Only God Can Help You Now, I’m Out
by guest blogger, Alexander Hamilton’s Ghost
Jesus fucking Christ, America. Are you kidding me with this shit?
I was just a man. I wasn’t a prophet or a fortune teller. But even so, I could not have described Donald J. Trump more accurately than I did in Federalist 68. Would it have been easier for you to swallow if I had Tweeted it? Apparently the modern political attention span is limited to 140 characters. Maybe I should have written, “dudz ur fukt-no cheeto, faithless FTW!” Is that clear enough for you, Electors?
For 240 years – and without the benefit of the internet and other such forms of instantaneous mass communication – Americans managed to keep the republic secure against threats both foreign and domestic. And you just shat upon it in a manner most spectacular. I can’t even describe in mere words how hard I rolled in my grave when the only faithless electors were faithless against Madame Clinton
the most qualified individual to ever seek a woman in an eminent degree endowed with the requisite qualifications of the office of president! I was not talking about her, you dolts! I don’t know what this email thing is, or what a private server could be, but it doesn’t matter. Obviously most of you don’t, either.
My French counterpart, Joseph de Maistre, said, “Toute nation a le gouvernement qu’elle merite.” Every nation gets the government it deserves. America has become the nation of trucker hats and “reality” TV, of racism and
failing public schools, false piety, of ridiculously high military spending and obscenely high maternal and fetal mortality rates, of crushing debt and dismal wages. Slow fucking clap, you warped motley cowards, you rotting pestilent putrid cankers. You sure did manage to get the government you deserve this time.
How many Federalist Papers did I have to write? Apparently I missed one. Maybe I should have called it Federalist 86, Make Sure To Keep Your Heads Out of Your Asses.
There are not enough drinks in this whole book to get me drunk enough to forget this nightmare.
Alex… dude… smoke a bowl and chill-axe, eh? I mean, damn… you “founding fathers” are stuffier than my nose in the winter.