Popular novelists of the 1970s

The real left, is there is such a thing, better soon admit Trump's not as stupid as they, or he, claim he is, and get really busy to make sure he doesn't get elected again. If there is a real left, that is, the left, for the most part, now being as intoxicated by big money as the right and are now more than less prisoners of their own manufactured despair.

The left, such as it is, reminds me of the widow woman who used to patronize the small public library I supervised in a small, beachside coastal town on the central coast of California in the mid-1970s. A prodigious reader of fiction--every week filling a paper sack full of books she borrowed from the library--she loved to roundly condemn a book she'd read by a writer like Sidney Sheldon or Irwin Shaw as being, dirty, salacious cheap, tawdry, a book that shouldn't be in the public library system, and then ask to see other books by the same author.

So come on left, stop being so shocked all the time, so mortified by the President of the United Staes, Donald Trump. Please express some gratitude for the man who's exposing, step-by-step, chapter-by-chapter, the cynical little realities of our current political realm. Please you on the left, find some other way of resisting this small, mean-spirited potboiler of a president, perhaps by praising anything and everything that's better than you are, and asking for more.