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Making the Best of a Bad Situation: Schadenfreude in the Midst of the Biden Zeitgeist

One must hand it to the Germans. When a word is needed to express some deep-down experience akin to indigestion of the intellect, they have the best of word:

schmidts. Take Schadenfreude, Angst, Sturm und Drang, and Zeitgeist. (Germans capitalize nouns, but since this is really about an American dream gone mind-bending nightmare, I’ll drop the initial cap.)

I had my first serious case of schadenfreude (meaning delight or pleasure—freude—in another person’s misfortune—schaden) the night of the 2016 election. Yes, yes, I was really glad that Trump won against all expectations. Some called it a miracle. But here’s something the Democrats never got. Many of us who voted for Trump were really voting against Hillary. We weren’t all necessarily gung-ho about Trump, but he was better (even Mickey Mouse had to be better!) than Hillary. She of the Benghazi debacle, the non-secure email server, the heist of exquisite and valuable gifts to the American people (not for her etagere), the eight years of lies, coverups, scandals, more lies, suicides, convenient deaths, lost billing records, Travel-gate, Whitewater-gate, and an unending number of grand jury investigations involving yet more lies.

So, whine and cavil all you want, you spoilt children of the left. Sneer at us, call us names, curse the ground upon which we walk, but you never understood that we saved our country from the clutches of someone who neither had the requisite skills to govern the country well nor any understanding of the presidency as a watchdog or a bulwark against any harm threatening the American people.  Think COVID, September 11, the 2008 financial crisis. What would her lame excuses for mishandling those be? (At least Biden would only blink when told of a national emergency and then head out for an ice cream cone with his handlers in tow. . .)

I must confess it was a treasured moment of schadenfreude watching Rachel, Jake, Lester, and Harry melt down on TV as Trump’s electoral vote edged closer and closer to 270. Even Judy Woodruff showed a furrowed brow(!) as all beheld the inexplicable, indeed impossible, election results pour in. Even Putin was surprised!

Ah, but the sight of non-Pres-elect Hillary’s cavernous ballroom fitted out with all the frippery and furbelows of a room in which to celebrate the election of the first woman president was also a treasured schadenfreude moment. There were all the predominantly blue balloons bobbing forlornly above the crowd who seemed not to know the custom of balloon punching at political gatherings. Then there was the champagne in all the flutes emitting its greenhouse gas into the room. And the glass ceiling that Hillary didn’t break that night, reflecting from above the sorry sight of the sad crowd below, hoping against hope for an impossible shift in the electoral votes in Hillary’s favor. The dismay was poignant even for this Trump supporter as she watched these mostly pampered and coddled millennials learn a lesson they’d never been taught, that some things in life will make you sad.

Not to be overlooked was a mainstream (AKA Love Canal) media person at Trump’s minimally decorated, hardly-expected-to-be-used election night venue who found herself bereft of any news source but Fox. Finding that she had no access to accurate and unbiased Trusted News Initiative news [sarcasm], she had the look of a Western journalist at a USSR election (did they have any?) whose only news source was TASS, on which I’m sure the TNI is modelled. Recalling that schadenfreude moment always makes me giggle.

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As to Hillary, word had it that she was out of commission, incommunicado, drunker than a skunk on her alcoholic beverage of choice—chardonnay of an excellent vintage. It fell to a poor, harried campaign official to approach the microphone at the Javits Center and in a hoarse and timid voice tell the assembled crowd to go home. No why. Just go home.

Now, this is a serious no-joking point, —no schadenfreude, no angst, no zeitgeist here. Hillary’s absence from that room for the entire night showed in a nutshell the kind of dreadful president she would have been. Wouldn’t anyone who considers himself or herself a qualified candidate for the highest office in the land who will have to handle tough national and international crises at a moment’s notice have the grit to override their own deep disappointment, come out on that stage with a brave smile, thank these people graciously who’d probably worked hundreds of unpaid hours campaigning for her, and seek to console and buoy them up? Kind of like George Washington did for his men at Valley Forge?

