The Death of Donald Trump (probably isn’t funny)
I’m not going to bury the lede. With no desire to poetically build to a conclusion, like I would when writing a narrative, I’m just going to come out and say it. It is irrelevant if anyone would be happy or sad about the death of Donald Trump because we’re already as sad or as happy as we’re going to be about the very existence of Donald Trump.
My intention here is not to get political. As ever, this comes from a writing perspective, a creative one. Particularly with the Jimmy Kimmel situation in the US, there is a case that goes beyond politics. It appears that freedom of speech is dependent on correctly understanding what is being said.
The Kimmel situation came about in response to him seeing Trump on the news being asked, in the subsequent days after the death of Charlie Kirk, “How are you holding up?” And Trump went on to talk about the construction of the White House Ballroom. It didn’t even seem to register that the question was in fact related to his own mental health after the death of someone he claimed to care about. Jimmy Kimmel responding with how Trump seemed to be taking it very well, and likening Trump’s grief to that of a boy who’d just lost his Goldfish, is a slur on Trump and nothing else. It’s actually scary to think of him being asked about the murder and then see him ramble on about a nice new multimillion dollar ballroom. That’s not a normal reaction to being asked how you are in that situation. I’m just going to say it. If you wanted to argue that Trump was using the situation for his own gain and didn’t really care about Kirk, then this would be good evidence.
Perhaps it’s no joking matter and that’s what got some people fired up. Let me try a different approach. If we rolled it back to the 90s, then I think you’d hear something like this. Imagine it’s coming from an amalgamation of several comedians of that era:
Did you see that bloated orange sack of dementia being asked how he was doing after that Charlie Kirk guy died? Huh? Did you see that? How you doing? He gets asked, “How you doing?” And it’s like five minutes since his bestie gets offed by some transvestite loving weirdo, or maybe transvestite hating weirdo, we just don’t know yet. And Donny, he’s vomiting up some words, a total word salad, about the ballroom he’s spending millions on in the White House. God knows that’s what we need right now. And the suck-up press, they don’t say a thing. They don’t say, “Yeah but what about Charlie? We lost a good one there. Who else is going to enrage these Antifa fucks with their liberal hating words?” Antifa? What the fuck? The very nature of being a liberal terrorist blows my mind. What’s next? Stoned liberal terrorists? Let’s blow shit up. Yeah. We just need to smoke all this weed first and then, and only then, we’ll have some ideas about how we might be able to make a bomb. So, then Donny goes, he stops and goes, “Oh, you wanted to talk about Charlie? And he’d spout that garbage about him being a great man, one of a kind, never seen the likes of before, and all that usual horse shit, before going back to talking about the White House ballroom where they’re going to party like Royalty, get naked and lick caviar of each other’s nipples. Well, at least that’s how it’s going to go until the midterms. Jeezus. I’ve seen kids more upset about the loss of a Goldfish. I bet that big orange turd didn’t shed a tear. I cried more tears when my Mom flushed Tyson the Goldfish. Man, that fish was one tough son of a bitch. Killed every fish he met just for being in the same bowl as him. If Tyson came back to life and saw me crying at his toilet themed funeral, he’d jump straight out of the bowl and slap me round the face and call me a pussy. He’d be saying, man-up I’m a Goldfish, not Charlie Fucking Kirk.”
In no way does that diminish human life. In no way does that celebrate anyone’s death, not even Tyson the goldfish’s death. What it does is lay the joke right at the feet of the person who is grieving like a sociopath. The legitimacy of the grief seems easy to question.
In politics the mudslinging from one side to the other is no surprise. People are allowed to disagree in the most horrible ways, but, however much we might abhor another’s way of life, we draw the line at laughing about people dying. Well, most people do. It wasn’t always the way.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened but at some point at the start of the twenty first century it seemed like everything that anyone said had to be taken literally. I remember a friend telling me a story of someone in his work place saying, “I think I’ve gone mental……,” and before they could finish the sentence a colleague was telling them, “You should not be so harsh on yourself. To tell yourself that you have a mental illness is a serious issue and one that requires mental health counselling.”
Maybe we could put that down as some sort of Anglo-Franco miscommunication between English and French co-workers, but I’m not ruling out the societal phenomenon of taking things literally to the Nth degree. With that in mind you’d think I’d be more aware of the situation in Detroit, when the Greyhound bus was an hour late and I jokingly said, “I think someone’s stolen our bus,” and as soon as I said it I thought, “Remember where you are. Stateside you could believe that someone really has stolen the bus that you’re waiting for.”
