Donald Trump’s second-largest adult son, Donald Trump Jr., is headed for divorce. His wife Vanessa initiated the proceedings and hired a criminal defense attorney to represent her in the split “just as special counsel Robert Mueller subpoenaed the president’s family business,” so it’s bound to be an unusual case. And seeing as Don Jr. is a monstrously shitty person who was creepily hitting on models shortly after Vanessa gave birth, filches his own kids’ Halloween candy to “teach” them about socialism, would like American homeless people more if they smiled (like the homeless in India!), and seems to think the Parkland shooting survivors are crisis actors, it’s also a funny one.
Quite a few pundits and conservatives have strongly disagreed, however.
Counterpoint: Actually, it is funny. I got divorced last year, so I’m allowed to say it. Are there divorces that should make us sad? Sure: those precipitated by, say, domestic abuse or substance addiction are clearly sad. Divorce between disadvantaged people who will be unduly burdened by the bureaucracy and cost of legal separation is sad.
But Trump Jr.’s marital problems stem from his involvement in government corruption and, quite literally, bad tweets. That is funny. He has publicly joked about other people’s divorces. That makes it even funnier! Go ahead and laugh about this, people. Enjoy.
Now, there may be no grounds to feel sympathy for Little Donnie, but what of Vanessa Trump? Well, her family and friends are “proud” of her for leaving him, and she’s escaping the worst family in the world, so I think she’s going to be OK. “But the kids!” you may protest. Ah, yes, can’t discount how this may scar the children. In fact, it’s hard to imagine anything more traumatic for them — except growing up in the shadow of a loveless, toxic marriage because their parents value appearances over emotional honesty. So we’re back to this divorce only being bad for Don, which, again, is funny.
Speaking from experience, divorce can be amusing even if it’s not happening to an internationally famous dickwipe — even if it’s happening to you! Consider how easy it is to enter into marriage, a laughable scam that benefits the state far more than the couple: in New York, where I married, you basically need a witness, $35 for a license, and not more than three pages of paperwork. Divorce, by comparison, is a hilariously Kafkan ordeal that costs hundreds of dollars and entails multiple visits to court and notaries, regardless of whether the split is “amicable.” It is only when navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth leading back to single life that you realize how naïve you were. If you can’t have a wry chuckle at this, well, brace yourself for what comes next.
The aftermath of divorce is a gold mine of bleak comedy. We may see Don Jr. “get back out there” in the dating scene! Maybe he’ll turn up on Tinder! Once I moved out of the apartment I shared with my wife, I was spending all my money on vinyl and weed while living in the back room of a scuzzy Hollywood house whose backyard was infested by feral cats that yowled through the night for sex, mirroring my own sudden celibacy. I got a giant tattoo for no real reason. My diet alternated between tacos and pizza. I was sleeping on a mattress that lay directly on the floor, which is barely less embarrassing than when Milhouse’s newly-divorced dad brags about the race car bed in his bachelor pad on The Simpsons. Let’s face it: I embraced the squalor to a humorous degree.
So no, I will not accept this scolding from any sanctimonious weirdo whose ideology has them railing against a hypothetical “social justice warrior” campaign to block a non-existent reboot of Sex and the City. You cannot shame me into not laughing at Donald Trump Jr.’s romantic misfortune anyway, because A) I have no shame, and B) I have endured divorce myself while seeing the funny side of it. Hey, his marriage lasted twice as long as mine, and four years past the average for divorcing couples — the fuck does he have to complain about? Dude’s just on his way to fishing for a trophy wife at Mar-a-Lago on weekends and sending blurry cock shots via Instagram. Hell, I’ll be ridiculing Don Jr.’s unmarriageable ass for the rest of the year if I want to. He won’t see or care, but if I can piss off a single supporter of anti-trans bathroom bills and abortion bans who is currently yelling at us to “respect his privacy,” it’ll be more than worth it.
Oh, and Don, one piece of advice: it’s never too late to delete your account.