Proud to be a ‘Nasty Woman’. And I’m not alone.

I’ve got a few minutes before I have to make my macaroni and cheese, get ready and paint signs, and watch Jason Heyward star in a World Series. (Scatch that, he’s benched. Whaaat!?) So let me take a minute to talk about politics, because I’ve been abandoning my Twitter followers and my bloggers because all I do anymore is paint, sell stuff online. Paint, sell stuff online. So here goes.

I don’t go to Walmart. I’ve made it up to six months before I stepped foot in a  Walmart.  But I needed cheap spray paint and there’s no longer a Kmart or a craft section at Big Lots and
Lowe’s spray paint — and paint in general — sucks, so I had no choice.

I ran in early Sunday morning through the garden section, and the very first thing I saw was a man wearing a “Hillary for prison” shirt. I went last night at 1:30 in the morning and the only other customer in there was wearing a “Trump 2016” one. Which was strange because when I got out of the car, I thought of another reason why I hate Donald Trump. Like many children from a small town, we were not raised to lock stuff. I mean, I don’t know many kids who used a house key after school. Most of us just left the doors unlocked. But as a product of the 90s, I  always locked my car door. I still lock my car door at Walmart at 1:30 in the morning even though there’s nothing in it worth stealing and it’s got a hundred eighty-six thousand miles and peeling paint on the hood. But I still lock my car door — even though I washed my keyless when I forgot it was in my pants.  So when I come out and I have to fiddle for my keys,  which I haven’t done since 1995 because I’ve always had keyless entry, I still lock my door. Because we were told that if a man wants to assault you, the first thing he’ll do is climb in your back seat and wait for you. We were told to always keep our dome  light on so we can see anyone if they were hiding in the back seat. We were taught to always have our keys ready and how to use them as a weapon if we were attacked on the way to our car.  Yet, I don’t remember anyone teaching boys how not to assault girls. 

Oh, that’s common sense, you say.

You would think.

But obviously not.

Oh, we teach people though shalt not kill yet people still murder, you say.

Well, yes, but murder usually happens for a reason. That’s why the first thing they look for is motive and who stood to profit from the death. What’s the motive behind sexual assault, what is there to profit from attacking a woman?

Power.  It makes the man feel powerful. And we can’t say that this isn’t specific by gender, dominated by gender, and aimed at gender because you don’t see larger men assaulting smaller man on the regular for the thrill of a dominance. You don’t see larger women violating smaller women to be powerful. But men, throughout history,  assault women for the thrill, the dominance, the adrenaline that they feel from doing so. It is a cultural thing.  Men feel entitled to take what they want from a woman.

There’s not a woman out there who hasn’t encountered  a man who thought “no” meant try harder.

And there’s no better example of that than the words we heard from Donald Trump. All his privilege, billions of dollars,  beautiful wives,  bragging about being able to grab women by the private parts and get away with it because he was.  So when I saw that guy wearing a Trump 2016 shirt last night it took all I could not to go over to him and explain why I had to lock my door and why men like Donald Trump are the reason for it.

Now,  that’s said: I’m both thrilled and amazed at the number of Hillary Clinton signs and Hillary Clinton stickers that I’ve been seeing in Dickson County. Now any day of the week I can go to Davidson County and see Obama stickers.  That’s because, like Austin, Texas,  Nashville is the blue dot of sanity in a deeply Red State. As are all of our metropolitan areas and areas where colleges and universities reside. But in a place like this, it’s rare. But there are Hillary Clinton signs all over Dickson and not a day goes by that when I’m getting my coffee I don’t get behind another car with a Hillary Clinton sticker. Here in rural red dot County!  And it only reaffirmed what the national media and political pundits have been saying all along, women — even Republican women — have had it with men like Donald Trump.

So listen up, Captain Tangerine.  I’m proud to be a “nasty woman.”  And there are a whole lot more  out there just like me. And they are coming over from your side of the house.  You know what they say, boys: “Bitches get shit done!”

And if Hillary Clinton is nasty, I’m freaking filthy.

The Mango Mussolini is about to find that out November 8th.


Lack of Election Elation, America?