Long ago you could say all kinds of crazy shit and people laughed and maybe they would let it mill around in their heads, thinking about the possible meanings that could be extracted from what they’d heard. But ultimately, whatever meaning you grasped is secondary to the fact that you found it funny. What that says about you is between you and your therapist or priest. Here’s an example of how that once worked.
In his stand up act, No Cure for Cancer, Dennis Leary ran with this angry rant:
“Yeah, here's ten bucks, bring me the head of Barry Manilow, all right? I wanna drink beer out of his empty head! I wanna have a Barry Manilow skull-keg party at my apartment, okay? You write the songs, we'll drink the beer out of your head.”
You try putting that into your act these days and you’re going to get people try to cancel you. Who cares if it was sincere or not?
Dennis Leary just advocated decapitating Barry Manilow!
No. No he didn’t. Not really. If you did bring him Barry Manilow’s head to drink beer out of in a Barry Manilow skull-keg party,” I’m pretty sure, after he’s called the authorities and they’ve thrown you into a nice comfy cell, the first thing he’d want to say to you is, “Jeeezus. It was a joke. It was a joke I made to exaggerate my feelings about his music.”
Maybe that’s a thing. The liberals are likely to say it but it’s the extremists who are the most likely to do it! And yet some folks do put saying something in the same bracket as doing something. Despite knowing that “Drinking beer out of Barry Manilow’s empty skull” may be offensive to some, it’s not exactly a plan that Leary has there.
It’s a passionate rant about a certain type of music that some might see as banal. Bill Hicks, who many say was who Leary was most trying to be like, said it best with his whole, “Play from your fucking heart!” section of his show. I’m not sure what he’d make of the state of things now, where it’s not even cool to hate someone’s music.
Although joking at actual death is off the table, wishing death on someone seems A-Okay. I think of the great boxer Joe Frazier, whose rivalry with Muhammad Ali in the 1970s was bitter in and out of the boxing ring. On seeing Ali lighting the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, he reportedly said, “Someone push him in.”
Even better: Noel Gallagher, in 1995, during the Britpop feud between Oasis and Blur, wished that Damon Albarn of Blur would, "Catch AIDS and die." Although Noel Gallagher and Damon Albarn are older and wiser and on friendly terms now, I’m not sure that either of the Gallaghers would regret saying what was said, even if it had come to pass that Damon Albarn did indeed actually “catch AIDS and die”. He didn’t and the tale lives on as an example of saying horrible things, perhaps for shock value. The upshot of all of that is that there is a large separation between words and the reality of those words.
“Firing flaming poodles from the top of the Empire State Building” has become my go-to as the benchmark for off-beat things to say. To use it in a sentence:
I often feel that, when I’m talking, people look at me as though I’d just said something as bizarre as, “Hey, anyone want to join me in firing flaming poodles from the top of the Empire State Building? You bring the petrol and the matches and I’ll just go get the poodles.”
See how saying something is fine but if you see me moving towards any tall buildings with a poodle or three under my arm and a big box of matches and a can of petrol, then you might want to say I need help. You’d probably call the police.
But even the flaming poodle discussion is dependent on an understanding of what’s being said. I don’t mean understanding word for word what’s said, but rather the meaning in those words, the purpose of them, the social and cultural reading of what is really being said. For instance, you’d have to know that in polite Western Society, setting Poodles on fire and flinging them off tall buildings is not a done thing. So, as soon as you hear “Firing flaming poodles….” in the right context, then you know that this is not something to take literally. You might say, duh obviously, but I recently had a conversation in the workplace and I was saying that there seemed to be no consequences to anything anyone does in this place. I added, “I set fire to my desk last week and no-one said a word.” At this point, a woman I’d considered funny and sharp and smart, a mother of two, a manager, a well-educated, smart and funny individual, said, “You did what now?”
I know she didn’t think I’d set fire to a desk in the office. The real reason for this type of response is because I said something she wasn’t expecting and most people are tied into a social convention of saying things that keep to the script. Also, having a good grasp of narrative techniques would make things run smoother. Everyone does understand narrative, but they’re just not used to using it on a daily basis and the brain does not immediately go there. If the same conversation was had in fiction then “setting fire to your desk at work” would be read as sarcasm or hyperbole. Maybe people are quick to wish for the literal. Life would be more interesting if I had actually set fire to my desk, if only in a small way, maybe burned a corner with a lighter. The literal is much more fun than using the scenario as an exaggeration to illustrate how there’s no consequences to anything that happens in my work place.
