Why did you gain so much weight?
Great question. It’s a long answer, and I hope you’ll bear with me. I want to give it the attention it truly deserves. Because my answer isn’t just about me. I really love you for inquiring. And I’ve illustrated it with photographs because not everyone who reads this will be an avid fan of mine like you, and thus won’t have a reference point for how fat I am. I took these photos five days ago so you can be assured they are current. Just me goofing around in between taking my next book jacket photo, but some of the outtakes seem pretty relevant to my response.
First things first, thank you for not threatening to rape me! I get rape threats because I’m a woman on the Internet. Rape is on trend for women in comedy in 2016 and always! I respect that you bucked the trend to fall back on a comment about my weight. This is a more traditional approach and one with which I and my peers are intimately familiar. I like that you went for the classic because while I love Crystal Pepsi, there’s nothing like the original.
In 2011, after being reasonably mentally healthy for nearly a decade, I began to feel deeply depressed again. I imagine part of this was due to the stress of the fact that the man I was dating at the time, a reservist who I loved very much in my inadequate but heartfelt little way, was deployed to Afghanistan. I was worried about him and I was worried about my ability to be an Army girlfriend, something I’d never thought would happen. I wasn’t prepared for it and I certainly didn’t comport myself with the dignity and care that he deserved. On the other hand, how can you be prepared for that? You date a Jewish Democrat with an MFA and you don’t expect this sort of thing to happen, but I ended up with some guy with notions about country and duty and the idea that people who live in freedom shouldn’t be cavalier. Annoying, I know. I didn’t get it at the time. I do now.
Anyway, he left in July 2011 and I got really sad. Like really sad. It didn’t work out and it was my fault. That was not a good feeling. In my defense, most women would not be up for the challenge of maintaining a healthy sexual relationship via pure imagination.
And have you ever tried to Skype with someone as a bomb siren goes off? Imagine this happens a lot of times. It is very much not fun for the person Over There but it is also not fun for you, the person who is scared all the time and sad Back Home. Also, I had no self-esteem to speak of and was preeeeeetty sure that I didn’t deserve to be with someone so great, anyway. Dating someone who loved me AND wanted to fuck me AND had a nice career? WHAT? Did not compute. You see, Man Who Wrote To Me, sometimes we seek not what is good for us but what is familiar to us. And this kind of love was unfamiliar to me. Therefore I had to destroy it. (Yes, I’m finally in a 12-step program and therapy to explore these and other issues. I know you want it to be Overeaters Anonymous but instead I’m in AlAnon. I’m sorry.)
Now at the same time I was writing my first book, a memoir about being suicidal and finding healing through therapy and better life choices and, oddly enough, stand-up comedy. I was sorting through the kind of dark stuff you discuss when you’re a person who grew up sad and scared a lot. So I was sad sad sad and scared scared scared.
After the breakup that was my fault, I found a psychiatrist because I needed help. On my psychiatrist’s advice I began to take a drug called Abilify to boost the Prozac I’d been on for years. Unfortunately, that causes weight gain and a higher incidence of Type II diabetes. I know, I should’ve stayed off it and just opened a vein and sat in my bathtub when I was miserable, leaving behind a pretty corpse (not skinny but, you know, ACCEPTABLE) but I wanted to live. I had to finish the book, for one thing. So I started taking Abilify to help me not die.
I’m not much for drinking my problems away, so instead I commenced hooking up with a series of assholes, including one who told me that I took a lot of pictures of myself because I had deep-seated issues from my childhood and also was empty inside (he lived in a basement). Oh, and then I found one who hit me! In the face! Don’t worry, he was drunk and didn’t remember it. The next day he said, “Well, that doesn’t sound real. I guess I’m sorry if that happened.”
I hung around with that guy for awhile, because I knew I deserved whatever I got and I felt lucky that someone wanted to spend time with a girl like me. (Please don’t tell him I said “dating” — he never wanted me to say that. I know he was having sex with other girls so I totally respect that!) He did say once that I’d be perfect-looking if I were the same weight but about four inches taller. I thought that was funny, then. And I hadn’t even gained that much weight at that point! LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL! What a card.
