Yesterday marked the 55th anniversary of the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Nobody in my circle of family and friends mentioned it; instead the political discourse, if you could call it that, centered on how much Trump sucks, something many people believe. Yet thus far nobody has assassinated him, or even tried. I find this odd.
Okay, calm down; I am not advocating this, unlike Madonna who announced at the 2017 Women's March on Washington rally that she had "thought an awful lot about blowing up the White House." In fact, quite the opposite: I personally find the man a total hoot and hope to God he gets out of office alive. (I also hope he gets out of office, but that's another post.)
I'm talking about the confounding situation whereby he is hated as much as Adolf Hitler, yet nobody takes a shot at him. Even Gerald Ford, a wimpy wuss who never hurt a fly, garnered an assassination attempt in 1975, by a mentally disturbed young woman who blamed him for our planet's bad air and filthy water. Yet Trump sails along with nary a scratch on him, tweeting his nasty declarations with little penalty beyond a smug smirk from Rachel Maddow and a frowny face from Anderson Cooper, night after night. And while we're on the subject of assassination and obnoxious journalists... oh well, don't get me started, I've been down that road before.
Thankfully the country has not been catapulted into that particular horror again, and likely will not ever. As my husband says, "It's hard to assassinate a guy these days. The Secret Service has gotten much better at protecting." Still, it's peculiar that someone so universally hated has the guts to leave his house every day and appear in front of enormous throngs of people, many with hate in their hearts, whereas I, a total nobody, find it unnerving and a tad risky just going out to pick up the mail at our rural post office, which is one reason I could never be president. (Also, I don't tweet.)
I'm talking about the confounding situation whereby he is hated as much as Adolf Hitler, yet nobody takes a shot at him. Even Gerald Ford, a wimpy wuss who never hurt a fly, garnered an assassination attempt in 1975, by a mentally disturbed young woman who blamed him for our planet's bad air and filthy water. Yet Trump sails along with nary a scratch on him, tweeting his nasty declarations with little penalty beyond a smug smirk from Rachel Maddow and a frowny face from Anderson Cooper, night after night. And while we're on the subject of assassination and obnoxious journalists... oh well, don't get me started, I've been down that road before.
Thankfully the country has not been catapulted into that particular horror again, and likely will not ever. As my husband says, "It's hard to assassinate a guy these days. The Secret Service has gotten much better at protecting." Still, it's peculiar that someone so universally hated has the guts to leave his house every day and appear in front of enormous throngs of people, many with hate in their hearts, whereas I, a total nobody, find it unnerving and a tad risky just going out to pick up the mail at our rural post office, which is one reason I could never be president. (Also, I don't tweet.)
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