In the Still Unlikely Event that Donald Wins ...

My plan is to immolate myself.

Right in the Culdy, as we here on Raintree call it. On the asphalt very near the center, possibly over the manhole cover, to minimize the possibility of the gasoline-enhanced fire spreading to, notably, our big beautiful ash tree out front. I plan to use a wooden chair and spare fire wood and construct a backdrop that will go off like fireworks at the zenith of the burn, that spells out: GOOD-BYE CRUEL WORLD! Or maybe: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, AMERICA?!!

For those who can't plug their noses enough to vote for Hillary Clinton, who are sick of "Establishment" politicians yet continue to see a dentist rather than a barber, an "outsider" with a pliers, when their tooth hurts, who don't necessarily feel they could do just as good of a job as some liver transplant surgeon from an establishment hospital if they needed to switch out their liver, that they or their Uncle Walt, who's good with his hands, could do it just as well and for a hell of a lot less money if they just watched a few YouTube videos and got the instruments and other shit they needed on Amazon, let me just say this: Donald Trump is not the solution to your or my dismay. He isn't going to help any of us One Fucking Bit.

A vote for Donald is more than a vote in protest of the status quo. A vote for Donald is a vote for a vulgar fascist pig and whatever that might lead to. Which is something different. Suicide sooner rather than later? Maybe that's a bit much. Then again, what about this election season hasn't been?

For the purposes at hand, consider my deciding to immolate myself in the event that The Real Donald wins as a way of putting a finer point on the situation, lighting a fire under things ...

Oh, but my children, my wife, my family and friends, what will they think? Listen, there's enough life insurance money that they'll get over it. At least I hope. In any case it'll pay off the house. It'll pay better than any job I'm likely to get at my age, even if Donald brings back all those good jobs that left with free trade and tax breaks for the rich and famous, even if Donald builds the wall and gets rid of all the illegals who work too cheap and I can get a job at the back of a restaurant again. Or do a really slow job doing some rich person's drywall, which won't make him happy.

No, the way I look at it is: I'll be up in a puff of smoke and a big check will come, as in: money, with one less mouth to feed. It makes all kinds of sense if you don't reflect too much on a whole lot of other things. Kind of like, it isn't going to matter that much if we really shake up the status quo by electing a vulgar fascist pig, because, as many of his reluctant supporters predict, he will almost certainly have really smart establishment Republicans Right There, along with Ivanka, the smart one, to keep a sharp eye, and help out with the things he doesn't know anything about. And he'll listen, closely, because TheRealDonald is a great listener, a huge listener.

Women, really? I'm sorry, but you need to hear this: You are the majority of the country. This can't happen (Trump, my immolation afterwards) without your help. And while some of you may think I have it coming, that I deserve it, let's just for a moment, all bullshit aside—and there really is a lot of bullshit to put aside—think, how is it going to reflect on y'all, the American Sisterhood, when all is said and done and we discover that here in the United States we let a vulgar fascist pig win over the most qualified person to run for president in the last century, a person who might have otherwise been the first woman president, who, granted, dressed a little too much like grandma and had a voice, when she didn't keep it at a nice polite volume, that sounded a little like fingernails on the wall, and maybe she wasn't as charismatic as her husband, or as quick on the timing as Obama, or as lovably passionate as Joe Biden, or as entertaining in a barker at cock-fight sort of way as the guy who won, but still, she was the most qualified person ever to run for the office in the last century, and she was a woman, one of yours, and instead of her, the most powerful country in the world, the majority of its voting public women, picked the vulgar fascist pig to lead them.

Imagine what people will say.

You wouldn't see a guy dithering around, not quite sure what he was going to do in a situation like this one, not even the skinny Muslim from Kenya. Believe me, he'd know before he got to the end of the cigarette he was sneaking outside.