I ran away across the country from the jerky boys (not The Jerky Boys, silly!) and my problems (oops! They came with me!) and a city I didn’t love anymore and also because I had projects in development in Los Angeles and a Lyft ride is way cheaper than a Virgin America flight. I gained weight, as you well know. I still looked great, thanks to my symmetrical face and extreme beauty. People still wanted to fuck me. Isn’t that weird? I didn’t date any of these folks. I knew I didn’t deserve their approval. I did know about their attraction because they conveyed it to me in various ways, including but not limited to unsolicited dick pics, wheeee! I tried to stick to people who didn’t want me but it’s hard when you are this fun, what can I say?!? LOLOL!!!!!!!LMFAO!!!!1111!!!!
Now here’s the shocker: in addition to my family and real friends still loving me, I kept getting work! Comedy, acting, and publishing 5 books from February 2012 to July 2016! It’s almost like I still had worth and value beyond the number on the scale but barf, we all know that’s not true, right?
Let me tell you about some of the things that I did between when I started gaining weight (2011) and now (2016).
I published that first book, “Agorafabulous!: Dispatches From My Bedroom.” I adapted it as a TV pilot. Diablo Cody is the executive producer. Have you heard of her? She’s very talented. She won an Oscar for writing a movie about a GIRL. Isn’t that crazy? She’s written lots of other stuff, too, but honestly? It’s usually about girls? And I don’t get why people like it. But I guess there’s a market for stuff about strong women who don’t apologize for who they are LOLOLOLOL whatever.
Anyway, she wanted to work with me and never brought up the fact that I wasn’t skinny. Can you imagine? It’s so strange. I talked to her yesterday and she still did not say anything about me being so fucking fat. Is she just being nice? She’s from the Midwest and those people are sweet. And Ben Stiller’s company, Red Hour, worked with me too. None of them told me I was fat. Ben Stiller didn’t tell me I was fat! Was he busy thinking about other things? Maybe! He’s very successful and talented and busy so maybe he just forgot. Fun fact: he likes “Jesus Christ Superstar” a lot. Jesus is very skinny in it. Ted Neely is great! And I know Ben Vereen originated the role but Carl Anderson is my favorite Judas, forever and ever.
As an aside, did you, Man On The Internet, know that in the ladies’ bathroom at Red Hour in LA there is a decoupaged toilet seat covered in Star Trek comic book pages? My fat ass sat upon it a few times! I just peed, out of respect. Shitting is for home, and for the Internet. And, as you know, you can shit in someone’s mouth! Have you dreamed of this? Something tells me you HAVE.
Anyway, during The Fattening, nobody who hired me or who wanted to hire me ever said that I was too fat. Do you think they were just being polite? I should ask. I will go through my union or one of my agents. I have several. I also have a manager. I should ask her. I could ask my lawyer, my CPA, my personal wealth manager, or the very handsome man who cleans my home in Los Angeles. He’s really nice even though he probably looks in my fridge and goes, “Oh my God, this kale is fattening!”
I should probably ask my estate planner. I will do that. He’s used to the weighty issues (ahahahhahahahah! Get it?!?!?!? No but do you get it?!?!?!? This is a pun about weight!)
Now in 2014 I wrote this book called “Great” (teen lesbo Gatsby with a twist!) and I’m pitching that as a series this week. The production company I’m working with hasn’t said anything about my weight but I will check before we go into the next network pitch just to make sure I’m not too fat to pitch. Speaking of that network, which I watch all the time — do you watch “Game of Thrones”? You’d love it! So many women get raped and die, all the time. Don’t watch “Veep.” A lady is in charge and it will confuse you.
Here’s the outfit I wore today when we pitched a network. I just want you to have a visual reference so you can imagine the horror the execs must have felt when this living nightmare rolled in their door. I took this photo to show my sister-in-law that I wore the sparkly gold shoes she picked out for me as a fat monster bridesmaid in her wedding. Everyone at the wedding thought I was a fat golem built of clay to save the Jews of Prague. “But no!” I said. “I am a human girl! Look at my sparkly shoes!” “Go save the Jews, Fat Golem,” they said. Later we all did the Twist.
In 2015 I published my third book, a novel for adults called “DC Trip”, and then I got hired to adapt it as a feature film. I’m working with Adaptive Studios and Gunpowder and Sky and with Bona Fide Productions. You should Google them! Have you seen Nebraska? How about Little Miss Sunshine? How about Little Children? I know, me neither. I don’t have time to watch movies because I’m so busy being too big in my body. But they made those movies and a bunch more. I don’t know why they let me in the door to pitch them. How did I even fit?! But I did. The doors in Culver City must be extra wide LOLOLOL! Oh, we do have fun.
