Since Broke-Ass Stuart is going to be rollling with the billionaire bigwigs in D.C. this week, he thought he’d dress the part. (Courtesy Stuart Schuffman)

Since Broke-Ass Stuart is going to be rollling with the billionaire bigwigs in D.C. this week, he thought he’d dress the part. (Courtesy Stuart Schuffman)

Dispatches from Trumpsylvania

Washington, D.C. — By the time you read this, I’ll be neck-deep in weirdness in Washington, D.C. Not the normal weirdness I usually experience, where I end up at Wonderland in Columbia Heights and leave wobbling like someone who hasn’t gotten his land legs back. No, this is another kind of weirdness altogether, far more sinister and, ultimately, unpredictable.

I’m talking about the coronation of our un-brave and fearful leader, soon-to-be President Donald J. Trump. (I’m pretty sure the “J” stands for “Jesus Christ, no!”).

How has it come to this? How on Earth did we elect a man who is the same hue as a defective lifejacket, who keeps a pet ferret on his head and who is most famous for repeatedly going bankrupt? How is it that we are installing, into the highest power of government, someone who mocks the disabled, brags about sexually assaulting women, promises Gestapo-like policy and eats burritos with a knife and fork?

You know what, don’t answer that. It will just bum you out.

I’m in D.C. to witness the start of a new and terrifying era. If the Kennedy years were called “Camelot,” these next few years are “Trumpsylvania.” Yes, there will be a peaceful transition of power at the highest levels, but there is guaranteed to be restlessness in the streets. This weekend, we may just witness the largest demonstration of civil disobedience this country has ever seen. Humongous protests will be happening simultaneously in cities all over the country, while people who’ve yet to realize they voted against their own interests call the protesters everything from crybabies to thugs. I’m not quite sure how one can be a crybaby and a thug, but I’m excited to find out.

There’s a delegation of us freaky San Franciscans here in D.C., including fellow San Francisco Examiner columnist Joe Fitzgerald Rodriguez and legendary man about town Lee Housekeeper. Our goal is to both observe and inject a little Frisco Funk anywhere we can.

Fitz mentioned this in his column on Tuesday, but I plan on dressing like a “billionaire” (think black cardboard top hat and faux fur coat) and engaging with Trump supporters since they, of course, must also be billionaires if they voted for him. I’ll be broadcasting on Facebook Live, Twitter and Instagram; so make sure to follow me on all platforms to see the shenanigans.

To be honest, it’s hard to know what to expect. Millions of people on all sides of the political spectrum are flooding into D.C. It will be interesting to see who has a bigger turnout: the protesters, the counter-protesters or the counter-counter-counter-protesters. There’s been rumors of Bikers for Trump coming into D.C. to “support the police against rioters,” whatever terrifying thing that means. But on the flip side, the Women’s March is set to have a staggering number of people in attendance.

Since Karl Rove’s ascendancy, The Right has been able to rally its base around guns, God and anti-gayness. And years of that bullshit is what helped get Trump elected. But in that regard, Trump has been a present to The Left: Nothing unifies people like the ability to collectively hate the same thing.

So here I am at the precipice. Tomorrow, the armies of Mordor march against whatever the hell the good guys called themselves in Lord of the Rings, and the entire world will be watching. Wish me luck. Hell, wish us all luck. Because next time you read this column, Donald “Jesus Christ, no!” Trump will be the President of United States of America.

Hold on to your health care; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Stuart Schuffman, aka Broke-Ass Stuart, is a travel writer, TV host and poet. Follow him at Broke-Ass City runs Thursdays in the San Francisco Examiner.

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