Sex and Cuddling to Cool Down “Fire and Fury” in The Trumpocalypse
Length 01:44:33 Date: August 12, 2017
Parts of this blog reposted in COUNTERPUNCH.
Yes indeed, Brothers and Sisters, the “fire and fury” flowed out of the gaping mouth of the Mango Mussolini Flambé like lava from a vermillion volcano, spreading molten threats around the world of going nuclear on North Korea, invading Venezuela and bombing ISIS in the Philippines; and then back to North Korea to sputter on about how his first fiery threats were just not fiery enough.
It was fake fire, of course, like fake news—only words… though words can act like matches when thrown at the gasoline-soaked egos of dictators and other power-loving pyros.
Kim Jong Trump vs Donald J. Un
The fiery and furious young dictator and the wannabe old füehrer, Kim Jong Un and Donald J. Trump, have much in common. Both wouldn’t be where they are today if not for their wealthy, doting Daddies. Both seem to employ the same wacky hairdresser. Both are married to hot, sexy women who act like they loathe being near their noxious husbands. Both are mocked and despised by most other world leaders. Both fetishize their military and munitions, especially their big missiles, perhaps compensating for shortcomings between their legs. Both love to play with “fire.”
The Outstanding Leader of the Hermit Kingdom’s stated plan is to create an “enveloping fire” around Guam sometime before or after Trump’s “fire and fury” incinerates him and a few million of his closest neighbors. Our world appears to be on the verge of going up in smoke.
Last week, we received more proof that Global Warming is not “fake news” in the form of a purposely leaked draft report on Climate Change by scientists from 13 federal agencies, including the statement that “many lines of evidence demonstrate that human activities, especially emissions of greenhouse (heat-trapping) gases, are primarily responsible for recent observed climate change.” If the dick– tators don’t go nuclear first, our friendly corporate polluters are racing to burn us all up in a blaze of heat “the likes of which the world has never seen before,” all white cutting a nice profit (and killing their heirs). Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Kim Jong Trump.
Still, these are only flaming threats and blistering predictions (though, as the report says, we are experiencing some effects of Climate Change right now) in a society swimming in a cool sea of “alternative facts,” opioid abuse and the unreal reality TV show that is our “unpresidented” Presidency, as he golfs, tweets and spews volcanic ash from his “working vacation” at the Summer White House in Jersey.
Fire & Fury of the White Nationalists
But then, this past Friday night, like a warped Biblical prophecy out of the Book of Revelations, the Volcano-in-Chief’s “fire and fury” was made manifest on the small-town streets of Charlottesville, Virginia. First came the “fire,” a sea of flickering torches lighting up the night with quasi-organized evil, held up high by some 500 ardent White Supremacist domestic terrorists gathering to protest the city’s removal of a statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee, to “Unite the Right, show off their pale, bigoted and extremely thin skin and maybe start a race riot.
Then came the “fury,” the incensed laments of “White lives matter,” “You will not replace us” (not-so-cleverly mixed with “Jews will not replace us”), “Blood and Soil” (an old Nazi slogan) and the triumphal holler of “Heil Trump,” throwing up their pallid arms in the “Roman” salute, galvanized by their “fire and fury”-fuming Füehrer who happens to be our President (!). Mr. Drumpf (the original German family name) does, after all, speak for them, and not just when he vows to put “America First,” another old slogan used by American Nazi sympathizers in the 1930s, but also in his initial refusal to condemn their atrocities with even one tenth of the passion with which he condemns a woman for her face-lift or an SNL actor, and then, on Tuesday, in his passionate defense of his fascist racist brethren. It’s true that three of the royal grandchildren (by Ivanka and Jared Kushner) are unnervingly Jewish (oy!), but his “alt-right” racist followers can take comfort in knowing that Trump’s Daddy, Fred, was arrested for “brawling” on the side of the old Ku Klux Klan of Queens, New York.
In Charlottesville, we got a good, appalling glimpse of the new KKK, but instead of the flaming crosses of their forebears, they come to battle carrying Tiki torches. Cost-conscious White Supremacist shoppers will be glad to know they can obtain these adorable Polynesian-inspired fire spears (probably made in China) for less than $4 each at Home Depot to “create a paradise in your backyard”… or a citronella-scented hell on your neighbor’s front lawn.
No doubt the Tikis, which “Alt-Right” term-coiner and White Nationalist poster boy Richard Spencer just “loves,” give the “troops” a certain ridiculous appearance. Just look at these guys, and almost all of them are guys, though some have bigger tits than me. Home Depot is arming the White Nationalists with sissy Tiki torches, and Walmart is dressing them in polo shirts and khakis that show off their “moobs” and spare tires, making them seem a lot less menacing than the original Nazis who didn’t binge on Twinkies and whose snappy, scary uniforms were designed by Hugo Boss.