Anyway, I just handed in the screenplay and it was not stained with butter, but that’s because I sent in a pdf and a Final Draft file. I’m sure if it had been a paper copy it probably would’ve been drenched in fat. I worked really hard on it. I tried to do my best, typing with my Vienna sausage fingers, which I am constantly tempted to eat.
Oh! Now during this time I began to think about weight. Not mine! I saw how women were criticized on the Internet and elsewhere for gaining weight. This intrigued me. I didn’t feel fat or unlovable. Should I? Hmm. I considered this and decided instead to make fantastic art instead, because I’m amazing at it.
In 2015 I wrote a short film about what it would be like to be judged for being so big. It is called The Focus Group. It’s really good and we got lots of critical praise for it. We were even in the New York Magazine Approval Matrix!!!! In the good quadrant!!! Would you like to see it? I’m in it! My friend Heather Fink directed it, and 50% of our kickass team from pre-production to post-production was ladies! Here’s another wild stat that I only figured out after the fact when a film festival asked me to submit demographic info: 40% of that team was comprised of people of color. What? I know, it’s upsetting, don’t think about it.
You can see me at my highest weight ever! Grab popcorn and hold onto your seat because you might throw up at my body LOL!!!! Or you might jerk off to it, which lots of people do and I know this because they email me.
The jerking off wasn’t what I was aiming for. I can only hope THEY were aiming into a cup, am I right? Cumming is messy when you hate yourself! I know you know all about that, right? I’m preaching to the choir over here! LLOLOLOLOOOOLLLLOOOLLL.
My fourth book came out in 2016 around the same time as the short film. It’s called “Real Artists Have Day Jobs” and in it, I actually told the story about the guy who hit me. I told some other stories too. You should read it! It’s really funny and good. Here are some things people said about it, which I now realize they probably only said out of pity.
“Honest, funny and completely devoid of bullshit. You might not want to hear what’s in this book, but you probably need to.” — Patton Oswalt
“Sara’s book is an incredible tour de force. If I could repeatedly hit my head so I could give myself a touch of memory loss so that I would be able to read this again for the first time, I would.” — Megan Amram
“Sara captures the chaos, horror, and joy of a life pursuit of creativity.” — Jim Gaffigan
“Sara Benincasa is a great wit, a great woman, and a great writer.” — Elizabeth Gilbert
“Inspiring self-help guidance on just about everything: sex, love, self-esteem, even flossing…It’s hard to imagine an actual self-help book could be more inspirational…Benincasa’s wisdom and humor will reverberate for days to come.” — Library Journal
“Hilarious…refreshingly frank…Benincasa provides solid tips for relationships, health, wellness, and employment…Raunchy and unabashedly unapologetic, this is useful, take-no-prisoners humor.” — Kirkus Reviews
“Sara Benincasa is brilliant on Twitter, in her comedy and on the printed page, and her latest, Real Artists Have Day Jobs, won’t fail to make you laugh. It might make you tear up a little bit too… she’s smart, heartfelt, relatable and just plain funny.” — New York Daily News
Now as for my fifth book, that’s a funny little joke book called Tim Kaine is Your Nice Dad. It became an instant Amazon bestseller in the political humor category when I published it after I spent four hours writing it.
And I’m working on a sixth book! It comes out next year.
During this whole fatty fatsy fatterino time people kept hitting on me, wanting to fuck me in my fat (but very tight!) pussy and, obviously, my asshole, which for me is a no-fly zone but I respect its power. People kept on asking to be my friend, hiring me to do stuff, inviting me places, asking me to work on stuff with them, hugging me and looking after me when I was sad and checking me on my bullshit when I did something stupid. They’d tell me they loved me no matter what. They meant it, too. And I share your astonishment at this. I really do.
Maybe they were all kidding. Maybe it was like in “She’s All That” when Rachael Leigh Cook goes, “Am I a bet? AM I A FUCKING BET?” And Freddie Prinze Jr. is all, “Noooooooo” and she’s like, “Back to glasses and a ponytail for me, buddy!” and then she blows a foghorn or something in Paul Walker’s ear. Which makes me sad because he’s gone, and also because Vin Diesel and The Rock are allegedly fighting on the set of Fast and Furious Eleventeen, have you heard about this? It keeps me up at night, my love handles undulating with sorrow. I keen. I wail. There’s a lot of ululation.
Now here is the part you’ll like. I got out of a series of deeply unhealthy relationships and I started taking care of myself, not because I wanted to fit into a tiny bikini, but because I don’t want a case of the ol’ Type Twosies which, as I mentioned before, runs in my family. Scary, right? So I cook for myself more now and I eat in moderation and I lost ten pounds last month!