For the majority of my life, I have looked forward to elections. The second one is over,  I start counting minutes to the next. They are the Super Bowl of politics, only you have to wait for them like the Olympics. I spend four years pining, waiting, obsessing over one of my very favorite things about the United States — that peaceful exchange of power.

But I’m just ready for this election to be over.  It has made me older sadder,  dumber.  We went in the gutter and we took the national conversation with us.  We’ve watched lie after lie with 50% of the nation not even noticing or seeming to care.  We’ve watched a man who believes that one person alone should be able to change our entire government like he doesn’t understand the branches or veto power.  Believing that
one senator from New York can change our entire government and totally remake America even if she’s not in consensus with the rest of the Senate and the house. Elections are for people like me who always dreamed of making a difference with their life. I know no matter what’s wrong in life, no matter how down, or how baffled I am that grown adults screen shot posts and act like children, no matter how unsure of everything I am or how much I feel like I’ve wasted my talent and my life, election night is America’s chance to shine. For one brief moment, we are connected to all the generations that have gone before. And candidacies are like underdogs in sporting events in that when a Barack Obama comes out of nowhere and pulls off an upset, we have hope that we can too. Dreamers like me view politics as an outlet for those dreams and elections give us the opportunity to witness change that we can’t effect on our own. We are stronger together; we have more power together;  our voices together are louder than they ever will be alone.

But this election has been a disappointment, to put it in the most severe form of understatement.

When the world looks to us to elevate conversation and to dominate global altruism, we just allowed the rest of the world to peer in on a shit storm. Some people dream of growing up and having children, getting married, bulding roots, I always dreamed of making a difference. I wanted to be the lawyer that saves the day, the politician that got it done, the civil servant who worked hard to earn her constituents trust, the writer who puts down words on paper that change the way somebody viewed life. I never wanted to be liked, I never needed to be liked, what I needed was to feel that I did something with all that I’ve been given, with my talent, with my voice, with my self-expression. And an election is when people like me get to see that reflected. And we get to hope for more — for change, for goodness, for making a difference that matters. Campaigns are the build up to the slow evolution that changes lives. This campaign hasn’t been about hope, it’s been about hate.

And I’m ready for it to be over.

On Guns, And Why We Need a Clinton Kind of Economy.


See, did you see my last Facebook post? All these Conservative gun crazies over the years have accused me of being “anti Second Amendment” or “anti gun.” That’s just absolute horse crap.

I’m pro gun in LOTS of situations. I’m pro my cousin Tracy having a gun to kill the bad things — S -words — on my grandparents’ farm so I can run the hill in peace. I’m pro Miranda Lambert taking a shot gun to Blake Shelton’s whoring ass. I’m pro-CIA taking Trump the talking twit’s tangerine butt out.

Okay, I take that back. That wasn’t kind. Sorry, Mr. Trump. Apologies to his kids for the death jest.

* whispers to self:  “How do you think Hillary Clinton felt, a-hole?” *

I’m PRO gun in lots of situations. What I’m not, have never been, is pro- psychos out-arming the brave men and women who respond to life-or-death situations before they can even get there.  I’m not pro- you dying by gun violence as victim to someone who should have never had one in the first place.

I’ll tell you what else I’m pro:  Economy.

I eat Happy Meals — yes,  me, for myself — don’t judge. I also pick them up for me and my 90-year-old grandmother. Again, don’t judge.

We give the toys to the twins.

I just pulled through to pick up two of the Mighty Kids Meals. Total? 


Go ahead, guess!

$9.86. For two Happy Meals.

In an economy where minimum wage hangs somewhere over $7 an hour.

Now, this is the part where I always get some variation of regurgitation of something Rush Limbaugh told you that you didn’t even stop to think about before you repeat in an attempt to talk “politics” about how minimum wage is “not meant to be lived off of.”  In essence what you’re saying when you say that, is that retail stores — anywhere that pays their employees an hourly minimum wage — should only be open during hours that are conducive to school schedule. Otherwise, who is sacking your bread during the daytime? Independent millionaires who just enjoy the thankless, looked down upon in certain political circles work?

Do anti-minimum wage increase advocates ever even pause to THINK about what you’re saying before you repeat it?

