The Great Promise of Donald Trump: Remembering Atlantic City and the Black Hole of Hype
In the end, Atlantic City wasn’t just a casualty of bad business. It was a reminder that hype, no matter how dazzling, always has an expiration date.
In the end, Atlantic City wasn’t just a casualty of bad business. It was a reminder that hype, no matter how dazzling, always has an expiration date.
I’m not disillusioned because Harris lost. I’m disillusioned because we lost. We lost the fight to keep this country from devolving into a grotesque parody of its former self.
We elected a shameless demagogue who peddles lies and hatred like they’re candy at a parade. I thought we were better than this. Maybe we were. But it sure as hell doesn’t look that way now.
The collective American psyche, already worn down by years of fractured political rhetoric, social media pandemonium, and an economy that can only be described as a cruel joke for the common man, had finally reached the boiling point. The solution? Donald Trump. Again.
Trump’s language is a cacophony of bravado and aggression, punctuated by that familiar sneer that seems to suggest he’s just one tweet away from inciting a riot.
Just another day in the Land of the Free, where the absurd is not just expected, it’s celebrated.
They’ve been fed a steady diet of grievance and paranoia, spoon-fed the notion that all the wrongs in their lives can be traced back to the “Others” — the immigrants, the educated elites, the outsiders, the women who haunt their nightmares.
The Trump era has shattered the consensus that allowed for civil discourse; it has unleashed a wave of tribalism that turns neighbors into enemies and discourse into shouting matches.
This laissez-faire attitude, a toxic blend of neglect and indifference, offers a convenient cloak for predators.