"I learned to look for the subtle signs of a MAGA in my midst. Anyone not randomly alluding to the American Armageddon in casual conversation, not re-laminating the Stronger Together bumper sticker to the family Prius, or not dressing their kids in old Obama HOPE t-shirts might be a stealth Trump supporter.
One day at the beach, a crew of new friends and my family all suddenly stopped, sensing some ineluctable shift in social electricity. We turned to each other for what seemed an eternity of apprehension – then threw caution to the wind and asked tentatively, "Wait, are you...did you...?"
Maybe it was that there, on the Pacific Coast, with the ocean at our backs like a corner table at an Italian mob restaurant, we felt safe enough to ask the question that could otherwise legitimize shunning in our community. Once we had all unmasked ourselves and had our Come to Donald moment, the freedom to talk was like the euphoria of finding other people when you were young who were really into the same loud, weird, awesome band everyone else hated.
Under the tyranny of California sunshine that weather-shames you into always being outside, we found joy in hammering diaper-wearing lefties, pussy hat hypocrites, the fake news media, Empress Pantsuit, and Barry-O'Trojan Horse to our hearts' content. Thereafter, we would seek each other out on the down-low – always in private – in an effort to find some time to speak freely about our president, Captain Middle Finger. We formed a secret society of sorts, just to be able to talk openly about the president of the United States of America.".......
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