He Who Must Not Be Named

    I’m not a betting man but here’s one I couldn’t resist: a friend bet me that I couldn’t go a week without mentioning the name of America’s 45^th president. You know; the orange-faced, bizarrely-coiffed current resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

     My friend thinks I’m so obsessed with Mr….oops, I almost lost the bet right there and I’m only into the second paragraph of this piece. She thinks that I’m getting so worked up about this fellow that I’m losing perspective and maybe even endangering my health.

     Needless to say, I disagree. As I see it, I’m simply writing careful, evenhanded analyses of the new president. The fact that I’m doing it every day is, in my view, no cause for alarm but simply an indication that I am dedicated to expressing a certain point of view.

     My friend feels that maybe I’m losing perspective and lacking in objectivity when it comes to writing about Tangerine Mussolini. Given the wealth of written material I’m generating, I can see why she might be concerned but I assured her that I can stop at any time.

     Admittedly, this is a bit of a test. Can I even write one single opinion piece without mentioning the subject of the piece by name? I am confident that I can.

     The easiest course of action, of course, would be to simply forget about Cheeto Jesus entirely for the week and not write one word about him. After all, I could still write on a wealth of other topics. But I like to think I’m the kind of guy who can rise to a challenge and continue to pen op-eds about Racist Clementine and still not say, much less write, his name.

     My friend thinks it’s a combination of stubbornness and obsessiveness that motivates me. Maybe she’s right but I prefer to characterize it as a noble pursuit of the truth.

     I feel obliged, nay compelled, to comment on the latest offerings from the Angry Creamsicle. When someone says the media are the enemy of the people, that he won the greatest Electoral College victory since Ronald Reagan and that there was a terrorist attack last night in Sweden all in the space of 48 hours, someone has to say something.

     If the Prevaricating Pumpkin persists in ignoring the truth and running roughshod over everyone from the media to the judiciary, I feel it is my duty to call him out on his unpresidential behavior. To ignore it is to lend legitimacy to his rude and anti-democratic methods.

     The childish, ill-informed approach to governance exhibited by the Toddler With Tiny Hands is not just an international embarrassment, it’s a potential threat to America’s economy and to world peace. If we fail to repeatedly call out the Tweeter-in-Chief on his execrable actions then we are failing to do our duty as citizens.      

     There, I’ve done it. I’ve written an entire column and I didn’t mention Donald Trump’s name even once. Darn! I just mentioned it, didn’t I? And now I’ve lost the bet. Oh well, I guess I can live with wearing an orange wig and a red ball cap for a week with a placard on my back saying “Kick Me: I Love Donald Trump.”