Thank You

I never sent the thank you notes. Too many thousands of you had answered our Drudge Siren -- help him! Help the bombardier! -- and even clicking each email and copy-and-pasting our true heartfelt thanks, would have broken all my clicking fingers. I let them pile up and pile up until there was no way to respond to any.

I had called out for help, and you came. Fifty of you sent checks in envelopes. YOU HAD TO FIND A STAMP!

I keep thinking of the scene at the end of Bulworth; as he lies dying, his beautiful black lover gives him her benediction: you my nigger, baby. How they loved one another.

Readers, you are my coalition, and it's one I'm thrilled to be a part of. Sure, I thought there were more of us. A lot more of us! But we've been fucking routed, for now. And maybe the revolutioneers will be right, and after four years of Trumpocalypse, we'll get a nice backlashed savior, who can start the unbreaking all over again.

Eight years of George W. Bush did get us Barack Obama! And we bailed the boat out and only some of us sank in the process.

I'm scared for you, but you'll forgive me if I'm scared for me more. I LOVED MY OBAMACARE. I loved an economy with $2.30 gas (yeah, probably from fracking) and almost record-low unemployment. I couldn't wait for those half-a-billion solar panels. Hell, I'm even worried about my taxes! (Does that make me a Republican now?) Because under Trump's tax plan, you can kiss your state-tax and interest deductions goodbye. But the corporate rate drops 10 percent, so yay I guess!

I just finally had my cry, and it was a good ugly one. And no, it wasn't about the economy, though I'm scared to death about it and the markets are too, because the guys who pay attention know the REPUBLICANS ARE CRAP ABOUT IT. No, I finally had my cry for US. For how little they regard us, black people and all women and religious minorities and olds. But I hold high regard for you. I am proud to have you in my corner, as small as it seems to be.

I am getting off my point again.

My point is you are generous souls, you're good people, and, goddammit, I like you. I hope you'll stick around despite the temporary gloom, though I do understand if you need a break for a bit. Wandering into the desert to commune with the tortoises never sounded so good -- and we've got that goddamned RV!

Thank you for bailing us out when we needed it. I'm sorry I'm not sending a thank you note proper.

We will bail out this fucking boat together. Dok and Evan and I will be here, and Robyn on Fridays, and we'll do the work, and we'll point and laugh and we'll dance when we can.

Rebecca Schoenkopf

Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.


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