I'm a Trump-Supporting MAGA Man, So Fuck Your Feelings

I Don't Give a Damn What You Commie Socialists Think About It

That’s me, Sid Brock. This was taken on my vacation trip to Washington, D.C. in January of 2021. Photo: YouTube.

*This is a fictional, satirical humor article. No, I didn’t switch sides. I hope you enjoy the ridiculous humor of this one. &:^)

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My phone alarm wakes me up at 5:30 am, loud bastard that it is. “BAWITDABA, DA BANG, DA DANG, DIGGY DIGGY DIGGY, SAID DA BOOGEY, SAID UP JUMP DA BOOGIE!”

“My name is SIIIIIIIIIIIID! SID BROCK!”

Yes, I’m Sid Brock. A 58-year-old male from Muscle Shoals, Alabama. 58-year-old WHITE male. That’s worth mentioning to y’all. Generations of Brocks, all from the Deep South. I’m proud of that.

If the GQBLTs can have their Pride month this month, I want my White Pride month. I heard a bar in Idaho actually did that last year. I wish I could afford to travel, I’d have had a cold one with them fellers.

I hustle up into the shower to do my once-over, giving special attention to my undercarriage. It’s a hot, sweaty job over at the manufactured home factory I work at. I’m in charge of the cabinet installations.

I gotta make sure it holds up, in case you’ve had one too many and your ol’ lady is on your ass. Punching holes in the cabinet doors isn’t very kosher. But I ain’t Jewish, so…

I flip on my Fox News, volume, Level 60. Fox News is always best served at an ear-bleeding level. That way, I can remember all the smart, brainly things they tell me to think. Helps me hear it over my weekly shower, too.

I jump out and admire my three-inch pecker in the mirror and give it a twirl around a few times, making a helicopter WOO-WOO noise. I’m proud of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids.

You know how them Red Hot Chili Peppers fellers put socks on their dongs once and performed on stage? I did that with one of my socks, too. Quarter length, but I made it work. My balls fit, too.

Pop-Tarts: The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast. Photo by Sarah Deal on Pexels

I hurry and throw my coffee in a Thermos, grab a box of Pop-Tarts for breakfast, some pepperoni Hot Pockets for lunch, and fly out the door. I trip over my two Rotties, JD and Marjorie. I used to have three, but Rush passed on a few years back. He’s buried next to my Pop, near my above-ground pool.

I have them for security. My double-wide Fleetwood don’t need anyone breakin’ in. There are a lot of dark people who live in my area. I wave goodbye to my neighbor Marcus, who’s also black. He’s one of the good ones, though.

I’m not a fan of that critical race theory crap or Black Lives Matter bullshit. I think that’s all a bunch of racist nonsense. It’s 2025, why can’t we all just get along? Whether you’re white, black, brown, red, or yellow, we’re all on an equal playing field here in ‘Merica.

All you have to do is pull yourselves up by your bootstraps and make something of yourself. I have. Black Lives Matter? ALL lives matter. Just, you know, some more than others.

I live near the factory, which is nice when you work at 6:30 am. I’m not a huge fan of my job, but it pays the lot fees in my trailer park and affords me the finer things in life.

Things like RC Cola, Skoal, and PBR. Man, I can’t wait to get home and unwind. This week has been hell here at the plant. At least WWE is on tonight. Love me some wrasslin’. And it’s NOT fake, fuck off with that nonsense.

The types of manufactured homes I’m installing countertops in daily. Photo by Laura Cleffmann on Unsplash

My bosses are up my ass about the number of installs we have to hit this week, and my dumbass employees I supervise can’t seem to get their shit straight. I stress out so much about everything and hate being talked down to by my bosses. By anyone, really. Especially liberals online.

Some days, I feel like I could shoot this place up and then turn the gun on myself. But I’m a Christian man and don’t want Jesus pushing the trap door button out from under me when I meet him at the Pearly Gates. But believe me, I have the firepower. You should see my arsenal.

They’re always trippin’ balls about masks. COVID this, pandemic that. I don’t buy it. It’s all a bunch of conspiracy theory bullshit. I’m gonna be just fine, I’m healthy as a horse. I’m not letting them inject a bunch of crap I don’t know about into me. I don’t want to grow a third arm out of my ass 10 years down the line.

Plus I’m all stocked up on Ivermectin, just in case. I use most of it on my horse, Mein Kampf. It seems to treat him well. But there’s plenty left for me, should I need it. Thank you, Joe Rogan. Your podcast is the shit. I’m glad Russell Brand has joined our side, as well. His accusers are just trying to do a cash grab because he’s famous.

I feel things would be better if I had a woman. I jumped on that Tinder dealio a while back, but the women on it are all either fat, uggos, or super stuck up. I don’t let women talk down to me. My momma says I’m too handsome and too successful to let some tramp walk all over me.

Unless you look like that Leonardo DiCaprio feller from Titanic, half of them women online judge you right out the chute. I wish the other half would go down on me, like Leo did on that big ship, there. “I’M KING OF THE WORLD!”

I dated one lady a while back and even let her move in with me. She left after a month though and said we weren’t “compatible”, whatever the shit that means. I don’t need to hear that woke-woman liberal crap.