I won’t tell you how much I weigh because I used to say the numbers in interviews and I found it made some girls sad because they were the same weight or a higher weight and they felt like they were comparing themselves to me. But here are other numbers: Five foot two and three quarters (my height in inches) 36G (my dick in inches and a randomly assigned letter). Did that give you a boner? I thought so! Just don’t think about how much I still weigh, or your boner will invert itself and go into your pelvis, meaning you will have gone and fucked yourself. I would hate for you to go fuck yourself, sir.
I don’t conflate weight with health. I’m just telling you that I in particular need to be cautious about carrying around extra weight because I’ve seen what happens in my own family when we aren’t careful. My grandmother lost two legs to Type II Diabetes. It was devastating. Then there are issues with heart disease and all kinds of unsavory stuff I’d like to avoid as best I can for as long as I can. But you’ve got to lose weight the right way. Liposuction is really unhealthy and can be dangerous for your body. So I’ve chosen the slower route of lifestyle change. But it’s steady and I’m doing very well. Lots of kale! (Kale isn’t fattening, BTW. That was a joke I made earlier. LOL I’m soooo silly!)
So there you go. That’s the first part of my answer to your question about why I gained all that weight. The second part is shorter. I will put it in bold for ease of reading.
I gained all that weight because I was so busy working and growing as a person, a writer, an actor, a comedian, a friend, a daughter, a sister, a lover, an activist (hi Emily’s List and Humanity for Hillary and Los Angeles LGBT Center!), a thinker, and a cook (ironic, right?!?) that I didn’t have time to pursue what I really, really want to do: spend my precious spare moments making anonymous comments on the blogs of successful, beautiful, hardworking women in a failed attempt to undermine them in order to give me some sense of power as I marinate in my own inadequacy, stuck in the knowledge that no one will ever pay me to write my poorly-crafted thoughts down on paper, to be translated into book or film or television form, and that beyond money (which of course doesn’t lend my thoughts any inherent value) or any degree of fame (which is pointless and wholly unnecessary to a happy and fulfilling existence) no one will ever really want to hear what I have to say at all, because I am essentially worthless and of no value to the world at large. That’s what I really want to do.
Got any tips?
And lest you think I took a ton of time out of my day to write this response: I took 10 minutes. I’m really fast at writing. I’m also great at it. I will forget about this after I hit “publish.” But will you forget about it? Can you? I don’t know. Now picture me whispering in your ear very, very softly: I don’t actually care.
And in summary, that’s why I gained so much weight.
Thank you for asking!
[All the kitchen photos are by Iconic Pinups. Dress: Matrushka Construction by Laura Howe. Hair color: Alejandra Gaytan of Jonathan and George in Beverly Hills, CA. Haircut: Sabina Yannone. Nails: Paradise Nails in Silverlake, Los Angeles, CA. Tiny cleaver by my buddy Jared at Artifact Metalworks of Pittsburgh, PA (very glad I randomly had it in my purse that day). Shot on location in Glassell Park, Los Angeles, CA. I had no idea when I goofed around that these outtakes would be so relevant to a piece of “fan mail,” but the Lord works in very mysterious ways.]
Roy Edroso has taken on the Sisyphean task of monitoring America’s right wing blogosphere and attempting to wring some humor out of the howling, hypocritical, hateful absurdity found therein. It is not an enviable vocation, but he has a talent for noticing trendlines and synthesizing them into a narrative that he delivers well and with sharp wit (and he gets bonus points for trusting his readers enough to drop allusions without constant links).
This post seems to go hand-in-glove (is a Smith’s reference too excessively queer?) with one from earlier this week about grip strength (also the name of a retro power-violence band who absolutely KILLED at ABC No Rio last week, BTW), or any modern right wing blogos-vom: Something is happening that I don’t understand, and those people who aren’t bothered by it are oppressing me!
Roy rightly points out that the percentage increase (969!) has more zaz than the absolute number of cases, and let’s also recognize that there was a massive uptick in the diagnoses of kids on the autism spectrum once clinicians had a word for what they were seeing.
I have a friend who talks about how cancer wasn’t around until the 20th century (which is false), and I (in vain) have to point out that they didn’t really have the diagnostic tools to catch cancer before you succumbed to it until pretty recently, so there will be more diagnoses just by the fact that we have the tools to diagnose. It’s like saying, “nobody bitched about shallow wells until this tape measure shit came along.”