Where were you Hillary that night at the Javits Center that had become another Benghazi, another failed Hillary debacle. It was a schadenfreude high for me because it was so characteristically egomaniacal Hillary. And then, you have to at least shake your head, this deplorable woman goes dark for the next 24 hours. Was that how long it took for her to sober up? Is this the person they wanted to be president?

At the stroke of midnight on election night, the left, via some impressively well-organized and well-funded mechanism (likely masterminded by Soros and maybe Schwab), embarked on four solid years of Trump Derangement Syndrome, which mainly gave the impression of little children kicking the toy they kept hurting themselves on.  It also seemed an awful lot like the bullying we teach our little children not to do because it isn’t nice.

The grown-ups, who voted for Trump, just shook their heads at such silliness. Honestly, the Democrats during Trump’s term in office seemed mostly like wreckage floating on the clear stream of Trump’s “Make American Great” agenda. Bobbing up from the debris and wreckage was Nancy Pelosi clutching the articles of impeachment and Chuck Schumer affecting his affected sly look over his reading glasses. Also bobbing up, his smart-aleck face smeared with a slimy grin, was Peter Strzok who parleyed his talent for espionage into treason. Hillary was there, of course, looking like the ugly, shrewish woman that’s her true self. Bill was there looking miserable because now he really had to stand by his woman. Over there was Bill Gates with hypodermic needles bristling in his hands experiencing nirvana at the thought of killing off 6.5 billion people worldwide. George Soros was bobbing around face down in a dead man’s float (don’t we all wish). There, over there, were Jeff Bezos, Obama and Michelle, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill de Blasio, James Comey, the Michaels Baldwin and Moore—the whole host of malefactors seeking to lay waste to our republic. To borrow a phrase from Dickens, “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Fast forward four years to the day of the pathetic inauguration of Biden, a day of pure, unalloyed schadenfreude because Biden got the inauguration he truly deserved, an event so watered down, so devoid of pomp and circumstance—no parade, no ball gowns, no pre-inaugural or inaugural balls and parties, and no masses of people joyously celebrating a new president. Why did they even bother, one asks? The token crowd of onlookers in front of the stand, the mannequin people arranged like knickknacks on shelves behind the swearing-in platform. Everyone appropriately socially distanced. Well, there were also in attendance the ten thousand troops that had been called out, but they weren’t in a celebratory mood. They were cold and miserable because no one thought to provide shelter and food for them. Well, Dr. Jill did trip out after the formalities with her two dozen chocolate chip cookies that she handed out to show her appreciation for their being there.

Personally, I think Pelosi’s reason for the fence and the ten thousand troops was to cover up for the fact that, without the fence and the troops, there wouldn’t have been any more onlookers than there were at any of Biden’s rallies, and maybe not even then if Alec B hadn’t gotten them from central casting.

One could not help but bark a laugh at the sight of Lady Gaga wearing the Mother Ginger dress from that year’s New York City Ballet’s performance of The Nutcracker. Gaga was there to belt out “The Star Spangled Bannerin true New York, New York fashion. (Did no one take the requisite knee?) There was J.Lo, Barack and Michelle dressed as atrociously as Gaga, Clinton & Clinton, the usual Hollywood royalty, and all the other hangers-on and hangers of hangers-on. And then it was ovah and everybody headed home, except for Dr. Jill and her cookies for the troops.

But, then, of course, Joe had a record-breaking stack of executive orders that needed to be signed, and it’s been pretty much a case of ever-worsening and –worrisome schaden without much freude ever since.

By Betty Louise Tyndale

Betty Louise Tyndale is a retired medical and scientific author and editor, and is a regular contributor to The Blue State Conservative.

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The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Blue State Conservative. The BSC is not responsible for, and does not verify the accuracy of, any information presented.

Featured photo is a screengrab from YouTube