Please Tweet at me, Mr. Trump

Occasionally I suffer from low self-esteem. Donald Trump’s prominence has aggravated this condition.

The man Tweets like mad. He takes it as his high calling to — among other purposes — destroy people by means of insulting 140-character messages. And yet even though I’ve done my best to provoke him, he has not Twitter-attacked me. Perhaps he knows that I don’t have a Twitter account. Actually, I don’t know for sure what Twitter is. But that’s no excuse. My cool Twitter-literate friends could read it to me.

I deserve his ire. I work at earning it. Really, I have done things that should have triggered a shock and awe attack by now. Here are some samples.

I sent a fan letter to that clergyman in Malone who reminded his congregants that Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus were once refugees. They had to flee to Egypt when King Herod, in a fit of jealousy and fear that was in the same league as those of our president-elect, set about to kill all the little boys in Bethlehem.

Not just any sort of refugees either. The Holy Family were Jews, and Jews are Semitic people, as are Arabs. To that extent, they were sort of cousins of the Syrians fleeing Aleppo today. Since Trump finds that bunch too dangerous to be allowed into America, I’m pretty sure he would not approve of my siding with that preacher in Malone. Not only that, I’ve argued in print that America needs more Arab immigrants so that we’ll have plenty of people who can read the terrorist’s intercepted emails.

Another thing. I laugh out loud at Mark Wilson’s cartoons that lampoon without restraint Trump’s foibles. (See www.empirewire.com). Wilson lives here in Saranac Lake. He seems to have studied at the North Country Academy of Wit and Satire where that other wiseacre Saranac Laker, Gary Trudeau, trained.

I’ve actually had dinner with Wilson. More than once. I have sent his irreverences to friends in Texas with instructions to circulate them among the Trumpistas down there.

I’m sure the president-elect’s transition team has an enemies list just like Nixon did, and Wilson is no doubt on it. Surely I am tainted enough by my association with Wilson to garner a little attention from the Tweeter-in-chief. Still, the man ignores me.

And consider this: I am a white male Christian, and I have told it out abroad that I voted against Mr. Trump. If that’s not enough, I have working-class roots. My father didn’t go to college, and he wore a hard hat to work (when he had work).

Clearly, I have called the man out. “You want a piece of me? Let’s take it to the street, orange-haired man.” But I get nothing back. It makes me feel like a loser.

Maybe I’ll foment some fake news stories and leave plenty of tracks so that I can be identified as the source.

“Furnishings in Trump’s office were made in the United States” That should stir him to action.

Or “Trump has had it with the “little crackers” of Presbyterianism. Will convert to Islam before inauguration. Planning to build a great mosque in the Rose Garden.”

Maybe, “Trump is refused a MasterCard on grounds of insufficient income.”

Perhaps I’m being too hard on the man and his absurd Tweets. But they are insufferable. Take this beauty, for example.

Two years and four days before Election Day, he Tweeted,. “This election is a total sham and a travesty. We are not a democracy.”

You’ve got to hand it to him, though, Ever since he tossed that into the ether, he’s worked tirelessly to make it so.

Paul Willcott publishes somewhat longer essays about once a month at www.geezerblockhead.com.

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