The original Bastille Day was July 14, 1789, the date on which the fate of France’s monarchy was sealed.  And not in a very nice way.  Citizens of France could no longer live under the despotic rule of the French Monarchy, in a country where 1% of the population held all the wealth and 99% ate shit.  Or maybe they ate cake, if you believe the Marie Antoinette story.

Why should you care?  I think I just spelled it out above.  Almost 230 years ago, the population of France said, “No thanks, no more ridiculous rulers with nutty hair in weird outfits.”  We’re in a similar boat and instead of being inspired by the French on the day they declared themselves mad as hell, not going to take it anymore, and where can they get a few guillotines on the cheap, we do nothing.  We make clucking noises and hope that our weirdo with bad hair who’s only invested in 1% of the population, along with his family and intimate friends, will come to his senses.

Did the French wait for Louis and Marie to come to their senses?  No.  They rendered them senseless.  By taking off their heads.  Time for new people to make new decisions, bitches. The next big election cycle is a year away – it’s high time we do a little chopping of our own. The lunatics have taken over this particular asylum for too long. It’s time to extract our faces from our navels and partake in the process. In other words, let 2018 be our Bastille Day.

Joyeux Bastille Day to one and all. Particularly President Macron and his wife who are probably still giving each other Silkwood showers to get the Trumpian slime off of them.

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Lawyer, literary agent, book packager, film producer, writer, New Yorker. Likes long walks on the beach and little dogs. Hates mean people and when the pharmacy runs out of Klonopin.

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