And I'm terribly upset by the muddled conflation that drives the wedge, so I'd like to offer some kind of olive branch to all my dearly beloved sisters. I have enormous empathy with many of your valid concerns.

I can only speak as a man, and Rudyard Kipling keeps butting in with suggestions. He wants all of you, my dearly beloved sisters , to know that although he was n't allowed to have as much fun with pronouns like Xit and Xuys as I am, he certainly intended to speak to all of us, whether you be shim or sher, about the tragicomic human condition, and invites us all to laugh and cry under the baobabs together.

I'd like to walk forward together with all of you into that bright new tomorrow, and we certainly need to have some difficult conversations, but not when passions are inflamed by the complicit Fake News Media, and nobody knows what we are trying to talk to each other about.

I think we would be wise to adopt a conservative approach in these particlarly swiftly changing times, so that we can take the best of the past with us as we sprint unthinkingly into the future. But even trying to defend these high ideals of conservatism seems to trigger some of you lefties: I hear the false allegations of the fake media echoing back again, and in struggling to understand the confused conglomeration of conservatism with stupidity, and sexism, and racism, I begin to understand how sticky and damaging the unsound slurs we sling.

All this echoing is making it hard to think. I'm not really sure what to make of all of this, but from where I stand it looks like the twats on the far right are far more accepting of my own troubling, confusing, conflicting and comically human make up, no matter what shape, size, or colour I may be than the twits on the left, whose single remaining political argument seems to be that they are smarter than everybody else.

You all say SVSGGEPOTUS Trump is mad, and here, finally , we come to a place that we can all agree. He is the madman in the asylum, smashing the windows of hypocrisy to let the sweet breezes of freedom flow into the stuffy, ever smaller room where we are all slowly suffocating of our own unkindness to each other and ourselves.

Or not, maybe I'm mad, and President Trump is n't the sanest xit on the planet. Or is. It all gets quite confusing. I suspect it does'nt matter, because we'll never understand the deepest mysteries anyway, so I'm going to dance the mamushka under the mopane trees in the moonlight while I may, and maybe sometime when we're tired enough, but not too much, we can find a place to have those tender conversations we need to have.

And I'm not overly worried. I feel as if we've turned a corner and the world is a better place than it was yesterday, but probably not as good as its going to be tomorrow. Lets hope for more love and laughter and forgiveness this time when the dust settles and people are more capable of speaking rationally. I hope so anyway -and I certainly would like to see better framed stories from the Fake News Media, but I'm not betting on it. There's likely to be more confusion, denial, more screeching, and lots and lots of lovely salt to mine as I wait and watch for the insane lefties try to crawl far enough to the right on the bell curve of intelligence to form an opinion of thier own.