For those who are not aware, the United States of America is less than nine months away from electing the president that will succeed Barack Obama in office. And while it is too early in the process to say definitively, by all appearances it looks as though the Republicans are going to choose The Donald as their candidate to stand against the Democratic Party’s choice, which in all likelihood will be Hillary Clinton.

I am simply an anonymous liberal American armed with a blog. I dropped out of college over 25 years ago. I have never made more than $40,000 a year. I am not a respected member of my community. Statistically, it is more likely that my body will go undiscovered for weeks when I die than it is that I will ever buy a new car. It goes without saying that I am overweight. I am, in a word, inconsequential. And fat.

Which means of course, using the up-is-down, black-is-white logic that currently grips fervent Republican primary voters, that there is no one more perfectly qualified to proffer up sage, thought-provoking opinions of one Donald J. Trump than I.

Without further ado, let me begin.

<In a scene reminiscent of Robert Durst in The Jinx, I take my blog with me to the bathroom, forgetting that my “mic” is still on. Under my breath, I can be heard saying>

What the fucking fuck, America? Who decided it was a good idea to let you morons vote?

<Emerging from the facilities after delicately washing my hands, I proceed with my stately analysis of the Trump presidential bid, unaware that my interior thoughts have been captured in print>

We’ve been through this before, people. You must remember, of course. Sixteen years ago, long before social media brought us disturbingly close to other people’s political opinions and conspiracy theories, some of us worried about another dipshit Republican candidate. His name was George Bush. People lovingly referred to him as “Dubya,” Perhaps you remember him. Some of us naysayers and, yes I confess I was one, worried that he wasn’t up for the job, that he wasn’t capable of deep intellectual thought, and we fretted about what would happen were he to actually win the election. We feared the worst, although you didn’t know that, as most of us didn’t have blogs at the time. Thankfully though, after his election, Dubya led America through eight years of unprecedented prosperity and peace, and all of us naysayers were proven wrong. Then some Kenyan name Barack Hussein Obama was elected and ruined America by creating Obamacare. (I may have some of details mixed up, but you get the gist. Nothing bad happens when you elect an blowhard. Lesson learned, America. Good job.)

I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about Donald Trump. You may think I am exaggerating, but I assure you that in my free time, when I am not binge-watching something on Netflix or wondering if the DiGiorno pizza I put in the oven is done, I am thinking about this Donald Trump phenomenon. (I call it a “phenomenon” only because it’s surprising to see a rude, fat, white man with orange cotton candy for hair bully his way into the American consciousness. The hatred and anger that he articulates is not phenomenal.)

The angry white voter is hardly new. Why is America acting like this is a new thing? Seriously. Angry white voters were so common back in the 1850s that when a congressman almost beat a senator to death in the Capitol building using a cane, hundreds of them sent him replacement canes for the one he broke in the assault. I mean, say what you will about people applauding when Donald Trump says he wants to punch somebody in the face, but the applause seems quaint in comparison. I am not going to trace the history of the angry white voter for you tonight, but please realize that it has always been with us.

I think people are disturbed this election cycle because Donald Trump has smashed the veneer of respectability our presidential races typically have. The voters are supposed to be rabid and furious, not the nominees. Politicians have exploited people’s fears for generations…but it’s been done obliquely. Subtly. In code. Ronald Reagan, for example, didn’t come right out and say he hated black people, he simply announced his presidential campaign in the town of Philadelphia, Mississippi. That’s a strange out of the way place to hold such an important event, until you remember that Philadelphia, Mississippi was where three civil rights workers were murdered. That’s the way presidential politics is supposed to be run in America: smooth and on the down low. Donald Trump blows that subtlety to smithereens. Mexicans are rapists and all Muslims will be banned from entering the country. Oh, and he is going to take a serious look at banning same-sex marriage, too. He’s going to kick ass and take names because he’s mad as hell and he isn’t going to take it anymore. And people are lapping this shit up. This billionaire prick who calls getting a million dollars from his daddy a “little” loan has people convinced that he’s Howard Beale speaking truth to power.

American leaders aren’t supposed to been seen deliberately stoking the fires of unrest. America has always been hyper-vigilant about mob violence. Undoubtedly the roots of that fear can be traced back to our slave-holding ancestors. The question is whether or not it is healthy for the country to experience this anger so openly during a political season. I mean sure, four years after Preston Brooks beat the shit out of Charles Sumner in Congress in 1856, America found itself embroiled in a Civil War, but I’m sure that was just a coincidence. I am sure that openly expressing hostility and rage while refusing to calm down or accept rational responses in return is perfectly healthy in a democracy. It’s just a healthy exercise of our first amendment rights.

I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.