THE BLOG
01/12/2017 04:03 pm ET Updated Jan 13, 2018

A Sandwich For Donald Trump

There's a thing I say to my wife Kate from time to time that perfectly sums up our marriage:

"No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, no matter what hardships life throws at me or challenges I am forced to endure, I always know that you will be there...to knock me down a peg."

It's not always easy being married to someone with high expectations. It took me a long time to recognize that Kate's frequent suggestions of how I can improve are expressions of love, not malice. Early on, I realized it wasn't enough to apologize for my behavior, because the apology was inevitably followed by "How did this happen???"- because if we don't know the cause, how can we be sure the behavior will NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN??? Rather than getting annoyed or confrontational, I learned that the best way to defuse such situations is three simple words - "I'll be better" - a simultaneous admission of guilt and willingness to change, but one that's doesn't commit me to any specific course of action or timeframe.

So the other day Kate and I were driving and, as often happens, I wasn't paying close attention to the "rules" of "driving" and made a turn in front of an oncoming car - not close enough that there was any danger of an accident, but close enough that the other driver recognized my grievous affront to her dignity and the dignity of drivers everywhere, and, seemingly in slow motion, gave me the finger while leaning on the horn and screaming "fuuuuccckkk yooooouuuuu" as she drove past.

This presented a predicament for Kate. On the one hand, she wants to be supportive of her loving and adoring husband. On the other hand, it was clear to her that I had fucked up in such an unconscionable manner that she can relate to the other driver's need to flip me off. While her sense of obligation might counsel her to take my side, her sense of justice told her I should be held responsible and pay for my crimes.

It was then that Kate introduced me to the concept of the fuck you sandwich. Rather just watching as I'm being flipped off, Kate - bearing witness to my transgressions and being true to herself in solidarity with the woman giving me the finger - would be waiting with a fuck you of her own when I looked back. No matter where I turned, I would be surrounded by fuck you, trapped in a pile of fuck you at the fuck you concert, an ocean of fuck you in every direction, with me the filling in an all-encompassing fuck you sandwich. Only then would I learn.

As with other sandwiches, there are different variations: open face (when it's just Kate telling me to fuck off); double-decker (Kate and two others); triple-decker (Kate and three others, perhaps at a dinner party); and on it goes. But then I got to thinking, how big could a fuck you sandwich get? What would an enormous fuck you sandwich look like? And what if the people involved in the fuck you sandwich were directing their anger not at my personal failings, but at the failings of Donald Trump. And then it hit me - what Trump needs to make him a better person is a gigantic, nationwide fuck you sandwich!

But, you might ask, what Trump failings would warrant a giant fuck you sandwich? Let's start with the lying. In a recent interview, Trump advisor Kellyann Conway tried to explain Trump's lies saying "You always want to go by what's come out of his mouth rather than look at what's in his heart." One would have hoped that what came out of Trump's mouth was "true" and would not be "made up" and would have "some basis in reality." But this is what it's come to - the soon-to-be-president's closest advisors saying you can't trust a word he says.

Yesterday's press conference was the last straw. The lying, the obfuscation, the dissembling about the campaign, the victimization and grudge against the media, the juvenile comparisons to Hillary, the puffery, the lying about Obamacare, the lying about Russia, the lying about his conflicts of interest, the lying about his tax returns. And it just keeps coming.

In the past few weeks, I've noticed a growing chorus of otherwise well-meaning people saying we should give Trump a chance, that we shouldn't pre-judge, that he hasn't even taken office yet and we need to come together for the good of the country and he might not be that bad. As if some switch will be magically flipped at the inauguration and Trump will suddenly become presidential.

The fact is that every action Trump's taken since he was elected - the cabinet selections, the lying, the tweeting, the open displays of ignorance - confirm what we already know we've got with Trump: A liar. A huckster. A fraud. A charlatan. A manipulative, self-involved, remorseless, ego-obsessed, conspiracy-theory-stoking, grievance-nursing, white-supremacist-coddling, 3rd-grade-maturity-level-exhibiting, immigrant-deporting, racist-sympathizing, grab-em-by-the-pussy, don't-give-a-fuck-about-anyone-but-himself, golden-shower-enthusiast Russian puppet with an inferiority complex. It's not going to change. There is no switch to flip. And now we are left to deal with the wreckage of the worst collective decision in American history.

So what's to be done? I suggest we follow the advice of a few good Americans. To paraphrase Kellyann Conway, do not believe a word Trump says as long as he is president, but instead, look into his heart - his cold, dark heart. To paraphrase Mitch McConnell, our goal is to make Donald Trump a one-term president (or less). And to paraphrase another great American patriot, Kate Hoff, our job is to be the colossal America-sized fuck you sandwich that Trump deserves, surrounding Trump with fuck you as far as his cucumber-shaded eyes can see. Only then will he learn.

To America, I promise that no matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, no matter what hardships life throws at me or challenges I am forced to endure, I will be a slice of bread in the biggest fuck you sandwich this country has ever seen.

#trump #inauguration #fuckyousandwich