If minimum wage jobs ‘weren’t meant to be lived off of’ then that would mean they couldn’t expect those places to be open during work hours. Otherwise their employees would be at WORK.

Also, America’s not going broke. Not even close to it. Corporate profits are through the roof and the stock market is at an all time high. The problem is that none of that wealth has “trickled down.”

Why? Because we’ve near completed a successful assassination attempt on unions and, particularly in the south and in rural areas, done a bang-up job convincing the little man that his pocket book problems has nothing to do with his non-rising income. And that he can be better paid by giving the boss man more money.

Which is like telling the starving that they’ll be better fed by gathering around the floor of a banquet hall where they can exist  off the dropped table scraps while we give the obese actually sitting around them a fatter meal.

They’ve been able to do so by wrapping economic issues in moral ones. To distract you from the fact that your legislators are doing nothing for you and only working for those wealthy campaign donors that benefit from their introduced legislation, they use issues like abortion, Jesus, guns. Donald Trump simply came along and for his own  personal gain, pointed out what those of us on the left have been saying to the middle class and lower income voters on the right for a while.  The difference is while the left is full of people who have spent their entire lives fighting for the betterment of others telling you, showing you, this, the right has Donald Trump.

If you truly believe that a billionaire who’s never done a generous, selfless, or philanthropic thing in his temperamental and privileged life actually cares about you — you prove exactly why you’ve been swindled in the first place.

If you weren’t old to remember the income and growth that we experienced as a nation in the nineties, do your research. Ask someone who was. Then ask them about the economic collapse of the 2000s. You may have the luxury of waiting out a Trump presidency, but some people can’t. President Barack Obama has us well on our way and we cannot afford to turn back now.

Don’t be blinded by those who attempt to use religion to distract you from the fact of your being taken advantage of.

“What would Jesus Do”? 

Well, based off his stance on the poor, the role of rich men, charity, kindness, love, and doing unto others (just to mention a few),  I think it’s  pretty safe to say — based on party platforms — that he’d vote blue in November.

Jesus for Hillary, bro!

Yes, GOP, I said it. And no, I ain’t sorry about it.

Candice Mathis


Candi is a lifelong reader, writer, Democrat, kid keeper. She lives in Middle Tennessee and rants coast to coast.

It’s Time To Put Country Over Party.


What does being American mean to you? To me, it means a multitude of things. Mostly, it means that anyone that loves this country doesn’t have to love what you say, but we have to fight for your right to say it. Now, that doesn’t mean that people don’t get the First Amendment confused. They absolutely do. Freedom of speech doesn’t mean that I  can say anything I want with absolutely no consequences. The Supreme Court has ruled on this.  Freedom of speech crosses the line when you stand up in a crowded movie theater and yell fire.

That also doesn’t mean that if I call my boss a jerk, while I’m absolutely “free” to do that,  I’m not guaranteed I won’t get fired.

Freedom of speech simply means that I’m not going to be stoned to death or burned in the middle of town square for criticizing the government. That’s freedom of speech. And while I will absolutely defend your right to fly a Confederate flag on your property or on your vehicle, I absolutely defend my right to follow you into the gas station to tell you why you’re an offensive, ignorant, and arrogant illiterate. I often do.

And that’s completely different than flying the clothed emblem of slavery and oppression on public property. Just as you’re free to fly the universal sign for someone who received their “history lesson” off the back of spring break t-shirt in Alvin’s Island in your yard, kids of color should be free to go to school without the symbol of those who went to war to continue owning their ancestors, also.

Being American means many things. It means that while there’s insane money in politics that we need to remove, my vote is also still not for sale. And that no amount of money, no amount of Koch brothers and independent billionaires running for election, can buy the presidency if citizens don’t go into the the voting booth and cast a ballot for them. That is the most precious right of all in the United States.  And of course, being an American means patriotism.

But we’ve seen “patriotism” take on irrational forms of late. The party that claims to care about war heroes and drapes themselves continuously in the American flag — as if that is somehow the measure of how much someone loves their nation — now has a nominee for the highest office in the land who insults the mother and father of a soldier who made the ultimate sacrifice. That’s not what patriotism looks like to me.

