Even before it took place, I had a sense this was its purpose. Enough of “soy boys,” “toxic masculinity,” sitting on the couch on screens chomping processed take-out, kvetching about the state of our world and how so-and-so is to blame. Fuck that.

Yes. It’s our world. All of ours. Every person in every country. No exceptions. It’s time to “fight.” Each of us to re-ignite his or her divine purpose, which will automatically open the door for the love that fills and fuels the universe to flow through, vertically aligning you with the sky above and the earth below, spreading your arms to embrace one and all.

We’re done with stupid polarity. It’s time to wake up.

Do we think the founders of this country were soy boys?

 

Back story: I had no idea what the UFC was. Didn’t know it involved fighting  not confined to either boxing or wrestling. Had no idea of the kind of gloves worn, or that they fight barefoot, or who had started it all, or, of course, what the fuck is a UFC octagon doing on the White House lawn?

But even before it happened, I had a sense that this was another extraordinary, deeply purposeful Trumpian move, meant to reignite the fighting spirit that founded this country, timed for Trump’s 80th birthday, as a part of the now ongoing 250th anniversary celebration.

Oh, and did you know: The UFC celebratory event ended at 1 AM; and then, at 3 AM Trump boarded a plane for France. What person of any age can match his trajectory, his momentum?

Some on twitter/X go much further. For example.

Shorter version:

Or was this just a matter of bread and circuses? I don’t think so.