(Trigger alert… The following contains inappropriate and metaphorical sarcasms and an obvious attempt to make light of what often annoys and distresses the perspicaciously inclined.)
I learned a while back that Donald Trump Jr wrote a book titled, Triggered, and humorously (or not, it’s hard to say) subtitled, How the Left Thrives on Hate and Wants to Silence Us.
After feeling surprise and some level of doubt as to whether he actually wrote a book and, being what most people would call a member of that group that is labeled “…the Left” I thought, with a grin, “How ever does one respond to a title like that?” Up front, I can tell you that it’s not by rushing out to buy little Donny’s book, though I am sure it’s a meat loaf of a book in every aspect, but… and as it often does, my inner didact overtook control of my head and my hand and I wrote this letter, tongue so firmly in cheek that it’s bleeding…
Dear Donald Junior,
A reasonable man at all times, there are certain words and concepts that annoy me to the point of intolerance, so yes, I suppose that I can be triggered. When confronted with social arrogance, unwarranted condescension, willful ignorance, or sometimes… merely irked by the presence and tone of obnoxious, self-centered, and privileged twits, I’ve been known to see red, and I suffer what I call “red-outs” that are a lot like blackouts, but infinitely more intense. They can last for significant periods of time, during which I am unaware of my actions.
Interestingly, when consciousness returns, I generally find myself alone and utterly at peace in the absence of the antagonist who had “triggered” my response.
I like to think that, as a reasonable man, I simply walked away when thus confronted, but lately? I can’t help but imagine that somewhere outside of town, in the midst of a dense plot of woods, forbidding at every edge with thistles and thick brush, there is a quiet, half-acre field where every now and then, the sun arises to disclose a fresh spot of newly disturbed soil, the top of which displays the slightest rise in elevation above the surrounding grass… like the top of a loaf of fresh leavened bread. Although it’s impossible possibility, of course, since I am a peace-loving man, the mere thought of it, however, feeds my inner anarchist and both pleases and shames me simultaneously.
I haven’t read your book and surely never will, but… is this what you were trying to express?
Triggered in Ohio
As always, when I write letters like that, I never send them, but I do feel an enormous sense of relief at venting, however subtle, however metaphorically incorrect. Mark Twain called these things “…secret supplications of the heart.”
As such they are… as truly they must remain.
“Not really a book review, this, but hey…” by James Lloyd Davis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.