Since mid-March, I’ve felt a bit guilty anytime I write a social media post that doesn’t make my friends cum. While many might cringe at my raunchy homosexual schtick during ordinary times, I’ve hoped my one-liners about monster dicks and senior-citizen sex have stroked orgasms of normality out of our flaccid way of life.

I’ve tried to avoid contributing to the deluge of political posts during this pandemic, mainly because my considerations of the possibilities that await our country are darker and more twisted than 90 percent of Netflix documentaries (see below). Despite my overall pessimism, I’ve believed that regardless of their misjudgments or dumbfounding strategies, most officials in both parties—with the glaring exception of the doofus who wondered if we could shock and awe people’s lungs with antiseptics and UV rays—are responding to unprecedented dilemmas as best they know how.

I can’t suspend disbelief enough to pretend the politicians I voted for would’ve been able to keep people from dying or the globe from deflating. While some conservatives have failed to quarantine their stupidity, it feels equally foolhardy for liberals to treat every development of every day as an affirmation of their preexisting policy beliefs (and that includes Bernie Sanders supporters who played told-ya-so regarding universal health care).

I’ve never lived during a plague where I could kill my grandmother with a hug; or in a society where the government puts everyone in timeout indefinitely; or in an economy where money is nakedly imaginary; or in a political order where young black folks at the West End Mall are in behavioral solidarity with armed militias in Idaho. As firmly, aggressively confident as I am in the wisdom life has instilled in me, I won’t assume my knowledge is seamlessly applicable in a world none of us recognizes.

My first break from my prior convictions came in my gratitude for Donald Trump being president when the crisis began. I shudder thinking about how the group of Americans whose existence revolves around revolvers, AR-15s and their hatred of government would’ve reacted to Hillary Clinton telling folks they couldn’t leave their homes or go to church for a month.

While the predictability of Trump’s incompetence and ignorance make them no less lethal, his presence has delayed the “patriot” movement from exploiting the societal and economic disorder that has been the temptress in their wet dreams for the past 40 years. I do not expect these fanatics to let this opportune uncertainty pass without further agitating their cause, or doubt that a desperate Trump will eventually harness the white supremacy that is as much a pillar of their movement as the second amendment.

I have little faith our society will return to any type of “normal” less fractured and flammable than it was before COVID-19 arrived, and this crisis could even burn the red/blue, black/white, conservative/liberal playbook that often reads like “Politics for Dummies.” I have even less hope we can reach a new normal before violence overtakes illness as our primary health concern.

So you can understand why I stick to jokes about double-penetration and bottoming for Megan Thee Stallion on social media, not wanting to incite the second civil war or mass suicide among people I love. My most calming comforts for the past few weeks have been sexual humor and the certainty that I could be wrong.

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