That’s not what patriotism and the self-professed party of Christ looks like to the majority of Americans.

No matter how old my grandmother gets, no matter what she forgets, she never forgets to monitor that American flag out in her yard.  To see if it’s tattered, to see if it’s torn.  And when it is, nothing will stop her until she gets it replaced. This weekend I put up a new one for her, and if you’ve never seen somebody that’s not even 5 foot tall try to take down the American flag, fold it, and put up another one without allowing it to touch the ground — it was almost a YouTube fail-worthy  sight. But I did it.

That’s patriotism.

But patriotism also means that while I will not even allow an American flag to touch the ground in honor of men like my grandfather who served in the Navy, the Army and the National Guard, being an American citizen with all its complicated requirements,  also means I defend your right to burn it in protest.

Now, I think that you are an ungrateful and disgusting person who’s not worthy of the citizenship of America or the men and women who fight for you if you chose to do so, and if a soldier wanted to go toe-to-toe with you the Walmart parking lot, I think we’d all contribute to his bail, but the freedom of expression in America means you have to allow freedom of expression that you find disgusting so long as it’s not done on any government or public property.

If you want to burn a flag in your yard, as sickening as that is, in America, you cannot subscribe to the demand that the symbol of a free nation be  something as small as fabric.

That’s patriotism. That’s honor for the United States Constitution.

Patriotism means that if I don’t agree with gay marriage, I recognize the right that, here in the United States, we are not governed by any religion and that everyone has a right to  privileges that I may not approve of, so that I can enjoy the ones that I do.  America means so many things to so many people, and underneath that diverse tapestry is a layer that unites us all. And I don’t see any part of that shared unity represented in the Republican nominee for president of the United States.

It’s time to put country over party.

This is an election for the soul of our country. Democrat or Republican, we have to ask ourselves — what kind of nation are we? Is the party of Abraham Lincoln now really the Party of Donald Trump? From Dwight Eisenhower to a man who insults the memory and the family of men like Captain Khan? I know that there are still honorable men and women in the GOP. It’s time to stand up, y’all. You’ve allowed this to go on long enough. We are Americans before we are anything. It’s time to remember that.

Make America Great Again, my foot.

We are and always have been the land of opportunity. Or, as they say, the home of the free because of the brave. Let’s act like it.

And our brave deserve a Commander-in-Chief who doesn’t mock a five year prisoner of war — one who refused his own release unless his fellow POWS could be released with him — for being captured in the first place. While simultaneously having received medical deferments to escape service to his nation for a boo-boo on his foot.

Donald Trump is unworthy of our military’s honor and their sacrifice.

Candice Mathis


Candi is a lifelong reader, writer, Democrat, and kid keeper. She drinks coffee at midnight and schools Gators fans for fun. Catch her @CandiMathis on Twitter.

The Mathis Family is a Mess.

These conversations just happened.

My aunt was sitting at the dining room table telling me something stupid that somebody said, I quipped:  “Did he, maybe,  take up smoking grass today?

My aunt looked confused.

Laughing, I said, “You don’t know what grass is, do you? Marijuana!  Although, I don’t think they call it grass anymore… I think it’s called something else.”

My almost 91-year-old Memaw perks up from her chair in the living room with all the enthusiasm of a hipster from Seattle, Washington, and says, “Weed.”

Me and my aunt Paula laughed at her so hard — I couldn’t stop. I said, “You can thank two of your grandkids for that education and for once, I ain’t one of them.”

“Which ones smoked weed?” she says.

I ain’t telling.

They know who they are — reformed reefers.

Then, my aunt points at ‘Meet The Press’  onscreen and says, “Oh, somebody called here the other day for Mama. I just hung up on them.”

Me:  “Who was it?”

Paula:  “Somebody for that old  Donald Trump.”

I said, “You tell that quesadilla-faced mother f-cker that not only are we not voting for that human cross between a tangelo and a banana peel, but that he can kiss our Syrian refugee-loving, white American ass.”

Paula says, “Well…”

This — me — is the reason my Memaw says shit like “weed” with certainty and gusto.