It’s got to be tough to be in comedy right now. I feel for Jimmy Carr. He knew what he was doing and knew that this joke could cause trouble:
"When people talk about the Holocaust, they talk about the tragedy and horror of 6 million Jewish lives being lost to the Nazi war machine. But they never mention the thousands of Gypsies that were killed by the Nazis. No one ever wants to talk about that, because no one ever wants to talk about the positives".
It didn’t take long for Cancel Culture to kick in. Politicians got involved. People accused Carr of being criminally racist. There were calls from Holocaust experts saying that Carr needed to be re-educated. Carr responded well and was quick to point out that he’s educating his audience. Before they came to his show they would have known nothing about Gypsies being put to death in Nazi death camps. He’s got a point.
The “…no one ever wants to talk about the positives," isn’t genuinely racist. If you believe that Jimmy Carr feels that there is anything positive about the Nazis then you’re not living in the same world as Jimmy Carr.
What’s the joke about? It’s hardly “hate talk.” My first thought was that it points out the hypocrisy in life. It’s a cheeky poke at certain aspects of British culture, an element that wants to get offended by such things but if any number of Travellers set up next door to these people, then they’d be the first to call the police. They’d be accusing the whole camp of thieving the hubcaps off their cars, selling drugs to their kids, promoting illegal bare fist boxing matches and bringing the price of houses in the neighbourhood crashing down.
Gypsies or Travellers or Romani gypsies, do not have positive PR going for them. From “Illegal Gypsy Boxing,” look it up, it’s a thing, to Tyson Fury, and Brad Pitt playing The Pikey in the Guy Ritchie film Snatch, they certainly are portrayed as a rowdy bunch, to say the least. In fact, you might argue that Jimmy Carr is taking his life in his hands by joking about a collective of people who are known for living by their own rules.
Our ideas of Gypsy life create an image of living in camps, in caravans, leading a nomadic life, living by their own laws, not tied to one religion but living a way of life that rejects ours. We should really be loving the idea of this. But we don’t.
There’s also something scary to us about people who only ever pay in cash. There’s a stigma attached. The thought is that if you have a roll of twenties in your pocket at all times then you have no connection to any banks, that your gains are ill-gotten and you have no fear of ever getting mugged because you’d happily punch someone to death if they tried to get their hands on your roll of twenties.
It’s a way of life that the Nazis probably wouldn’t like. And if Jimmy Carr and a whole camp site of Gypsies were whisked back in time to Nazi Germany, I’m sure he’d not be suggesting that they should all be put to death. He might draw attention to the downside of having Romani Gypsies parked in your street, but that’s a long way from advocating death.
Let me again try something here. Does this sound like someone who wishes genocide on Gypsies?
I don’t know how those Nazis got on to the idea of killing people other than Jews. What happened? Did they get to five million Jewish deaths and start to question if they’ve overdone it?
Franz, Franz, why must it always be Jewish people? Can’t we kill someone else for once? I know the whole killing Jews is totally on brand but there must be others.
Well, Hans, who do you suggest? We burned down all the gay clubs, and those people are hard to find if you don’t keep them all in one place. They aren’t all swinging handbags and wearing dresses you know. Those queers, they’re a lot harder to spot than you think.
Black people. They’re different. Not a single blonde-haired blue eyed one in the lot of them.
And then Fritz runs in.
Good Sieg Heil to you Franz. Good Sieg Heil Hans. I’ve just found some new people to kill. Get the showers ready.
New people? What are they like?
Oh Hansey, Oh Franzey, they are truly monsters. They are living in caravans right at the end of my street. They call themselves travellers, but they don’t go anywhere. They just sit on my lawn most days. That’s not what I call travelling. I’d call the Gestapo to sort it out but Verdammt, they’re off chasing after more Jews. Always more Jews. How many do we have to round up?
I know. I know. We were just saying that. Me and Hansey, we were just saying, always the Jews.
But these Non-Travelling Travellers, some call them Gypsies, some call them Pikies and in the future they say they’ll make films about them with a very handsome American man playing King Pikey. They steal the hubcaps off my armoured car. When they aren’t stealing, they only ever pay for things in cash. Always walking around with big rolls of twenty Reichsmark notes, never once putting their money into our Nazi and Fuhrer banks.
