Dealing with the Haters

Recently I posted a picture of a bartender in Palm Springs wearing a t-shirt stating what most sane and intelligent people would consider quite obvious: Our president is essentially a buffoon who lacks any real intelligence and is an embarrassment to our great country. Maybe it didn’t say exactly those words but it was something along those lines. It was also in Spanish, a deliberate jab to get under the skin of Trump’s “base”, most of which live in constant fear of anyone with skin color unlike their own. My point was proven a mere seconds after I hit “post”.            

A former running friend of mine, I’ll call him Mr. George, likely sitting in an underground bunker, surrounded by pictures of his idols: Hitler, Rocket Man, David Duke, Trump, and other faces of true “greatness” like Brett “I like beer” Kavanaugh, wasted no time in responding. Overcoming the physical challenges of typing while wearing an oversized white robe, a matching pointy hood and a MAGA hat carefully balanced on the peak, he asked if I was now going to call his president a racist, to which I simply replied, “No point in stating the obvious.”         

Clearly this rattled Mr. George who felt I had no right criticizing his beloved dictator in training. His face turned bright red, matching the color of his hat, and he quickly replied with some drooling gibberish about participating in a debate of the “facts”. This struck me as rather odd given the subject matter being discussed. It is, after all, easily proven that the words “Trump” and “Facts” should never be included in the same sentence, or even the same paragraph.         

I was tempted to go down the social media rabbit hole but stopped myself short. I looked around and soaked up my surroundings. I was in Palm Springs, CA, there were mountains and sunshine. Outside my window was a golf course surrounded by impeccable landscaping and I thought to myself…Mr. George is a bitter, hateful, misguided soul, much like the man he defends. I will not engage with someone who’s first contact with me in 15 years is a defense of a despicable, disgusting man.

So with that I clicked the “unfollow” button, picked up my cooler filled with adult beverages, and headed to the pool.

Good riddance, George


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