Once more, for the next civilization: The way to get through this is massive testing, hotspot identification, contact tracing, and targeted isolation. Get all that up to speed, and we can live what passes for normal lives.

We aren’t doing it that way.

We’re flying blind.

We’ll be flying blind for the duration.

We’re on our own.

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“If you’re old,” the tweet requested Thursday night, “please attach a link to your 2003 take on the invasion of Iraq to your 2020 take on Iran.”

We are old, but we wouldn’t be blogging for another five years, so we have no links to offer.

But we remember.

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A decade is an arbitrary unit of time, but there’s usually a story you can tell about it, at least through the 20th century and into the 21st. And had Hillary Clinton won the Electoral College, perhaps we could have coherent thoughts about the 2010s as well.

Instead, Donald Trump descended the Escalator to Hell on June 16, 2015, pretty neatly cleaving the story in half.

If you ignore Death Panels, anyway.

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A year in, you get used to it.

It doesn’t become normal. It doesn’t become accepted. But it does become expected, like a chronic condition. It’s just there. It’s always there. And you learn to deal with it.

Our government is not legitimate.

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We grew up in a time of great dystopian movies. Beginning with Dr. Strangelove and ending around Brazil, there’s a twenty-year run of gloom that perfectly syncs with our formative years. We may joke about still waiting for flying cars, but the future we anticipated was found in the theater, not in cartoons.

The wallpaper of our childhood was Vietnam and Nixon; gas shortages taught us that conditions could turn on a dime. Speaking of which, comic books cost twelve cents when we started buying them; they were a quarter when we stopped paying attention.

And yet we never felt as hopeless as we do today.

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Far be it from us to stand in the way of the vitriol being heaped on Trumpcare. The vote was finally held, the measure passed, and now everyone who was in a rush to have beers with the President will have to live with the consequences of their action.

You might call that a pre-existing condition for the 2018 election.

But quickly after the vote, both the Washington Examiner and the Times came out with stories about the next steps for the bill: Across the Capitol, and into the trash.

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Witless goon Fuckface von Clownstick flashes a thumbs up to imaginary admirers while wandering around the West Wing today, randomly shouting commands to his snickering staff and controller, the twisted freak and neonazi Steve Bannon.

Metrosexual trust fund twit Fuckface Von Clownstick will not see 2018 as Precedent because even fascist dictators have to know how to use a bathroom without causing a crisis. In what, 11 days?, Steve Bannon’s chew toy has managed to expose his administration to multiple impeachable train wrecks and turned the US in a pariah state that makes Chuck Taylor’s Liberia look like Monte Carlo.

We are comforted by the fact that there are bigger, more savage and more diabolical assholes in government and industry than even Bannon and his chew toy, all of which are planning on how to dispatch joy boy. The Chicago Tribune reviewed some of the mechanisms that are available for ejecting a terminally incompetent fuckwit like Von Clownstick.

We review and comment on them here for your edification and to proffer talking points that you can provide to your elected representatives in your hourly phone calls to Congress demanding removal of von Clownstick.

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