Joy, Hope, and Humbug

The Democrats are offering joy and hope while Trump offers doom and gloom

Tuesday was better than Monday for me here in Chicago. I didn’t get food poisoned or crack my head open on Tuesday. Yay.

In fact, I felt really good. Despite feeling like I’d rather have a salad, I went out and got some Chicago deep dish (more on that later today), I took a nap, and then I headed to the convention earlier than I did Monday.

I took the L on the Orange line, transferred to the Green line, and got off at Ashland, walked down the street, and landed smack-dab in the group of RFK Jr supporters.

I wanted to see what they were up to because they were being pretty noisy but there wasn’t many of them. When I walked up, they all started laughing and started shouting something about the bear. What bear? I had momentarily forgotten about RFK Jr’s confessions of dumping a bear carcass in Central Park. I had also forgotten I was wearing a Taylor guitar shirt with a bear on it. And for some reason, one of the RFK Jr people, a crazy lady, had decided I was someone important enough to be lobbied.

RFK Jr fuckers defacing posters of Kamala Harris on Ashland

She started talking about Kennedy being censored and even without me arguing with her, proceeded to follow me down the street for the next three blocks. I kept asking her, “Don’t you need to go back to your friends?” Nope, she just kept following me talking shit about vaccines and herbicides.

And each time I asked if it was her group that defaced some Kamala Harris posters, she’d ignore the question and launch into more conspiracy shit.

Libertarians are just as bad. Start a conversation with a Libertarian and see what happens. I dare ya!

I eventually ditched the Kennedy lady by running away, hopping over some bushes, running through a backyard and a Taco Bell drive-thru, and then hiding behind a garbage can where I stayed until after she ran by screaming, “Mr, I haven’t told you about chemtrails yet.” No, what I actually did was say to her, “Well, I’m just going to try to keep walking away from you until you take the hint” and two blocks later, she finally gave up.

Then I found the Billy Goat Tavern.

The Billy Goat Tavern

I had heard of this place. I entered and the convention was on all the TVs. The volume was on too. I’m used to going into bars that have Fox News on (even all the ones in Milwuakee were playing Fox News). This one had CNN. Oh, thank god.

I sat down to some people working for the DNC but I didn’t bother them until, for some reason, one of them said all Geminis are Republicans and that’s when I bothered them, saying, “Excuse me, sir, but I’m a Gemini and I assure you I am NOT a Republican.” They were a bunch of obnoxious blazer wearers.

And then a large Black man with a red “Make Chicago Great Again” cap sat next to me and I thought, “Nah…he’s wearing it ironically.” I quickly learned he was NOT wearing it ironically. Republicans don’t do irony…duh! There’s just one Black Trumper in Chicago and who does he take a seat next to at a bar? Me, that’s who.

And this guy bitched. He complained about everything. First, he was angry about the phone charging station at the bar that wouldn’t work for him. It worked but I didn’t tell him how to work it. Fuck that guy. Then, he complained about Doug Emhoff’s speech, especially when he mentioned brisket. The Trumper said, “That don’t appeal to Black people, talking about brisket. We need ribs.” And then he said, “Black people don’t relate…you know…,” and then he looked at me and said, “N-word,” except he didn’t say, “N-word.” He said the word.

I didn’t engage because I didn’t want a conversation with him. Trumpers are often like Libertarians and RFK Jr fuckers. They want to talk to you, they don’t want to stop talking to you, and they try to convert you. They’re worse than Hairy Krishners.

Put a dime into a Republican and the record won’t stop.

I finally broke my silence when he said, “I’m driving a bunch of Black senior citizens in a van on election day to vote for Trump,” and that’s when I said, “No, you’re not.” He started to speak again and I interrupted, “Just stop.” Amazingly, he walked away…but he returned later to yell at the charging station some more.

And then (What? Is there a magnet on me?), a couple of Democrats from New Mexico made a bee-line from the front door to me to ask if Democrats are supporting genocide. They told me they were not voting for Democrats this time because of their support for Israel. I told them, “Yeah, make Trump president and then see what happens to Palestine.” They never sat down. It’s like they only came into the bar to scream at me. Or maybe they just thought they didn’t want to stay at the Billy Goat if people like me were there. I tried to distract them with, “Have you met the Black MAGAt screaming at a charging station?”…but nooooo…they insisted on yelling at me before leaving. They were nice.

I feel it’s important to point out that the MAGAt was Black because that is weirder than a run-of-the-mill MAGAt. It’s like Blacks for the Klan. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

I went back to watching the speeches and would occasionally converse with the people who said all Geminis are MAGAts, but I didn’t talk to them much. They were annoying and kinda stupid. Who needs that?

I sat in the bar from Emhoff to Obama. It was a great spot to meet and see people from the convention. I plan to return tonight and maybe get a burger this time. I hear good things.

On the train, I saw a couple with DNC shirts and I asked if they were enjoying the convention and the young lady said, “yeah, we’re going to move to another car.” What? She made me feel like the crazy Kennedy lady of the Black bar MAGAt. What did I do?

When I got off to transfer, I ran into them again and she said, “Hey, have a great night” and I responded with, “Yeah, whatever.”

I sure told her.

Creative note: My buddy and fellow cartoonist Lalo Alcaraz is also in Chicago for the convention, except he gets to go inside (fucker). We were talking this morning and he asked if I added a dateline to my cartoons from Milwaukee which reminded me that I had to do that for my Chicago cartoons. Thanks, Lalo. Proofreader Laura also brought it up a bit later.

Drawn in 30 seconds:

Drawn with a voiceover:

Signed prints: The signed prints are just $40.00 each. Every cartoon at Claytoonz is available. You can pay through PayPal. If you don’t like PayPal, you can snail mail it to Clay Jones, P.O. Box 3721, Fredericksburg, VA 22402.

Tales From The Trumpster Fire: I’m currently out of copies but I’ll restock my personal batch soon so you order your copy signed by me, for $45.00. You can pay through PayPal to clayjonz@gmail.com. You can also snail it to P.O. Box 3721, Fredericksburg, VA 22402.

Knee-Deep In Mississippi: There are only ten copies left of my first book, published in 1997. These can be purchased for $40.00

Tip Jar: If you want to support the cartoonist, please donate through PayPal to clayjonz@gmail.com. You can also snail it to P.O. Box 3721, Fredericksburg, VA 22402