“No banking? But how? How will we charge them extra high rates of interest if they don’t keep their money with N&F banking?
Exactly. But this is not the worst. They live by their own rules. Most of the time when they are not parked on my street they live a nomadic life and they act like they are answerable to no-one. They do not believe in any one religion. They claim that the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion is their saviour and they have these daughters who are fat and have big fat weddings and they make TV shows out of the whole shameful drama. This cannot be allowed to go on. In the future we will be praised by a round-faced English Boy-Man with strange laugh, and he will make sure that everyone remembers what we did with these Gypsy people. And everyone will agree that it was a good upside to what we did.
Or at least, I’m reliably told, this is how it went down.
So, who is the joke on? At what point is anyone celebrating genocide? The above probably has more in common with Eddie Izzard than Jimmy Carr. Carr’s version of events is always going to be more edgy and in that way it’s more memorable. My version of things still says how people find Gypsies annoying whilst also mentioning in the same breath that Hitler didn’t like them either. I think, in my version, the Nazis are the joke. Genocide is not funny.
All of a sudden, I was struck with a strange fear that I might be offending Nazis. Or maybe German people would choose to get offended at the stereo typing of German names.
And whilst we’re talking Nazis: Twenty years ago, Ken Livingston, who was then Mayor of London landed himself in trouble when he likened a newspaper reporter to a Nazi concentration camp guard. Turns out the reporter was Jewish. Oh dear. There was a lot of fuss. For me, if this happens now, I’d be prepared and the conversation would go like this:
“You’re behaving like a Nazi concentration camp guard.”
“But I’m Jewish.”
“OK. I take it back. You’re behaving worse than Netanyahu!”
You have a multitude of things going on there. You’re putting it in terms that you think they’ll get. You’re letting them know that the Prime Minister of Israel is not on your Christmas card list. You can’t even insult people these days without setting off a whole community, culture or religion, so you may as well name check a few people whilst being offensive. Would it have been fine if Livingston had said, “You’re behaving like a very bad person who is very militant in their right-wing attitude towards good honest people like myself.”
“God, you’re being such a Nazi,” is just shorthand. Who is on the receiving end of the insult? Jewish people? Concentration camp guards? I think that job title has bad enough press already. Nazis? They certainly don’t come off looking good, their name forever being used as an insult. No. Just a reporter who the Mayor of London thought was acting like a Nazi. I don’t believe in cancel culture, and I especially worry about it being fuelled by people not totally understanding what is being said and imprinting their own meaning, often for their own gain or to plot another’s demise.
If Kimmel had been cancelled, then it would have been a triumph for those who didn’t get where he was coming from. Their inability to fully grasp the joke would have been rewarded. Trying to explain a joke that someone doesn’t get is a waste of time but we’re in a place now where you might have to come up with a good explanation of your intentions in case you need to depend on it later in a court of law.
I think that Jimmy Kimmel, although giving an impassioned speech after the smoke had cleared, missed an opportunity to win one for the clever guys. I wish he’d just gone for a little of what I’m advocating and been brave enough to say that Trump doesn’t even know why he’s offended, that he doesn’t even understand the joke to begin with.
“Donald. Here’s the joke. What I was trying to say is that people who are really grieving, who have a soul and care about others, they actually do show some signs of grief and sadness. I, for one, with my reading of the situation, felt that blabbering on about your Solid Gold White House Ballroom orgy room, made me feel that maybe, you didn’t care as much about Charlie Kirk as you made out you did.
Now, if you have a problem with the joke being about that, I’ll happily go on air and apologise that I hurt your feelings by insinuating that you are a heartless monster. What I won’t do is apologise for claiming anyone’s death to be funny. That’s a narrative you’ve made, which probably says more about you than it does my joke. But I promise you, even when you’re gone Donald, I won’t have a single joke about your death. Your life and misdeeds on the other hand, the world needs jokes about that.
Of all the things I could get cancelled for, you misinterpreting my joke, shouldn’t be one of them. Regardless of how much I abhorred Charlie Kirk’s ideas and what he stood for, our thoughts and prayers are with his family. Good night and stay tuned for Late Night with Seth Meyers.”
Disclaimer: This article clearly promotes setting poodles on fire and firing them off the top of tall buildings.