Our trips south to visit my American cousins and grandparents was short on stops, long on drives, and hour stretches of silence through the mountains and bible belts, or endure some radio preacher peddling doom and gloom for those who don’t send him gobs of cash.

One favourite memory, actually, is that one time after breakfast at the Dutch Pantry in the heart of the Pennsylvania Dutch that got my younger sister Mom’s personal undivided attention whilst she puked her guts out in the backseat – delighted by every gag, as I finally got to sit in the front seat with Dad.

And of course, who can forget that one summer vacation we talked Dad into FINALLY taking the INNER beltway of D.C., rather than the OUTER one that went way way outside and you saw nothing.

We would never have stopped anywhere if it had been up to Dad. Ever.

Thankfully Mom ran the car, so we ate and pee’d and got a walk about once or twice a day.

God help us all, Dad would never, ever, ever, have stop anywhere near that place, D.C. due to a complete loathing of all things to do with a large city. So this concession meant we got to take what was the old beltway, that ran close to the heart of the place where I was born.

Now, this brief glimpse of that storied place, that grand White House, maybe, tantlaized my sister and I, and we eagerly awaited it all to unfold before us.

This being the late 70s, that swamp back then was thought to be drained, well, least after they got rid of Nixon and crew; or they all just hid.

So, picture it, 1976 and playing on the radio is Paul McCartney and Wings Silly Love Songs, eyes peeled, excited.

And, there it was, all of a sudden…before me, and what a completely and utterly disappointing view, I think I saw something white buildingish looking, er, a couple white buildingish things.

It took 20 years till I had a better view, like right at Lafayette Park across from the White House, as the Air Force One Helicopter landed, and some far far away people wearing long black coats got out.

Now, here we are, far far away, in like another galaxy.

These are some strange times, when Watergate reporters step out of the past, prophesying with some experience the 45ths potential doom.

Again, the sh!t show of greatness goes on, and we knew they knew more than they let on, and that they figured they would never have to tell what was known, by whom, anyway, here we are.

Who knew? Yet again. Who knew, indeed, who knew.

Em, everybody knew. Flip-flop.

Just that some I hear don’t really care who knew what, when and how they knew. And that right there is the problem, I think. The main one, that defines the divide between the loyal and who are not, and why.

But this alt-right hero appeals, to some, rank loyalty oozes from others, and that is worthy of note, and the GOP follows the followers in lock-step.

Why? well, far be it from me to pretend I understand the thinking of those who are disenfranchised with the elites who run the liberal showboat, with their big words and ultra politically correct too idealistic, perhaps naïve, beliefs and just ONE right way to be, hiding behind their designer rose-coloured glasses to protect their fragile snowflake blue eyes, or so I’ve been told.

And off with the ‘heds of all who disagree to save the whales, the land, the very sun, threatening we’ll be truly gone with the wind, and with every breath you take, and more rules for every move you make, even if we’re all doomed.

Today, go left or right, no tolerance at all for in-betweeners, no middle-way, no gray, just that fight for who is right and who is wrong gets ratcheted straight to the top.

So, back and forth with lofty words like sissy and loser, in all CAPS, in defense of a chiefs chest thumping tweet, idiocity, and commentary the likes of a schoolyard bully doxxing {whatever the f that is} the new kid in town, all paid for by an ex-KGB, or three, maybe, we’ll see.

All thee nationalistic racist Christian hypocrites, heads up, you will be judged by how you treat the least of you, as well as the worst.

Your rule, not mine.

Lies upon lies, to the ninth degree.

And just when we weren’t looking our preconceived notions were snatched up and given a bespoke meme, manufactured via Russia, for each of our unquestioned long-held beliefs.

Exit stage left, or right, it doesn’t matter now cause you’re still in a cage, all extremes are the same, caged, there is no relief from social media’s blank steady glare, and how can you really still even care, maybe even possibly care less, but what about this, and not about that, about us, them, you, me, scary.

UP is down, and DOWN is up.

Conspiracies spread faster with half-truths and lies, like fleas on a poor man’s dog. Cherry-picking a verse from some ancient book to excuse deplorable acts towards another, dripping irony lost on other horizons, for the great sin of requesting asylum from the storm.

A champion of all those closely held unsubstantiated fears, the ballot cast, even if the gig was rigged, the shady means justified the ends. With the noose dangling that still may hang the lot, following along, blinded by misspelt words, freedoms lost and found with the truth, confusing greatness I just do not see, with a dog and pony show maybe he thinks he got scot-free.

We shall see.