In his transphobicon, French brings up a common trope on the right: The government is going to tell you how to raise your children. The assumption in that is: your children are your property, to control as you see fit, and the government is trying to steal your property. (And, let’s be honest, if we care about the well being of others as much as ourselves, one point of collective government is to insure that we can protect the vulnerable. Hell, non-dysfunctional families understand that they have a responsibility to step in when shit gets bad).
The idea of parents losing control of their children has, for me, a special sting. As far as I can read, I grew up in a far more rednecky way than French; we didn’t have “cars” plural; I didn’t get a job at 14 to have foldin’ money or develop character: I got it because I needed clothes and food. When I bucked the expectations of my family, I was smacked down hard and told in no uncertain terms that I owed my life and therefore my entire future life to them, and to leave that environment was a betrayal.
What French writes about — whether he is re-imagining a hardscrabble past or lamenting the fallen present — is a fantasy, just as sure as what he spun when he was a dungeonmaster.
I mean, grip strength? Really? Forgive me if you’ve read this before, but Corey Robin has pointed out consistently where the right wing fantasy is one of war, and constant war. This is how you know the enemy. I guess this explains chicken hawks, but let’s not chortle ourselves into torpor. This is a danger. The need for struggle, then the self-mythologizing that emerges when there is no actual struggle and then the clear lines drawn.
In thinking about how a trans teen would come out to his parents — and I don’t mean understanding, liberal caricature, “What’s Eating Dinesh D’Souza” parents — I went back to the argument about Omar Mateen, about how he couldn’t have been going to Pulse as a regular because his dad insisted that he wasn’t gay and I wondered, how the fuck would Omar Mateen’s dad know? I mean Dads’s clearly pretty homophobic, and even if there is evidence that his son was…exploring, let’s say, would that negate his need to have a straight son? And how the fuck does this testimony disprove anything? When’s the last time you talked to your parents in detail about your sex life? “I don’t know, mom, she said she wanted to be adventurous, but apparently assplay is off the menu.”
I, maybe like you, do not give a fuck if somebody decides they are not the gender the world has told them they are. I also don’t give a shit if that person undergoes surgery to make their body fit with what they think it should be. You may argue that a person of a certain age may be too young to make that decision, because of whatever reason you have, but that reason you have is about equal to the reason a very concerned person has on the sidewalk for a young woman walking into a clinic: it’s a supposition, it’s not your body, STFU. I can be nicer, if I try: that reason is equal to why you would tell someone not to get a neck tattoo, because of the consequences. Also it’s a supposition, it’s not your body, STFU.
What follows is an aborted (and happily aborted, at a mall kiosk abortion mill, where they had free preschool for my 19 welfare babies who were forced to watch the abortion on TV with the voice track of “Finding Nemo” played overtop) rant that starts off with a little riff on the fact that Rick Perry cannot speak in public without copious notes and prep. I abandon the joke after the second paragraph, so if you don’t find it as amusing as I do, be glad Charlie Pierce didn’t write this. That dude never found a joke he couldn’t grind into dust.
I guess I should also preface this by letting you know that I served in the US Navy for five years, from August 1996 to August 2001. During that time I soured on the idea of “projection of power” and imposing our [sic] idea of democracy on other countries. I, and so many other young people in the years after I joined, enlisted because of buying into notions I don’t believe in anymore: that absolute protection is possible, and other countries would have their shit together if only they’d accept the blessing of self-government that we’ve shown them (I tried but failed to find a definitive essay about this notion. The gist of them is that American-style government should work everywhere, if it weren’t for all these people living in these countries who have a vote).
For those not familiar, Rick Perry is the name given to a carbon-based platitude delivery system and Supercuts menu hairstyle demonstration model (Milspec CBPDSCMHDL) that — by a quirk of Texas law known only to so-called real Texans — was installed to hold the sinecure of Governor of Texas for a little over 15 years upon the redundancy of its prototype, a unit named George W. Bush (which was deactivated for evoking the uncanny valley too often).
Earlier today, the American television entertainment channel CNN (derivation of initialism unknown. Speculation runs from cryptic and unsettling [Can’t. No. No.] to absurd [Cable News Network]) demonstrated the AI capabilities of Rick Perry by asking him a series of questions about current popular personalities and events around them. For the purposes of this report, we will focus on this exchange:
Here’s where Rick Perry failed the Turing Test:
Actually, I’m probably as sick of this “Android Failure Report” conceit as you are (I had a bunch of Jake Tapper jokes lined up that I will let waft away with my bourbon-infused breath), so let’s get down to the nut-cutting.
