A Christmas Appeal

Don't worry, I won't ask for your money. But if you're offering, I'll certainly take it—along with your milk and cookies.

Dear Subscribers:

First, Merry Christmas. I hope you all are someplace warm—or cold if you’re some kind of sadist (no judgment)—and with family (unless, of course, they voted for Trump, or you don’t like them for some other reason).

I know it’s been a tough year for many. For me, it’s been pure hell with a few rays of sunshine and partial rainbows sprinkled in—because nothing can truly be bad without some degree of false hope. I feel like I’ve aged at least five years in 2024 and my health, earning potential, dignity, sanity, and relationships all took a major hit. If any of you were dumb like me and stayed up for that dreadful Tyson-Paul fight back in November, it was a good metaphor for my 2024: Anticipation without satisfaction. The sight of that old man struggling to throw a punch against some inked-up, white-bread Zoomer I’d never heard of was a grim reminder that time is both cruel and undefeated.

If Tyson can’t throw a punch anymore, we’re all fucked. There’s just no hope for us mere mortals. I’m old enough to remember the days when Tyson’s fists breaking a man’s jaw, eye socket, or will was as inevitable as a sunrise. That was back when the Dems won elections, prices were affordable, and you could get on a plane without taking off your shoes or your belt. Honestly, I can’t name one thing that’s better in 2024 than in 1994. But I digress—the point is that time has irrevocably fucked us over, and one could argue that we should just accept it because we’re too old and weak to fight back.

Of course, the culmination of 2024 was not Tyson’s go-away (as opposed to comeback) fight but the second coming of Trump, who I now fear might come down my (nonexistent) chimney on Christmas and tell me I’ve been a bad boy for attacking him so relentlessly these past few months—after eating all the cookies, of course. (He’s just as fat as Santa but not nearly as jolly.) It would be tempting to at least consider focusing on other things. In fact, I think if I lost my soul, I could be an extremely effective propagandist for the other side.

But, unlike those chestnutless billionaire oligarchs I keep reading about, I refuse to bend the knee. You can count on me to continue to bring you offensive, irreverent, and (above all) subversive commentary—at least until the fascist goon squad comes to shut me down. All I ask in return is that you send me your feedback and tell your friends. A lot of people don’t read anymore (not counting texts and emails), and I don’t blame them for avoiding the news these days. If I hadn’t been conditioned to follow it like a lemming off a cliff by my old journalism professors, I’d probably avoid it myself. But just because they avoid the news, doesn’t mean they should avoid me. I’m better than the news. Please spread the word.

I also plan to be more accessible by getting into audio and video. There’s a fancy microphone now out for delivery with my name on it (my real name not Madman Matt). This a new frontier for me, so I need all the help I can get.

I’ll close with the most positive message I can muster: Trump and his enablers should not be feared as much as ridiculed. They are hopeless sycophants, hypocrites, narcissists, degenerates, losers, and low-IQ—not to mention small-dick—individuals. (But, hey, some, I assume, are good people.) Even if they wanted to govern for the people, they don’t have the knowledge, experience, or humility to do so effectively. I’m not a nihilist—I don’t want the country and world to suffer—but if I were a betting man, I’d bet against Trump II: This incoming administration will likely go down in history as the worst of all time. My only hope is that its failure will lead to something better: If not outright revolution, then at least Barack Obama’s third term (after Trump changes the Constitution to allow himself to run again). Or a rejuvenated Bernie Sanders’s first term. Or an undead FDR’s fifth term.

This is as hopeful as I can get in 2024.

Merry Christmas! Bring on the new year, goddam it!

MMM