After two days of door-knocking for Hillary Clinton in southern New Hampshire, my girlfriend and I decided to stop off at Manchester’s Red Arrow Diner before driving back to Brooklyn. It had come highly recommended (the diner, that is, not the door-knocking, which I knew would be a drag, and which I did only under the duress of a white nationalist becoming president).
Donald Trump’s supporters might insist that the internals are D+9, which means the hidden “monster vote” has once again flown under the radar—and that those invisible voters will materialize on election day to issue a powerful rebuke to media elites who use deliberate and criminal D+n oversampling in their scheme to convince everyone that most folks wish the election was over, when in fact, everybody loves the election, and just you wait until November 8, when Americans rise up and refuse to vote, thereby sending a clear message that they’d like the election to continue unresolved for as long as possible
Of course, the fact that the glorious Presidential Black Card can be “activated” for a piddling $35 belies the intimidation factor of its “none more black” aesthetic. It’s the equivalent of spray-painting a pile of spaghetti red and telling people it’s a Ferrari.
Did Chuck Todd see Clinton’s relentless, suffocating citations of facts and figures and talking points and data sets as a betrayal of the late-’90s indie-rock code: Never Let Them See You Try? Was her ostentatious display of competence the oratorical equivalent of Neil Peart’s preposterous thicket of drums and cymbals and who-knows-what-the-fuck-kind-of-ethnic-windchime-he’s-plinking-on-now?
Clinton’s strangely specific phrase “basket of deplorables,” coined in reference to some of Trump’s more David Duke-ish supporters, is like jet fuel for the satirist’s imagination. What political cartoonist could resist drawing a giant wicker basket filled with Klansmen, alt-right twitter superstars, and the like?
These days, many Trump voters walk around playing with a smartphone or tablet device and are often wearing headphones and listening to Alex Jones yelling, Sean Hannity shouting, or Paul Ryan weeping quietly in the dark.
Yet, that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to them.
The Olympics and American presidential elections have a lot in common: both celebrate the absolute best humanity has to offer; both reward integrity and fair play; both are devoid of corruption; and both appeal to citizens’ highest ideals and are thus immune to cynicism and snark.
For political observers and concerned citizens, Donald Trump’s erratic behavior has been bludgeoning. No sooner has the commentariat described, analyzed, and pondered the consequences of Trump’s latest outburst, than he bends over and produces another one. Journalists (even cartoonists!) are reduced to a mad, panicked scrambling to keep up, like hamsters in a wheel.
There was a moment, late Monday night, as I read about Melania Trump’s convention speech—the passages lifted from Michelle Obama, the Rickroll some wily programmer pasted into her source code—when I wondered if I was dreaming. The catastrophe seemed too elegant to be happening outside my own head.
I spent my annual Independence Day cheeseburger hangover in a state of humid recuperation, catching up on political news and celebrating the latest achievements of Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton.
Here’s a description of a cartoon concerning one of those achievements.
1) WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING??? THIS IS INSANE.
2) Why am I making list? Has the august, acidulous Baffler succumbed to click-bait?
3) Don’t worry, I’m only doing this as a list because I’m too overwhelmed to formulate a coherent essay.
Politics is hard, so The Baffler has employed expert comic mind David Rees to give us a visual rendering of the day’s signature political controversies. The only problem is that David can’t draw, so his cartoons are word pictures—which is to say, words.