Unlike their predecessors, the new KKK wear no hoods, their well-fed faces glowing in the torch light with “white pride,” a deeply twisted perversion of Gay Pride without the rainbow… or the love. Though Friday night’s flickering luau did look like the opening scene of the kind of all-male frat-house orgy porno that Alt-Right Daddy Steve Bannon probably likes to watch as, he “sucks his own cock” (this according to the Mooch, who should know).
If only that had been the case instead of what it really was: deeply frustrated and noxiously miseducated white men gathering together to march for racism, misogyny, xenophobia and homophobia… and start a race riot. As a sex therapist who treats a lot of men with these issues, I have to say that these guys—and the country—would be a lot better off if they’d just surrender to their raging homoerotic fantasies of fellating and cornholing each other—not to mention their deeply repressed cuck dreams of watching well-endowed African-American men satisfy their hot wives—instead of denying these bonoboësque feelings and channeling their testosterone into the “Feuer und Wut,” murder and mayhem of Charlottesville…
Because despite their goofy style, these new American Nazis are “locked and loaded,” armed and rather dangerous. Saturday’s festivities unleashed the “fury” before the fiery speeches could even begin, as gangs of Walmart-fashion White Supremacists behind silly shields used those shields, along with bats and pepper spray, to attack counter-protestors, many of them local, some fighting back against the neo-Nazi aggressors, much to their chagrin. Then the fury turned murderous as one young wannabe Hitlerjugend rammed his Dodge Charger into a crowd of peaceful counter-protestors in a deliberate, ISIS-style terror attack—injuring over twenty and killing one woman (a heroic anti-discrimination activist named Heather Heyer)—before backing up, zooming off and getting caught by the otherwise sluggish police.
Did Trump call this lethal act of domestic terrorism by its name? Not on your life. Well, not until he was forced to issue the necessary condemnations on Monday. On Saturday, right after Heyer’s murder, the president’s speech, which took many long silent hours to issue forth from his Bedminster bedside, “condemn(ed) in the strongest possible terms this egregious display of hatred, bigotry, and violence. On many sides.” He repeated “on many sides” twice just in case his dogs didn’t hear the whistle, and then he repeated it again, with feeling, on Tuesday. Never fear, Bigly Doggie Drumpf, they (including David Duke) hear it loud and clear. Kim Jong Trump is their Daddy, Commander-in-Chief of the neo-Nazi, KKK-loving, Tiki-torch wielding, tackily dressed, bisexually-repressed, car-plowing, murderous White Man March. They are his “fire and fury,” backyard barbeque-style.
Spanking Our Adolf Drumpf Doll for Trumpocalypse Therapy. Photo: Christine Dupree
Trumpocalypse Therapy, the Bonobo Way
With all this burning up the news on Saturday just before showtime, we really need Trumpocalypse therapy more than ever; certainly more than we have since America’s November 8th Trumpocalyptic breakdown from Electoral Dysfunction.
It happens that we have some great guests to help us extinguish the fires of fear with a little cool sex and endorphin-releasing cuddles.
Let the healing begin!
T&A Christina & Stephanie
My first featured guests are the lovely and loquacious Christina Hepburn and Stephanie Allen, co-hosts of “T&A Talk Sex.” Christina, who has the larger tatas, is “T,” and Stephanie, who is the proud owner of a great ass, is “A.” Together, they make an adorable team.
They also happen to be friends of Luzer Twersky, two-time SUZY award winner for “Funniest Fundamentalist Refugee,” now starring in a New York Yiddish-language production of the timely play, Rhinoceros by the great absurdist playwright Ionesco.
Christina is also a professional “cuddlist,” who hugs, caresses and embraces her clients-in-need, though she does not engage in sexual intercourse, oral sex or genital play, nor do she or her clients remove their clothes during cuddle sessions.
Professional “cuddlists” are all the rage these days. It seems that the fear and loathing of the Trumpocalypse is so overwhelming, and regular relationships can be so emotionally charged, that many people just need a hug from a charming stranger, a “certified” cuddlist like Christina. Nothing wrong with that. I’m sure that many of those White Male Pride marchers would benefit—and possibly change their evil ways—from one of Christina’s certified hugs.
I certainly benefit from being hugged, cuddled and caressed by Christina and Stephanie. I don’t mind being a “piece of meat” in a T&A sandwich. Mmmm-mmm good! Cuddling is a powerful healer. It can even heal you of your Trumpocalyptic anguish… at least, temporarily.
Cuddling is erotic on its own, a form of “outercourse” that I recommend highly. Indeed, “Outercourse Is In”; that’s Step 4 in The Bonobo Way’s “12 Steps to Releasing Your Inner Bonobo.” Bonobos are world-class cuddlers, engaging in various forms of outercourse for much of the day and night, which is one reason that no bonobo has ever been seen killing another bonobo. This is the crux of “peace through pleasure.” You can’t be killing while you’re cuddling.
