If You’re Kids Are Traumatized By Trump’s Win, We Have The Therapist For You
There was an interesting article in the San Francisco Chronicle this week that you might have missed if you were doing something more important than reading the San Francisco Chronicle like squeezing the pimple between your eyes until blood and pus poured down the front of your face and you spent the rest of the morning taking pictures of yourself smeared in gore with your tongue sticking out sideways and sending the selfies to all your friends with a message saying, “Look, I’m in the new sequel to Night of the Living Dead — laughter emoji.”
The article was written by Ariella Cook-hyphen-Shonkoff, a child therapist and art therapist based in Berkeley, California, and I was going to make a joke about that but how much funnier could it get? Her article is entitled, “How to Talk to Your Kids About Donald Trump’s Election.”
The article begins with this advice — and so help me, this is a genuine quote: “Before engaging with kiddos, give yourself some space to grieve. Hug someone close, walk in the woods, sit on a beach, cry under a blanket. Check your pulse. Are you feeling heated, reactive or in the throes of despair? If so, delay the conversation.”
Now, look, I know Democrats are genuinely suffering after Donald Trump particlized their every hope and dream of destroying our freedoms — and I don’t like to take pleasure in the emotional pain of others unless the emotional pain of others tastes like caramel swirl ice cream melted into a sugary liquid and then poured over the naked body of Ana de Armas so that she and it can be drunk down whole like a shot of tequila in a Tijuana Bar knocked back in a single gulp at three in the morning after being poured over the naked body of Ana de Armas.
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So let’s try to imagine how Berkeley child art therapist Ariella hyphen-name wants us to break the Trump news to our kids.
After sobbing under a blanket and taking your pulse, approach your child slowly with the blanket still over your head, leaving visible only your grief-wracked face with chaotic streaks of mascara that transform it into an almost perfect image of a vampire raccoon that might be waiting under the bed to jump out at your child at any moment.
Tenderly, sit your son down in the crinkling folds of his crinoline party gown, and gently say, “Brenda, my darling boy, I know we’d been planning to celebrate your eighth birthday by cutting off your testicles so you could pretend to be a girl until you’d grown old enough to make your own decision whether to commit suicide or simply mainline anti-depressants, but I’m afraid under Donald Trump, you may have to face the fact that you’re not really a girl, you’re just acting like some kind of sissy. You might even want to get some masculinity pointers from your father if I can find out where he lives and maybe convince him to come home by dumping this hyphen malarkey and taking his name like a married woman should.” Then, if Brenda starts to cry, you can just tenderly smack him a good one and say, “Man up, girly boy, you’re in Trump’s America now.”
After that, you might sit your daughter down and say, “Cruella, sweetheart, I know you were looking forward to puberty, when you could begin to empower yourself by amassing a gigantic body count of indifferent men who’ve used your flesh for their own personal pleasure so you can shout your abortion between nights of heavy drinking that leave you clinging to your vomit-covered toilet praying to God for some relief from your despair. But now, with abortion banned in Alabama, Arkansas and several other states you’ve never been to or heard of, I think you might consider going on a sex strike against any man who refuses to dedicate his life to supporting you while you raise the children sex creates and make a home for both them and him. Oh, and don’t forget to take his last name so he knows the sex strike is serious. And make sure he’s wearing a MAGA hat and isn’t some weak-ass dipstick like your father.”
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This excerpt is taken from the opening satirical monologue of “The Andrew Klavan Show.”
Andrew Klavan is the host of “The Andrew Klavan Show” at The Daily Wire. He is the bestselling author of the Cameron Winter Mystery series. The fourth installment, “A WOMAN UNDERGROUND,” is now available. Follow him on X: @andrewklavan
The views expressed in this satirical article are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Wire.
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