Miscalibrated Internet Receptor Stalks

There is a false equivalence going on with Drumpf (AKA Fuckface Von Clownstick) appeasers / apologists preaching that we should all just relax regarding the fool who managed somehow to get himself elected president-elect. There’s a quote going around. And I hit a couple of sites to get the wording of it. I took a ‘barfing a little in my mouth’ moment about 5 or 6 times this morning for all of you today. The quote goes like this:

“Rooting against Trump, or any president, is like rooting against the pilot of the plane on which you are flying, 40,000 feet above the ground.”


This is incorrect.

I’m gonna fly this plane so good, you’re not gonna believe how good it’s gonna be. I read on the internet that flying a plane’s just like drivin’ a car and that guy down there with the two robot puppet whatever-they-are need to shut up, okay?

If you’re looking for a more accurate simile, imagine if you will that the plane is on fire already. It is plummeting towards the ground faster and harder than your average DC Comics movie that isn’t about Batman. We’re in a dead spin. Half of the passengers have set upon one another. The qualified pilot and co-pilot have been shoved out the door with parachutes. And the current pilot is that mainstay of any airplane disaster film. He’s the bloviating business-idiot who got half the plane riled up in the first place. The one that likes to shout, “I COULD FLY THIS PLANE BETTER ANYWAY!” And there’s some fundamentalist jackass up there with him who thinks we could stay up a little longer if we start shoving immigrants, black folks and LGBT people out the main doors WITHOUT chutes.

We know that the lady in the back in handcuffs and pilot’s pantsuit who got grounded for misconduct could probably at least get us to the ground intact. The reason she’s in the cuffs is because she shoved the really, really good pilot out the door already. Over the ocean. She wanted to be the one who got us all to the ground safely and get a nice book deal. Or a movie like Sully did. But the tower is pretty adamant we don’t take the cuffs off of her. She’s dangerous after all. Besides which... there’s a switch on the ground in the tower somewhere. It’ll send a signal to her cuffs to unlock. But no one can reach a consensus about pushing it and popping em open.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are in crash positions and hoping we don’t disintegrate on impact. We’re telling one another that we love each other and saying what might be our final goodbyes. We’re frantically sending final instructions and messages to our loved ones, cos hey, who the hell really gives a damn if our electronic devices are on at this point? We’re pretty much aware that the odds are very likely that we’re all dead already except for the screaming and the flames. All the while, we’re being told by the people safely on the ground and the other lunatic passengers that we’ll simply have to trust that the business-idiot up front in the cockpit isn’t going to auger us into some foreign power’s favorite monument, or perhaps spread the flaming wreckage of us across a densely populated area.

This is the more correct simile.

Brace, brace, brace...

Heads down. Stay down.

Brace, brace, brace...


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