My family is a mess, but we’re funny as hell. My Memaw thinks she’s cool.  She kinda is, though…

As the University of Tennessee football team would say,  she’s ‘dope’ or ‘chill’  as hell when she wanna be.

*fakes southern accent *

“Roll Tide!”

(Why Roll Tide? That’s what I say at the end of being a smart ass.)

But seriously, GooOoo Vols!

“My Husband Make Great President For America!” Plagiarism


(Because who doesn’t want a First Lady with “Come F— Me!” face?)

Melania Trump is cracking me up. In fact, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t sleep all night — because I was going back and forth between being angry and then finding it funny again.

Melania Trump very obviously plagiarizes Michelle Obama’s convention speech —  although she told Matt Lauer on the plane prior to the convention that she “wrote” it.

Here’s what I find so damn funny about that:  If you wanted to plagiarize a speech, wouldn’t you at least attempt to plagiarize one from someone that you pretend to have respect for? Donald Trump has spent the last eight years calling Barack Obama an idiot, calling Barack Obama stupid, saying Barack Obama has no class, that he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t have a clue, he’s weak, he’s ineffective, and in the midst of the largest moment in his “political” career — his wife rips off President Obama’s wife?!

And then his campaign manager, Paul Manafort, blames Hillary Clinton for the plagiarism?

It’s almost as if this isn’t even real life. How can people be this ridiculous?

Although I appreciate the jokes that Melania Trump’s speech writer must have went to Trump U, but we know Melania Trump’s “speech writer” went to Harvard (twice). Because Michelle Obama actually wrote her convention speech. Both of them. And she used her two degrees from Harvard to do so.

The internet never forgets, Trump.  If you’re going to plagiarize somebody, you can’t just go back to 2008, dude! Do you not think people like me remember?

No, of course not. Because Trump is that stupid, he assumes that you are too. He assumes that you — Republican voter — don’t know what the internet, research, or previous conventions are.

And he damn sure doesn’t think you’re smart enough to know how to use them against him.


Sweet Jesus, I’m surprised Melania Trump didn’t say, “I’m a proud African American woman.”


What Donald Trump Has Done To Me: On Cyberbullying, My Sanity, Stress Level, and What It’s Like Living Blue in a Batshit Red State

I just can’t write enough about what social media has been like for me over the last few years. I mean, imagine something you’ve always been good at. Something that has been your hobby.  Your interest. Something that you’ve spent time studying since you were a little girl on Brown Avenue  — which is to say as long as you can remember. 

And then imagine being attacked for it.

Sports is often the way that people bond with their fathers, their grandfathers — or their great-uncle.  And for me, it was no different. It — sports — is often the way they carry their loved one on long after they’re gone.  Back when I was still writing lyrics, I wrote verses for my own country “song” about how when I saw that bat swing on the corner of the TV, it lifted up my spirit and restored my faith. And calmed a  longing that, for a long time, seemed to only be calmed by alcohol. It was a way to connect to my “father” (my Uncle Chunky) long after he he had left this Earth.

Or as I wrote in a certain lyric:  “Bat swing, knock it out of the park, a little lifted up hope for this worn down heart.”

And while Tennessee football was always just uniquely me, that’s what Cardinal baseball is. It’s a way to feel like I’m still back in that little white house and safe and nothing can hurt me.

It’s the same with politics.

I don’t know if I love the government of the United States or Presidential history because my Uncle Chunky did, or if it’s just my own. I like to believe it’s the latter. I like to believe, like Bill Clinton, I was just born learning people’s life stories and fighting for those who can’t, for whatever reason, fight for themselves. I like to believe that public service is what I was born to do. That it was what I was created for.  But the truth is, there’s always been a little bit of my Uncle Chunky in that because he loved it too. 

It’s serious to me. It’s a commitment to the betterment of mankind, and it’s something that I take personal. And I love dearly. It’s my life story. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do and it doesn’t come from a place of hatred for black people like all these redneck come-lately Fox News watchers and their menthol smoking grannys that suddenly, miraculously, became “constitutional scholars” overnight. 