Well, you could… but who would want to? Cuddling just feels so good, releasing calming, pain-relieving endorphins and physically connecting you to a fellow human who, in turn, connects you to a whole universe of goodness.
Chloe Wilcox & Communing Cocks
In our multiple-girl Cuddle Puddle, I also get some nice feels from my other featured guest, “pansexual” transgendered porn performer, Chloe Wilcox, who gives and gets a lot more than feels from her colleague, our own Jacquie Blu. Chloe is visiting LA from Nashville. She tells us tales of her transition, which is a beautiful work-in-progress and a profile in sexual courage. She’s almost a member of one of my longtime favorite groups: The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence!
Then it’s time for Bonoboville Communion, the sexy sacrament of the Church of the Bonobo Way. Thanks to a potent mix of Viagra, Cialis and natural bonoboësque excitement, Chloe is feeling feisty and agrees to play the role of Altar Girl for Jacquie’s Communion, providing her big clitty, aka the “Wilcox cock,” as the altar. Jacquie licks and sucks it like the pro that she is. Then I sprinkle on the sacred Himalayan pink salt, and she sucks it some more. Finally, she receives her Waterboarding, Bonobo-Style with Agwa de Bolivia Herbal Coca Leaf Liqueur. Gypsy Bonobo pours another holy shot of Agwa, the two girlfriends switch and Jacquie’s genitals are the Altar for Chloe’s communing mouth.
Here comes my sexologist’s bias again, but oh, if only they’d all just surrender to their deep desires for “bromance” and love, instead of spreading their seeds of hate and havoc.
Trump too! One of the few good things about the big baboon baby (with no offence meant to baby baboons) is his bromance with Putin. Congress should just let the two of them get it on already, complete with Russian golden shower hookers. Those brutal sanctions against Russia could start another fire, a big Russian fire, which might warm the cockles of the so-called “Deep State,” but we the people are getting burned. Let Trump hold Putin’s hand for at least as long as he manhandled Macron. Make love, not war! It’s the Bonobo Way.
Inspired by Chloe and Jacquie’s racy example, Christina and Stephanie decide to take Bonoboville Communion from each other. Both being Communion virgins and not porn stars, they’re not sure which of their many lovely body parts to present as altars.
I suggest they go with their “T&A” brand. Keeping it PG, or at least, a soft “R” rating,
Christina presents her curvaceous cleavage (but not her nips), and Stephanie serves up more cheek than crack.
Cleavage and cheeky they are, as well as delightful, and their Bonoboville Communion is simply delicious. As for Waterboarding, Bonobo-Style, they take their shots like good prisoners-of-war… Are we at war?
Marilyn Sings “Happy Bday Mr. Prez” in Russian
Multi-talented Christina is also a singer and comedienne. With her 1950s-ish blonde “do” and dress, she channels a sultry Marilyn Monroe for modern times, crooning “Happy Birthday Mr. President” in Russian. We spank our Trump Doll, the big pink dick with small penis syndrome, with the Bonobo Way in rhythm to her song.
Careful DrSuzy.Tv viewers will notice that our Trump Doll is sporting a jaunty Hitler moustache (made by Clemmy) for the occasion of his coming out, leaving not a shred of doubt that our President is the Supreme Leader of the American Third Reich resurrection.
We also keep his big lava mouth under gag-order with a penis pacifier. As it should be.
Then Christina does a little of her “stand-up” routine, as we all laugh and stomp (vicariously and therapeutically) on Trump Doll’s big pink balls.
PHOTOS: JUN TAO
Speaking of comedy, thanks to Clemmy Cockatoo’s uncanny forgery skills, I am now one of The Late Knights that defends Democracy in Scott Siedman’s amazing painting. Sorry Scott, but you made it look like such fun, I just had to join in!
Post-Trump Sex Disorder in Cosmo
Shout-out to Cosmopolitan magazine and fabulous editor-at-large Julie Vadnal for publishing a new interview with me about PTSD—Post-Trump Sex Disorder—in their September, 2017 issue which has Miley Cyrus on the cover flashing her trademark tongue.
Post-Trump Sex Disorder sounds funny, but it’s no joke to those who suffer from it, especially otherwise loving couples. Worrying about what Trump will do or spew next can be, to say the least, a mood-killer. Gagging over his predatory misogyny is not the best foreplay, nor is witnessing the ugly, racist, anti-female, anti-trans, anti-sexual-freedom forces that he’s unleashed in our society—such as in Charlottesville. This is especially true if one of you is a Trump supporter and the other isn’t. But PTSD can even depress couples who agree politically. It’s that rattling.
