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Eating the Rich
Mori: we have a rule here: when something terrible happens, we must resist the urge to go numb and paralyzed, and instead reinforce our bonds to others and do SOMETHING to build morale and fight back, if only in our own minds.
So when that Big Buttfucking Bill passed and I found out early because Social Security sent me an ass-licking email lying about how Trump was personally benefitting ME, I was pissed, and I ranted to my roommates: “I AM GOING TO EAT THIS MAN IN EFFIGY.”
And they said, “sounds good, can we join?”
Our name for Trump since 2016 bas been Angry Yam Man, so yams were required, carved with frowny faces. I bought the lumpiest, most florid ones in the store. One roomy, a vegetarian, supplied veggie-sausage, because god knows they don’t got any of the REAL stuff in Congress. Another roomy supplied the idea of roasting marshmallows, so that we could roast white balls over the purifying flames of our indignation.
Also we had collards with orange peppers, because we needed a vegetable, collards are good, and these wastes of jizz probably hate greens or something.
We microwaved the yams, because they deserved to be irradiated into shriveling sadness (and because it is hot), and we stabbed them with forks and knives. We fried the greens and fake sausage. We charred the marshmallows, and we chanted curses: “may they suffer intense arousal constantly but have no one to fuck,” “may their jizz curdle in their testicles,” “may they never get a good night of sleep EVER AGAIN.” We devoured them, rent them with our teeth, consumed them. And we laughed together, fed each other, strengthened our ties to each other, which the regime hopes to break. THAT is how we spent July Fourth.
Today, I will be showing a recording of a very queer theater show, free to the public. Tomorrow, I am going to a leather dyke potluck. The day after that, Rogan goes to his munch. Community, community, community: of queerness, of kink, of service. We strengthen our ties, protect each other, take care of each other. Where they fall, we step up.
We will keep protesting, keep fighting. And we will eat them in effigy.
So when that Big Buttfucking Bill passed and I found out early because Social Security sent me an ass-licking email lying about how Trump was personally benefitting ME, I was pissed, and I ranted to my roommates: “I AM GOING TO EAT THIS MAN IN EFFIGY.”
And they said, “sounds good, can we join?”
Our name for Trump since 2016 bas been Angry Yam Man, so yams were required, carved with frowny faces. I bought the lumpiest, most florid ones in the store. One roomy, a vegetarian, supplied veggie-sausage, because god knows they don’t got any of the REAL stuff in Congress. Another roomy supplied the idea of roasting marshmallows, so that we could roast white balls over the purifying flames of our indignation.
Also we had collards with orange peppers, because we needed a vegetable, collards are good, and these wastes of jizz probably hate greens or something.
We microwaved the yams, because they deserved to be irradiated into shriveling sadness (and because it is hot), and we stabbed them with forks and knives. We fried the greens and fake sausage. We charred the marshmallows, and we chanted curses: “may they suffer intense arousal constantly but have no one to fuck,” “may their jizz curdle in their testicles,” “may they never get a good night of sleep EVER AGAIN.” We devoured them, rent them with our teeth, consumed them. And we laughed together, fed each other, strengthened our ties to each other, which the regime hopes to break. THAT is how we spent July Fourth.
Today, I will be showing a recording of a very queer theater show, free to the public. Tomorrow, I am going to a leather dyke potluck. The day after that, Rogan goes to his munch. Community, community, community: of queerness, of kink, of service. We strengthen our ties, protect each other, take care of each other. Where they fall, we step up.
We will keep protesting, keep fighting. And we will eat them in effigy.
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I found a place that sells you zha gui/deep fried ghosts and am making a plan to get some to also eat Trump in effigy. Since they come in pairs by nature, I'm thinking the other one should be Musk.
I so badly hope folks will come up with their own version of you zha gui to pass down through history to spite those two.
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Rogan: also, I haven’t forgotten. One day, we WILL eat you zha gui together!
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