As in, over the night a black man took up residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Genuinely, it was something that nobody else I know was ever interested in until we elected a black man to the Oval Office. And suddenly, the same people who spent a lifetime wondering why I was such a political dork who got excited over state primaries;   who can still remember vividly clutching that box I purchased at The Smithsonian summer before 9th grade that read “We Want FDR Again!” and how excited I was to get back to Tennessee and give that to my Uncle Chunky; that girl that sat at the bar with her friend Jethro in college watching the Bill Clinton impeachment trial while everybody else was partying. These same “you’re weird” yelling friends have now spent years calling me names and telling me how brainwashed I am. And it’s taken a huge effect on me.  Not their insults, I’m stronger than that.  But their outrageous and unfounded involvement in the first place.

And it’s time that I fight back — which is exactly what I’ve been doing.

It’s not unique for somebody to come along and stalk, bully or intimidate a changemaker, or attack a white person that stands up to racism and attempt to bully them into silence. This is not something you invented. But my response from the stress that I suddenly feel is new to me. I’ve always had nerves of steel. I was a girl that you wanted in the war room with you. I’ve stood up to grown men. I’m not scared of jail.   I’ve never been afraid to jump in the middle of a fight, and I was the little sister that often did so while they continued to just swing over me, and things just don’t intimidate me.  Or, more importantly, get me so outraged. And I’m just not that way anymore. The stress has physically affected me.

I have to tell on myself about how bad my stress level is. I think….I just need prayer.  Maybe. 

I don’t know if it’s an underlying medical condition or if I’m seriously this stressed out over Donald Trump, but I had to start taking Prozac about a month ago and I’m still waiting for it to kick in. I hope you’re laughing at that because I am.  I know people think I’m so obsessed with Donald Trump, but this stuff just gets me so worked up that I can’t calm down. Even though I’ve always had — I guess you could say — “medical problems,”  I’ve been extremely blessed with great health. I could see a random doctor for a cold and he would comment on how great my sitting heart rate was. I always attributed that to the fact that I exercised.  I’ve always had great blood pressure.  With the exception of the fat doctor, I haven’t been to a medical doctor since 2002. But since I’m afflicted with Body Dysmorphic Disorder and seriously fear obesity more than I fear death, and have succumbed, at times, to
eating disorders — which you can read all about my tales of starvation and my struggle with alcoholism in my memoir when it comes out — I always saw Dr. Huffnagle on a regular basis. I haven’t seen him in months, but the last couple of visits over the last year or so, the nurse has commented on the fact that my always excellent blood pressure was high.  And when he, Dr H,  asked if there was anything stressing me out,  I said,   “Yes, it’s these gotdamn Republicans!”  Even though he’s a gotdamn Republican, they rolled with laughter at me because I don’t think anybody ever thinks I’m serious. (I hardly am.)  But, and I’m being serious here,  I don’t know if the years of diet pill use (which I no longer take), or the starving myself while still strenuously exercising (because I know that’s what does the most damage to people who suffer with eating disorders) during the periods of my life where I existed on 300 calories a day, locked myself in the house because I thought I was too fat to leave, and forced myself to run 5 miles a day,  have damaged my heart or if it’s simply psychosomatic.  I just know that I’m not the same and I truly need prayer.

Sometimes I think maybe my Memaw works my nerves (lol), or that it’s just my life.  But I stay dizzy, throwing up, and feeling like I’m going to pass out most days. I’ve started running again, but all it does is remind me of how weak I am — and it takes lying around all day to get the energy to even exercise.

But here’s the real problem. At the slightest bit of stress, my heart starts racing uncontrollably, the room starts spinning, I get sick at my stomach, feel like I’m going to throw up, get light headed, and I start seeing spots. I don’t know if that’s psychological, emotional,  or if my heart seriously just can’t handle stress anymore. It’s so bad I had to quit reading Facebook
News Feed two years ago. And now Donald Trump has drove me to think I need Prozac.

Seriously, I hope you’re laughing at that — because I am. Even I find it funny. And I find it funny because I’m dead serious. I have to medicate myself to tolerate Trump.

