Y’all,
It’s a sad day for MAGA America. Did Y’all hear the news that the Trump administration is reportedly backing away from its $1.776 billion controversial “Anti-Weaponization Fund” for people who claimed they were victims of political persecution?
Yep. That’s right.
The grift got too obvious, even for the Republicans. Judges started asking questions. Jan. 6 rioters started lining up with their hands out. And the Associated Press reported that David Johnston, a former attorney and convicted Jan. 6 rioter, was offering to help “J6ers” apply for payouts for a 10% cut of any award.
First, lemme just send my thoughts and prayers to all the grievance goblins in this difficult time.
Because you know and I know that all across America, there are thousands, maybe even millions of disappointed and disoriented patriots standing in backyards, driveways, garages, divorce court parking lots, Walmart aisles, vape shops, pawn shops, trailer parks, and urgent care waiting rooms trying to figure out how to move forward after learning that their long-awaited reparations checks for the historical trauma of consequences may not be coming after all.
Because make no mistake: plans had been made. I know this to be true. Because I’m a journalist who has been watching from the spiritual crawl space of America, and listening to the MAGA dream and pray out loud.
Hold on, Y’all . . .
Lemme go get my reporter’s notebook out and tell Y’all what’s been happening on the ground since this morning.
Okay, I’m back. Dabs finger on tongue and flips pages.
Let’s see . . .
A man named Randy had already promised his third ex-wife a hot tub. And now Crystal is standing in their backyard in rural Pool Springs, Missouri, with an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth, talkin’ about, “Soon as Randy’s political persecution check clears, we gettin’ one of them hot tubs with the lights in it.”
But now Randy has to walk outside, look at his woman in her good eye, and explain that the Deep State has canceled their anniversary plans.
Flips notebook page.
Over in One-Tooth Falls, Tennessee, when Early-Ray heard about Trump’s grievance fund, he immediately scheduled sixteen dental appointments. Sixteen, Y’all. Ever since, this man has been sittin’ at the kitchen table with five visible teeth, four at the top and one at the bottom all the way in the back, and telling everybody, “Soon as Trump’s victim compensation money hits, I’m gettin’ this whole mouth of mine rebuilt.” Now he gotta go back to chewing peppered jerky exclusively on the lower left side where that one tooth is at.
In OxyContin Falls, Ohio, there’s a 63-year-old flag hugger who had already found the oxygen machine he wanted. He was sick of that ole raggedy machine in the corner sounding like it was trying to start a sputtering lawn mower. He wanted the nice delux one with the cup holder and side pouch where he could keep his Marlboros, blood pressure pills, Bible, and summons from county court. Now he gotta keep breathing freedom through that old machine that sounds like an exorcist demon wheezing.
A man named Tyler in Who’s-Daddy Hollow, Kentucky had already put money down on a paternity test. He was finally ready to learn whether Tyler Jr., Brayden, Mason, Tyler Jr. again, and Little Scooter were all his, or whether one of them belonged to that man from the tire shop who kept coming around “just to check on the car’s transmission.” The grievance check was supposed to bring answers. Now his family history remains a mystery, and the family tree might still be shaped like a wreath.
Oop.
And in Beer Bluff, Georgia, a sixty-two-year-old unemployed mechanic named Cletus had his grandson show him how to create a spreadsheet titled TRUMP MONEY BEER PLAN. The spreadsheet had color-coded tabs and weekly projects. But now? He ain’t got nothin’. The whole goddamn thing is gone. It’s all a dream deferred, with a koozie on it.
Let’s see what else? Flips notebook page again.
I heard about a man named Gus who had planned to buy a mobility scooter and put bull-sized truck nuts on it. His brother-in-law was planning to his use his political prisoner check to buy a bass boat, two pit bulls, and a riding mower.
Across town, a meemaw was finally gonna get to replace the couch. That couch was 41 years old, witnessed nine marriages, six divorces, a woman’s water break, six cats, a kitchen fire, two arrests, and the entire run of Duck Dynasty. The grievance money was supposed free them from that couch becoming a family heirloom.
A man from Rent-to-Own Ridge, West Virginia was about to become the first person in recorded history to use reparations money to buy a Confederate flag-themed air fryer. The purchase was imminent! But now he’s sitting on a porch, staring into the middle distance, wondering how he’ll ever afford the air fryer.
His racist next door neighbor, Kathy, who calls all Latinos ‘Mexican,’ now has to call Pablo to cancel her cigarette porch renovation. She already picked out the new recliners. New ashtrays. A new bug zapper and an outdoor freezer dedicated entirely to processed meats. Now the dream is gone.
I’ve also witnessed dozens of instances of Walmart carts being abandoned. I’m talking about carts filled with things like: 75-inch televisions. Deep fryers. Blackstone grills. Patriotic yard signs. Fishing poles. A family-sized buckets of cheese balls. Giant box of adult diapers.
Closes notebook.
It’s such a tragedy, Y’all. For one brief shining moment, thousands, perhaps millions of people who spent decades screaming “Nobody owes you anything!” finally got to experience the warm, comforting fantasy of being owed something. For once in their lives, they believed in reparations.
They finally found a government handout they could believe in, and the Deep State snatched it back. And now they’re standing there with empty hands, their full carts, and the terrible realization that nobody owes them shit either.
Umph. Pity.
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