I get mail

And missives from the frontier of Trump madness

I miss the Hate Mail.

It was my daily reward. Nothing made this liberal cartoonist more satisfied than the image of a Cro-Magnon crank so infuriated by ink on newsprint that they’d pound out an actual correspondence detailing their indignant furor explaining why my one-sided partisan views were threatening in a succinct coarse fashion and listing the ways they’d shred me, call me an anti-white racist, beat me, silence me or bend me over Barack Obama’s desk and rape me while my children watched. And that was a mild one.

I miss those days.

It was a reliable measure of my effectiveness as a provocateur. My hate mail was generally noteworthy for its absence of argument. The dumb ad hominem insults always had a sputtering, stammering rage to them that was satisfying. I imagined eyes bulging. Teeth gritting. Hearts clutched. All because of lines inked on paper.

The one side effect of being the object of ignorant rage daily for decades is an abiding despair for the country, just knowing this minority of my fellow countrymen is out there among us. Malevolent. Mentally ill. Short-sighted. Incurious. Raging. Reproducing. Religulous. Crusading. Violent. And irrational.

I know they are a minority. It’s my mantra. They are a minority. They are a minority. They are a minority.

After the Editorial Page Editor would run a sampling of my hate mail in the Star’s Letters to the Editor section I’d get letters of encouragement from fans defending my views.

So sweet. Thank you, fans and friends.

Over the years my favorite mail came from folks who saw or heard something they thought I’d want to hear. Some would share stories about encounters like this one which comes from my handsome friend Mike Caprio, a retired cop (Thank you, brother), a SAG actor (I’d cast you as a Viking) and a gentle giant (On the Hagrid scale) living the good life in Green Valley:

“I was in Tombstone today. Drove by the Drump store for all things Drump and met the gunsmith for Tombstone. He had a T-shirt on that stated THE ONLY GOOD DEMOCRAT IS A DEAD DEMOCRAT with gravestones on the bottom for Biden, Clinton, Obama, and Hillary. My wife and I confronted him.

He said do you know what the second amendment is?

I said of course I do, but you're advocating violence and that is not protected under the first or second amendment. I continued to tell him that not only Republicans have guns. Democrats do also but we don't go around with shirts that preach violent acts.”

Thanks, Mike.

I imagine Mr.MAGA was unaccustomed to hearing a contrary view like yours down there in the Bat Shit Craziness Bubble just north of the border and due west of Mar-a-Lago. That airless mindless bubble is sealed airtight in Cochise County. No facts get in. Every morning in Cochise County he and thousands like him rise to chug 3-cups of right-wing radio down their gun gargling gullets. Then they cinch their gunbelts and waddle over to check their right-wing online sources of demented Q-Anon-craziness-for-racist-crackers bullshit and then it’s onto another day with the low background hum of FOX right-wing TV thrumming out of every trailer, shed, barn and hovel in the entire county.

When I worked at The Arizona Daily Star our online content at one time offered readers the opportunity to respond online to my progressive piffle by posting comments. Over time anonymous citizens transformed the romantic dream of a conversation between neighbors over a digital backyard fence into a sewer of sophistry, baseless smears and vile malice towards all.

I was pleased when the Star killed off our great democratic experiment in anonymous online civil dialogue. So naive.

Good for all of us to know there’s a guy in Tombstone who wants everyone he meets to know he wishes President Biden, President Clinton, President Obama, and Hillary were dead. Heads up, Secret Service. Heads up, tourists.

Threatening the president of the United States is a federal felony under United States Code Title 18, Section 871. It consists of knowingly and willfully mailing or otherwise making "any threat to take the life of, to kidnap, or to inflict great bodily harm upon the president of the United States".

You know as sure as javelina stink that Mike’s “Tombstone Bonehead” probably grins every time some city slicker or woke libtard winces or complains about his violence-tinged joshing. I’ll wager he’s a MAGA hoot and a half around the Tombstone Courthouse cracker barrel.

Down here in Cochise County we aren’t woke like you sheep.

Poor hippy Bisbee. Like Berlin in the Cold War, an outpost of sentient beings surrounded by madness.

I can’t believe you confronted the jackass, Mike. You’re a better man than me. And bigger. It helps to look like you once played for the Packers.

I don’t miss the missives of right-wingnut madness aimed at me. A death threat with the word “K-i-l-l-l” misspelled with 3 “L” s was a favorite. I always liked the ones from dumbasses dumb enough to sign their threatening notes. Into the cop’s evidence baggie they’d go. I only had to get one restraining order in all my years. After TPD whisked her away. I learned she had a violent arrest record. Assaults with a deadly weapon. Mentally ill. Sad.

These days I sleep better. I’m not engaging morons (futile), I’m not wringing my hands over the contagion (pointless) and I’m just doing the best I can to stay positive by seeking out those who inspire me.

In future newsletters I plan to celebrate the many heroic progressives, old and young, who are taking on the crackpot contagion right here in Arizona and winning. They don’t make the headlines “above the fold” because they aren’t saying stupid shit. But they are registering thousands of voters under the media radar. And they are organizing into powerful groups. Around the issues of climate change, women’s rights, social justice and preserving our secular democracy. They are the foot soldiers who give me hope. And they will inspire you as we move into election season.

Ever onward.

At least until the next insurrection. And I thought the movie “Idiocracy” was a comedy. Who knew it was a warning?