You know, you treat ’em right, feed them, make sex to them for three and a half minutes, give them a place to sleep, and they get all bent out of shape about having to do all the cooking, cleaning, yard work, and paying all the bills. I spoiled her, that’s what I did.

I don’t date commies. Well, never again, at least. Photo by Jackie Morris on Pixabay

I think part of it was that she was a liberal, socialist, commie. She’d always talk about the Black Lives Matter Movement, how abortion should not be done away with, and how people who aren’t Christian are just as good of people as Christians.

What a load of horse shit. If all that’s true, then who’s going to be in Hell, come Judgment Day? SOMEONE’S gotta be down there, giving the Devil handjobs. Am I right? It’s not gonna be THIS patriot, that’s for damn sure.

The final straw was her demanding we get a gun safe for all my firearms. Fuck THAT. I want them on the wall, displayed to anyone who walks in, so they know who the MAN is. She ought to be controlling her five kids from her four baby daddies better. It ain’t my fault they’re always messing with my firearms.

Anyway, after the funeral for little Baby Ruth, she dumped me. I think it was the 21-gun salute I had arranged in honor of her passing during the funeral. I think Sharon-Jean has the P-STD from the accidental shooting and all of that. Women. Goddamn, I hate when you have to tell them twice.

Anyway, it’s probably all for the best. Being a single man in his prime affords me more time to go out on the prowl. After hitting the gym in my backyard, I like to get all dressed up in my fanciest Wrangler jeans, my cleanest Brush-Popper shirt, and go out on the prowl for MILFS.

MILF stands for Mother I’d Like to FUCK, in case you ain’t seen American Pie. Remember that Stiffler guy? That nerd kid plugged his fine-ass mother after prom. No? Maybe you’re just not good with all those fancy aggronyms.

We have a few nearby waterin’ holes close to the trailer park. Easily accessible by ATV, which I can take the back roads home with if I get too liquored up. I was told by a friend whose Uncle-Daddy is a lawyer that DUIs don’t count if you’re on an ATV, driving through the woods.

Just watch those low branches, for fuck’s sake. Good thing I had that steel plate in my head from when Mein Kampf kicked me, that time I was beatin’ on him. That horse can be a moody prick sometimes.

The entrance to The Closet. I had no idea. I came out of The Closet quickly that night. Photo by Ana Cruz on Unsplash

You gotta be careful out there, though. I got tanked up on Jack Daniel’s one night, crashed the ATV into an irrigation ditch, and continued on foot. After about a 30-minute stumble, I came across a club I had never seen before called “The Closet”.

That sounded good to me, chicks dig closets. That’s where they keep all their clothes, shoes, and purses. Their fancy dresses. Even their unmentionables. With any luck, I’d get to discover Victoria’s Secret.

After about 30 minutes inside, I came close to going home with a beautiful girl named Lola. She was gorgeous, and I almost fell in love with her. I fell to the dance floor. I got down on my knees. But then I noticed her Adam’s apple and put three and three together.

She was trans. And I’m sorry, but the only trans I’m into is my ’77 Pontiac Trans-Am. Just like the one in Smokey and the Bandit. But I’d never go anywhere near its tailpipe. I’m proud to say that I came out of The Closet very quickly that night.

Life has treated me ok so far, I reckon. But I didn’t like having Sleepy Joe as president, thank Christ, Trump came out victorious. Kammanlaw blew the election like she did when she slept her way to the top. And it’s BS that the wall hasn’t been finished yet and that Mexico hasn’t paid us a dime toward it like Trump said they would. It can’t cost THAT many pay-soes. It takes like a thousand of those to make a goddamned strong US dollar.

Finish the damn wall, already. Someone send a debt collector to Mexico. Photo by Greg Bulla on Unsplash

I worry some at night about banditos crossing the border and coming to get me. Especially those PG13 drug gangs. This is why I sleep with my assault rifles tucked in close to me every night. Safeties OFF, of course, in case I need to jump into action like Rambo.

I’ve thought about becoming an engineer and volunteering to help Mr. Trump with the wall again, now that he’s back in office. I’m so stoked that he has that smart feller JD Vance with him this time and not that pussy Mike Pence. Vance looks smart, with his nice suit and trimmed-up beard. I like how he keeps women in their place.

But then I heard about the several years it takes to go to college to get an engineer’s degree. I honestly don’t know what trains have to do with building walls. We only have a community college nearby. The closest university is too far to drive, thanks to Sleepy Joe and the damn gas prices being higher than the balls on Shaquille O’Neal. No thanks. My GED was a big enough bitch to finally get at age 32.

I guess I’ll keep living the dream here in Sweet Home Alabama. I have a lot to be thankful for and have been blessed in my 51 years. I own my own home, just not the land it’s on. My dogs love me, more so when I have treats or when I’m not tripping over them on the front porch. I have some of my teeth left and most of my brain cells.

I’m a proud patriot, a card-carrying member of the NRA, a Christian on Sunday mornings, and not very racist. I just want to be a simple kind of man. Something someone can love and understand. LET’S GO BRANDON!

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