My advice to Cosmo readers is to tune out the fake news, at least before bedtime, and tune into intimacy and pleasure with your beloved… even if your beloved is you. I must admit that was difficult with the White Supremacist Tiki Torches lighting up our Friday night, but you have to try, for the sake of your sex life.
On the other hand, I also suggest protesting—on the streets, if you dare, and right here on the Interwebs—as an effective way to combat Post-Trump Sex Disorder. It can even be an aphrodisiac. Protest passionately with someone you love, and you’re likely to come home loving each other even more. If you’re single, a good protest is a great place to hook up; at least you know you share some of the same values, and the risk factor raises endorphins like a rousing roller coaster ride. Moreover, protests are more exciting than ever now that the White Supremacists are showing their ugly faces. Be careful and be peaceful; but really, what’s more romantic and patriotic than fighting Nazis and the KKK? Maybe the Left will rise again.
Love Thine Enemies the Bonobo Way
We’ve got to protest, laugh, cuddle, resist, make love and truly love one another, the Bonobo Way. I have to admit that in that sense, the Clown King Trump is absolutely right; we do have to “love each other” if we’re ever going to bridge this sea of hate that his campaign and presidency has unleashed.
These are rough times politically, but I still believe we the people can triumph through protest, laughter, love-making and truly loving one another, in what I call “the Bonobo Way,” which is inspired by our close genetic cousins, the bonobo apes, who swing through the trees, as well as with each other. Bonobos enjoy lots of male-male sex, as well as female-female and female-male, and have never been seen killing each other in the wild or captivity. Not that we should act like bonobos in every way (I personally draw the line at sex with the kids, living in trees and eating maggots), but their “Make Love Not War,” very female-empowered great ape culture is inspirational to human apes like us who can aspire to something similarly peaceful, egalitarian and sex-positive.
In that sense, three of the Clown King Trump’s Saturday words were absolutely right—we do have to “love each other”—though he uttered these words with the paper-thin cynicism of a blatant con-artist. But that doesn’t make the message wrong. We must love each other if we’re ever going to bridge this sea of hate and fury that his small hands have unleashed, ripping the scabs off the old wounds of American racism that seemed to be on their way to being healed, but now ooze forth blood and infection.
Does our bonoboësque love have to extend to the infection, to these White Supremacist assholes? Of course, it does. They are our fellow humans, believe it or not. That doesn’t mean joining forces with them (as some on the Left have wrongheadedly tried to do). Not at all. But love takes many different forms. As I see it, you have to love your neo-Nazi brethren like you love a crazy, drug-addicted relative that you need to keep away from dangerous objects, like guns and cars…. and people.
That means, in part, that we the progressives of America, motley and quarreling crew that we are, need to regain political control. Frankly, I don’t know if this is possible to do in time, before the imminent “fire and fury” of unchecked climate change boils us over. At the very least, it can be very challenging, like trying to grab the car keys from your drunk, messed-up-on-meth uncle who’s determined to drive the family Dodge into a bunch of fellow humans. Just because your opponent is ignorant doesn’t mean you don’t have to get smart to win the day.
Obviously, we progressive/liberal/lefty types have not been that smart, at least, not lately. And then there’s the neo-liberal corruption which is not nearly as bad as on the Republican side, but it’s not inspiring, to say the least.
And yet we have to try. We all should do our parts to try to disarm our crazy racist uncles, nephews and neighbors, to de-weaponize their Tiki torches; impeach and vote down their leader(s) in our halls of power; enforce respect for our Mother the Earth; make hate unpopular again; and send these bloody racists back under their scab, in whatever way we can.
And then there’s sex. As a sex therapist who treats some Trumpers, I feel it’s important that we let these poor, pathetic, overfed, undernourished and profoundly undersexed man-boys—including the one in the White House—know that it’s okay for them to suck each other off like so many of them really, really want to, and really, really should, whether or not they have Steve Bannon’s special skills. While they’re busy with that, maybe we can grab those car keys and possibly avert local and/or global disaster… and save the bonobos too!
Hey, it’s the Bonobo Way, and one way for us pro-sex activists and therapists to help cool down the “fire and fury” before it burns up our world.
Parts of this blog reposted in COUNTERPUNCH.
Thanks to Our Volunteers: Videographers: Danny Hare, Damien Morrison, Godchild, Michael Sullivan, JJ; Photographers – Christine Dupree, Jun Juneau, Jobe, Jux Lii; On-Campus Bonobos – Abe Perez, Del Rey, Gypsy Bonobo, Harry Sapien, Jacquie Blu, Johnny Jungle, MarsFX, Clemmy Cockatoo, Ana & Miguel.
© Aug. 12, 2017. Susan Block, Ph.D., a.k.a. “Dr. Suzy,” is a world renowned LA sex therapist, author of The Bonobo Way: The Evolution of Peace through Pleasure and horny housewife, occasionally seen on HBO and other channels. For speaking engagements, call 310-568-0066.