The premise Rick Perry shares here with Donald Trump is that Khizr Khan came out of nowhere with this unhinged attack on Donald Trump’s very reasonable assertion that all Muslims should be monitored until an as-yet-to-be-determined time when “we know what’s going on.”
For those among us who can both remember and reason, it would seem that Khizr Khan was telling the audience that an anti-Muslim (at least) domestic policy as proposed by Donald Trump was a bad idea because it ignored that plenty of people born in America happen to be Muslim, and many of them join the armed services to deliver our blessings to unappreciative countries. He was not “hitting” Donald Trump, he wasn’t blaming Donald Trump for anything; he was reminding people that it’s a big country full of all sorts, etc, that his son did more than Donald Trump’s children did, and that young people in the same circumstances as he had should not be devalued by suspicions of (the latest term of art) “homegrown terrorism.”
And, with all of that, let’s hang on to our memory of the Republican Convention.
Now we run into what I can only call the “older brother gambit,” named after that moment when my older brother started to adjust his rhetorical strategy to account for the fact that I was almost 7 years old and able to detect bullshit & articulate how I knew it was bullshit. This is a complex positive statement in which you get to have things both ways in case somebody quickly figures out the holes in your first clause. So, Perry says that Khan made “the first blow,” which of course ignores the entire candidacy of Donald Trump, and then, if you don’t accept that, he says that by entering a political discussion as a private citizen, Khan exposed himself to all of the attacks that he, his wife, and dead son have received.
So, we know the first claim (“first blow” — let us be charitable and assume that Rick Perry did not channel John Rambo and then fuck up the character’s most famous line) is bullshit. Khan was reacting to one of the pillars of Trumpism. Indeed, at the same moment that the Fruit of Trump were more than happy to pantomime respect for the warriors in the service of the cause, others went after the notion that Khan was grooming his son as a “sleeper agent.” If only that pesky invasion of another country hadn’t got in the way.
The second claim, that going public with an opinion opens you up to attack, and that you’re “fair game” by doing so, is a fallacy that only politicians and journalists who have spent years covering politicians can accept, and it kind of demonstrates in an ugly way the symbiotic relationship between politicians and their scribes. They set themselves up as the arbiters of what is subject to legitimate debate. Serious people — the ones who will confirm the premise — agree.
Or, let’s walk back a block, but lean to hear. When Trayvon Martin was shot, a lot of people learned about the “Stand Your Ground” laws for the first time. When a bunch of people pointed out how insane that law is, we got as rebuttal character assassination of a teenager who was walking back from the store.
Did Trayvon Martin’s parents enter the arena by being upset? Did Trayvon by being shot? He and they were subject to invasive vetting all the same. There has to be a point when living your own life and participating in this experiment we call America…okay, okay I had to laugh at that Pollyanna shit
There has to be a point where when we acknowledge that the way things are are the way things have been chosen to be, and that we can change that. That’s the least I can offer: we don’t have to say please*.
Trayvon Martin, and his parents, in his death became flashpoints for national debate (and anybody who wants to pretend Trump is sui generis should maybe, I don’t know, have been alive over the past 8 years at least). Trayvon Martin’s dad wasn’t running for office, he wasn’t attacking a specific politician, but that man got flayed for “politicizing” the issue of his son being allowed to be murdered by law, for being scary to another person who (reports suggest) is trigger-happy and paranoid.
Holy shit, I wasn’t dreaming when I wrote that, but forgive since I went astray.
And now to one of the last things Rick Perry thought would be wise to discuss: Khizr Khan was used by the DNC to score political points.
Must we go back to Republican National Convention? Can’t we just all pretend that it was some weird Beck/Hannity slash fic that we heard about from that one friend who trolls FreeRepublic?
No? Okay: This is where we get into serious rubber/glue territory. During the gathering in Cleveland, so many aggrieved people were trotted out as props to directly accuse our president and Sec. Clinton of complicity, if not outright supervision, of the murders of American citizens in Benghazi (not by drones, we can’t talk about that unless we want Trumpen Reich to prevail!). So, these people were contacted and asked to recount their pain on stage to score political points. This, by the way, happened a week before Khizr Khan spoke.
Rick Perry, and the hated Equivocating Media Establishment™
Many politicians are able to speak falsehoods to the impotent. That’s their trade. Rick Perry has a particularly Texan ability to ignore context, history, established facts…It’s pretty remarkable