His t-shirt had read:
GUNS
GOD
&
TRUMP
Ashleigh observed as we started our walk.
I had noticed an incendiary message set in a heavyweight font, but I hadn’t scrutinized it. Based solely on subtle conversational signals, our new neighbors at the next campsite had seemed like relatable people while exchanging pleasantries with us a few minutes ago. The bold triple heading emblazoned on the guy’s shirt did call for further investigation, but he would have seen me reading it, and I didn’t want to provoke a longer conversation; I just wanted to go for a walk.
Bolding a dumb phrase like “Guns, God & Trump” is a pitiful attempt to add weight to a wire frame.
A delusional conspiracy theorist proclaiming nonsense – with feverish conviction. Breathless froth not enough? Add VOLUME.
🔥
(If only a disinfo mind virus spiked an actual fever, or profile of symptoms to indicate the psyche had caught a spark of madness before a malicious meme could have a chance to light up the nervous system like a Christmas Tree…)*
When Ashleigh told me the shitty slogan displayed by this seemingly-decent human, my instinct was to invent an internally consistent backstory to reconcile his congeniality with his apparent ignorant-ass beliefs.
I thought: they were so… nice. And… normal?
“He’s Dutch,” Ashleigh mentioned – on account of something to do with the dog’s name.
“Huh. It doesn’t make any sense,” I needlessly remarked, flummoxed. Then a moment later I told her, “I got it: the next time I see him, I’m going to say, ‘I was wondering about your shirt. I can only assume you mean it ironically, because we had such a lovely conversation earlier.’ And he will laugh and high-five me and say ‘no one has ever figured it out so quickly.’”
But I did not approach him with that theory…
Because I did not want to get shot…
His t-shirt, when I saw him next, was – albeit an upgrade in cleverness – equally depressing in its message. The new slogan read “ARIZONA” in all caps, along with a threatening silhouette: the unmistakeable side profile of an AR-something-something assault rifle.
ARIZONA
🔫
More guns, this guy. Not a good sign.
His t-shirt completed its cute little quip:
“California” (title case), telephone icon, “911”.
California
☎️ 911
Hmm.
“I think he’s an actual Trump supporter,” I tried.
I thought… it’s either that, or he gets how stark a self-caricaturization these numb-skulled, chest-thumping, pro-Trumpers are. Could he be a walking, talking, in-real-life internet troll? Maybe…
But doesn’t that seem a little… far-fetched?… I asked myself.
What a mess it is making sense of anything.
It’s no wonder that misinformation finds such a foothold. But let’s not let these weaponized numbskulls – toting guns – form a stronghold.
Let’s not let civilization be a footnote.
Let us not let disinformation find purchase.
Instead of proclaiming aggression on your chest:
Try wearing your heart on your shirtsleeve.
Arizona
❤️
California
💚
U.S.A.
💙
Make
Earth
Sane
Again
Vote
2020
* “Gerry, you’re running a high temperature localized in the cerebral cortex. We think a political ad ran a denial of service attack on your critical thinking process. We’ve loaded the recovery room television with a regimen of Stephen Colbert, John Oliver, Bill Maher, Chelsea Handler, and Ellen. You’ll find them on channels 1-12. Nothing is on Channel 13 because we’ve found it’s helpful to illustrate the futility of superstition. After sundown, the screen turns off. There is no override – but not to worry, there is of course an audio program available anytime in binaural surround sound, featuring a series of guided meditations from Tara Brach and Sam Harris.”
“Wh— what happened?” Gerry finally speaks.
The woman in the white coat answers: “I mean– well, in medicine we have terms for this. You– basically, your friends noticed you were spewing nonsense.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.” Gerry still has trouble processing.
Pausing; trying not to show pity, the woman retrieves the remote from a pocket in her white coat, and turns on the television. The screen is dim and slowly brightening. “Colbert just started his monologue.”
Originally written Spring 2020 in Sedona.