Because, for all our intractable problems as a gender, that wouldn't be a very hard decision for a man to make. If we were the majority of the population and there'd never been a man president, if we were able to vote for the last hundred years, and there were laws in place saying you couldn't hurt us anymore if we didn't do what you said, if you'd fucked us around repeatedly over the years/centuries/millenium and we'd bitched about it and done little things here and there to make your lives miserable in return but for whatever unbelievable reason had never, until now, had a man at the top of the ticket to vote for, a man who, let me say again, is more qualified in this example than any woman or man, any human being period, since the time we got the vote, we men, I'm telling you, would circle our wagons faster than you can say Go Broncos! and we'd band together good and tight despite our tendency to fight and/or kill each other when we're drunk or upset and We Would Definitely Vote For The Man. All but a very small number of us who would be too embarrassed to say anything would, no question, vote for the man, even if the man still wore clothes like grandpa, and wasn't a big fan of football, and didn't see the point in fishing, especially catch and release fishing ... we'd vote for him ... and we'd sure as fuck vote for him over a woman who, to further the example, by all indications in a supremely well-documented life thought the only good man was one who had his really hot well-oiled and shaved body sitting in a lifeguard chair where he belonged. While the women swam and cackled and drank wine and whistled at him. That he stayed where he belonged unless, of course, one of the ruling class in the pool, some drunk cackler in a bathing suit, needed saving, and maybe a good rub down afterwards, whatever the situation called for! At which point, one of the ruling class would only have to snap its fingers, put its lips together and blow, and Beef Cake would come running (Run, Beef Cake, run!!).

No. I don't fucking think so. We'd vote for the guy. Even if the guy was gay and had a grating voice like David Sedaris's. In fact, we'd vote for David Sedaris, knowing that David Sedaris, even though he's gay and lives in Europe now with his companion Hugh, still would get us, understand us guys who aren't gay or as caustically smart and funny as him, guys who are just schlubs and overweight and like football and steak and doing projects around the home, better than his opponent who just wanted us to stay in our lifeguard chairs and look as hot as we could with the many products and surgeons available to us—and keep our mouths shut, unless the folks who were swimming needed help. The fact that David Sedaris would probably do better than Hillary Clinton, or even Bernie Sanders, against Donald Trump, and that not a single woman, not even the really religious ones who imagine they don't go for smart-mouthed, shrill gay men making fun of them and their way of life, threatening their marriage, would vote against him, especially if he were up against Donald Trump, is another matter for another time, but for now ...

If this is an election about Bad Establishment versus Poor Shit-Upon Us, then ...

Make no mistake: TheRealDonald is more like them than he is us. He didn't get to where he is—a billionaire real-estate developer/reality show star—by being like us. He's a put-on populist. A phony man of the people. A narcissist who likes attention, however he can get it, who really doesn't want some shitty job like being president, who doesn't want to live in that shitty little white house, but just can't help himself, sadly ...

That's a different thing than being a reasonable alternative to the woman who might have quite a lot of experience but is nonetheless only going to keep the status quo that doesn't appear to be doing jack shit for us going.

If you don't like the music, you shouldn't imagine Donald Trump is going to change the record. What Donald will more likely do is turn up the volume really loud and call it change, and we'll discover that only he and his ilk—the winners, the powerful people, the famous people, the usual crowd—are wearing earplugs.

So, women, especially those of you who are young and aren't maybe cut out to be models or actresses or famous chefs, you might more strongly consider voting for the person who, reasonable doubts aside, is likely to understand you better than Donald Trump. Vote for her even if you'd rather someone like Jill Stein was the first woman president. Vote for her even if you kind of fancy yourself a Gary Johnson, What? Aleppo ... What? I'm sorry, I was stoned-type libertarian, who doesn't need a fucking thing from anybody but sure is glad Mom has Medicare and Social Security and her own place because she'd be living with you otherwise, and so would your brother, who's on disability on account of his mental condition. Vote for Hillary even if you're a Republican, especially if you're a Republican, because you'll have her to kick around then rather than having to explain to an increasing number of people why your party lost its head and nominated a vulgar fascist pig that, amazingly, ended up winning, and wreaking havoc!

Vote for Hillary because if she loses, Donald wins. Understand that There It Is. That is all there is. The only silver lining being that if we get the vulgar fascist pig over Hillary, and I immolate myself, that my family will see a life insurance payout, and my novel, perhaps both of them, the first as well as the second, still in-progress, would stand a much better chance in the lurid spectacle that followed, and possibly trended, of finding a publisher—becoming (forgive the expression) a hot item. Two hot items, potentially! Which would feather our nest—them minus me—even more!

Hmmm ...

If it worked for John Kennedy Toole, it can work for me, right? Well ... for them, my family.

There are times when honorable men, struggling authors, must sacrifice, speak out, go out in a blaze of glory for the sake of ...

Wait a minute. Is this a stunt to boost future sales, you ask? A marketing scheme?

Are we being played?

Or is he just crazy enough to do it?