I stay so nervous and dizzy and lightheaded and ANGRY all the time.  Any kind of exercise leaves me short of breath and my nerves are constantly shot everytime I get on Facebook — even for a second.  I normally just post what I have to say and get off. Any time I attempt to read  Facebook public page, I get myself so worked up I can’t breathe. Now that makes me sound like an emotional basket case that needs therapy — and all of that is true.  But it’s just, as I’ve said many times, that my personal best is reading 147 books in eight months of the year, and I’ve been studying this stuff since I was a little girl and in the last few years…

I’ve been harassed. I’ve been trolled. I’ve been stalked. I’ve been targeted with bullying, anger, rage. I’ve been told I was going to burn in hell more times than I can remember.  I’ve seen the same people that used to love me, turn on me and tell me what an ignorant, mindless, brainwashed liberal I am — yes, by those who are snorting cocaine up their nose and drinking everything in sight. And, let’s be real here, political affiliations aside, I think we can all agree, whether you like me or not, there is one thing that you can say that’s true about me — I’ve thought for myself every damn day of my life.

Or, as I can still remember my Uncle Chunky saying:  “Hold your horses now, little missy. Don’t get too big for your britches. Just because thinking may not come as easy for some people as it does you, doesn’t mean there isn’t stuff that they can’t do better than you!”

He was usually talking about my brother. Ha!

And that’s what set me off today. I keep hearing these Trump supporters that are just repeating everything that some Sean Hannity sold them on Fox News — that have no idea how ridiculous they sound —  telling people like me that stay at home with our hard backs and our freaking cats, that we’re so “brainwashed” and blind. We’re “Obama bots” and dumbass “libtards.”  And I just can’t take it anymore.

I imagine when Peyton Manning was little and dreaming of playing quarterback, he held that football in the same regard similar to the way little political nerds like me sat around with their books dreaming of being in the Senate. The way all kids do.  We all have dreams, and this has always been mine. And I’ve watched as it has been ripped apart, and as our Congress as been hijacked — by people on both sides — that don’t have any interest in the public’s common good, and I’ve seen those extortionist that exploit the hate and the division for personal and financial gain who don’t give a damn about the best political course of this nation — and it breaks my heart.  I’ve watched these people, the same politically ignorant conspiracy theory mongers, who suddenly turned into “political experts” the second a black man got elected to the highest office, the same ones that are constantly telling me how wrong and stupid and mindless I am. You know, the  “Wake up, you sheeple!” screamers.

Blah, blah,  and fucking blah. 

When they can’t outwit me, they call me a midget;  cyberstalk me; tattle on me to Zuckerberg; have me blocked from Facebook.  They call me “godless” or close-minded. Yes, the same people that always told me I’ve never met a stranger suddenly accuse me of being ignorant, shallow and simple  minded because I stand up to white people.

Which, again, is odd that the only two things I’ve ever been in my life are:  1) a friend to everyone;  2) smart.

All it took was us getting a black president, and wow! Now I’m dumb, narrow minded, and a strenuously disliked bitch.

I just can’t take this dipshittery anymore. It’s up to epic political proportions — and politics has always been coated in manure — and I’m drowning in it.

Most days I feel like my head’s going to explode or my heart’s going to stop. Donald Trump makes fun of people like me and I cannot stand the fact that there are people that still makes excuses for that. Or these rednecks online that suddenly think they know more than me about the political course of this nation — you don’t. And you never have.

You may not agree with me, and you don’t have to.

But I am not mindless. I am not brainwashed. I am not dumb.  And I am not a sheeple. (And these conservatives always come welding the same Rush Limbaugh inspired insults — because they are never the authors of original and independent thought.) What I am, however,  is stressed, outraged,  and spiritually sick at the political state of our nation and the people that subscribe to politics because it’s a way to get their daily bump of hate heroin.

I need a fresh start. I need to move to a blue district and run for something. I need to de-stress and I need to take all this anger that has been forced upon me and use it to save what used to be the greatest nation on Earth. We still are — and it’s time that our Congress functions like it.

I’m afraid I’m gonna die of a heart attack if I don’t.

And I will NOT allow that ignorant ass, orange-faced, demagoging twat with a toddler-level vocabulary to kill me.