything that has even the remotest chance of helping me to forget who I am, where I am, and who’s in charge of this sinking ship filled with COVID. Bring on the fucking Tide Pods, grain alcohol, bootleg acne meds (surely they do something, right?), and dildo-sized—legal in the State of Michigan—Cookie Dough spliffs!
- I am no longer on Facebook or Twitter; I highly recommend ditching Facebook; it pains me that they own Instagram. Zuckerberg is a little tit of a man.
- I will say this; My dad’s grandfather (Joseph Machulka) came from Bohemia (modern-day Czech Republic), most likely looking for steady work and more opportunity. There is absolutely no difference—other than skin color—between him and a dude from Senegal that comes to America in 2020. Don’t let the Red State racist fuck faces tell you any different!
- Said to me at 10:34 AM as I tried playing Matt Lauer and The Buxom NBC Intern with Wifey whilst she worked.
- And the next day, and the next day, and the next day…
- This has nothing to do with this post; it just makes me laugh. On Thursday, Wifey said this to me as I attempted to follow her down to the family room, where she planned on talking with B for a minute. It’s been brought to my attention that my senseless interjections and sophomoric wit are frowned upon during our family discussions. I disagree, but I do love that woman!