Twice now in this series I have advocated for the death of someone in power because their death would benefit entire nations of people. The first was Boris Johnson, the second was Donald J. (the J stands for jerkweed) Trump. In both cases, you had leaders whose approach to the disease–“Worrying about Covid for is for pussies, so I’m not going to wear a mask or social distance”–was empowering huge swaths of selfish dickheads in both the US and UK to mirror that behavior. Their delusional self-confidence was spreading nearly as fast as the virus itself, and it seemed the only thing that could counteract it would be some swift irrefutable cause-and-effect instant karma. An entire Fox News nation watching Donald J. (the J stands for joyless) Trump atrophy and die in real-time on their television screens might, just, possibly, you never know about these things, convince people to wear a mask when they go out in public. This would be a good thing, because the simple act of wearing a piece of fucking cloth over your face when you do this DECREASES THE SPREAD OF THE VIRUS BY 70%.
So my wish for the death of Donald J. (the J stands for junkblood) Trump wasn’t rooted in any sort of partisan allegiance, or even policy disagreement. It was, as my Boris Johnson wish, an attempt to save lives.
But don’t call me a hero. And please don’t clap for me every evening at 7:00 (it’s right around the time our son falls asleep). Because as of this writing, Boris Johnson and Donald J. (the J stands for juicy) Trump are still very much alive. And people in their respective countries are still walking around with a smug self-confidence that is inflicting daily death on their countrymen. You know how many people died in Germany yesterday? Fucking ZERO. Estimated deaths in the USA yesterday–because all we can do in this country is guess–were 2,500.
The daily devotion of my energy towards the deaths of Boris Johnson and Donald J. (the J stands for joke-that-isn’t-funny-anymore) Trump has, if anything, made them stronger. Johnson had just tested positive and gone to the hospital before I got involved, whereupon he made an immediate recovery. A few weeks later he decided it was safe to reopen the UK. Everyone in Trump’s orbit–White House aids, secret service, etc.–have tested positive, but the virus is no match for a 75-year-old man who has trouble walking on inclined surfaces and drinking competently out of a cup.
It would seem that within the depths of my hate, there exists a power to heal. Behold my anger, which is the very elixir of life.
Faced with this evidence, an evidence, I must point out, which is more rooted in logic and cause & effect with regards to “how does this virus thing work anyway, durp durp durp?” than the current policies of Texas, Florida, or the University of Georgia, I feel the only way to save this country, and you, all of you people who I love so dearly… is to hope that you immediately catch this virus and die. Sorry, not sorry.
It’s worked before. Back in 2005, Black Ocean press published a book I wrote called Dear Al-Qaeda: Letters to the World’s Most Notorious Terror Organization. In that book, I made suggestions for future Al-Qaeda targets.¹ Not only are all of those targets–Sallie Mae, Cannibal Corpse, the state of Florida–still in existence, Al-Qaeda never attacked America again. I have a proven track record of keeping people alive by hoping that they die. Now, in these uncertain times, my country needs me.
I hope you all catch Coronavirus and die.
I hope decades from now, when this pandemic is a distant memory, and there are elementary schools all over the USA named after me, that people will build a statue in my honor. And I hope decades later people will tear it down and throw it in the ocean. And I hope people will then have dumb arguments about it on whatever comes after twitter.
I listened to this album this morning, and I really liked this song a lot when I heard it. I’m not sure what it has to do with anything, but I think maybe it does.
¹I’m oversimplifying. The book is actually about a person’s journey towards non-violence and empathy, but that’s mostly sub-textual. I left it open enough for people to take it at face value if they wanted, and plenty of people did. One reviewer wrote, “Through engaging and at times disarmingly beautiful prose, Scott’s day-to-day struggles to stay afloat, both financially and mentally, are a fascinating look at America from an outsider’s perspective.” Another wrote “Almost as big an atrocity as 9/11.” They’re both right.