Editor’s Note: J.J. has a friend who attended a Trump rally recently. Here is her report direct from the action with intro by J.J.:
I fancy myself a bit of a wordsmith. But Amy White has me and damn near everyone else beat all to hell. I refer to her as Calamity Jane. She calls herself The Wicked Bitch. But if she decides you’re an alright sort she’ll risk her life to pull you off the tracks from an oncoming train and then yell at you for an hour for being so stupid.
She is so biker even the bad boys say yes ma’am and no ma’am to her: whether or not she’s ever knocked them out. Which she is quite capable of doing. She was not born a Yankee, she is a daughter of the South but if you diss the flag in her presence…..you will be removed from her presence, and not by her pals. She will handle it herself.
This synopsis of the Saturday Trump rally in Des Moines is what you will NEVER read from the sewer system that calls itself American Journalism today. What you will now read about what that harridan waddling cuckolded pants-suited harpy Hillary Clinton calls The Deplorables……well let me put it this way: if what Any White is about to make you stand up and cheer for are deplorables…….let’s make the best of it.
–J.J. Solari
How are ya’ll? Today, I am laying out my fall leather jacket, that sleek European style one with the purple butterflies that I wore to your house, and my Gold Star Wives for Trump t-shirt that I had specially printed for this occasion. I rolled out and dusted off my Michael Kors black leather gloves that go with my hand embroidered jacket… and smiled to myself that I can wear them because I want to, because they are fucking expensive and badass… since covid has made gloves fashionable again.
I am debating jeans and my high dollar cowboy boots, and my Ivanka Trump purse or leather pants and my purple coach boots and one of my purple coach bags… the Gold Star Wives colors are purple and gold… of course. Since Bob died, I feel the same way about these colors as bikers feel about theirs. I sometimes wonder if he supplied me with all this supple purple leather, because he knew he was dying of Agent Orange diseases, and he knew me THAT well… knew I would wear these colors for him. Property of the United States Army, I reckon.
My new t-shirt gives me a pretty good chance at a seat directly behind him…. If that happens, and I wind up on tv, I am intentionally wearing thousands of dollars of gear. Kiss my capitalist ass, CNN. Not all Trumpers are poor white trash… or some, like me, not poor white trash any longer.
I am considering heading to the fairgrounds tonight and sleeping in my car. They are expecting tens of thousands of people… and folks are already lining up. I am jittery with excitement. It’s a feeling that is a combination of what it feels like to be going to see my Daddy and going to see a lover; like going to church and going to war. I guess that’s what patriotism feels like.
The old biker, the old journalist, in me, is loving it… the thrill of heading to a protest once again feels much like what I think I remember sex was like. Almost breathless, anticipating. The Confederate blood in my veins is boiling and my soul wide awake and pacing at the thought of possible confrontation, basking in the energy of fear and excitement as I prepare my particular style of uniform for battle, and hide my .45 in the console of my Trump adorned car.
The atmosphere at a Trump rally, is indescribable. Tomorrow, it will feel like I stepped out of an amalgam of various horror films and right into the America I was born to inherit. Clean, happy, friendly people will gather like a huge family reunion, an endless sea of red capped humanity… fresh Iowa fall air that smells like hay and wind and corndogs… old people holding hands and children laughing and Lee Greenwood singing over a loudspeaker.
They are televising a famous Iowa football game for the crowd on giant movie screens and opening the fair concession stands… all that will be missing is a meter maid on a blue 45 trike and a man in a white suit and bow tie to pump gas. All of those thousands of people just shining with hope and love and fucking America… secure in the knowledge that by the end of the night, we will all have laughed together, cried together, and stood in awe together, at the feet of our patriarch, our Tony Soprano… our Ronald Reagan, our Teddy Roosevelt, our Eisenhower… our hero.
All those liberals call us a cult and say Trump is our Jesus… nah, he is our Moses… leading us as best he can through a wasteland of bullshit as we try to figure out how to get our country back on track with the good Lord.
NOBODY who has never been to a Trump rally, realizes what it takes to go to a Trump rally. If you don’t get there early, several hours early… you don’t get in. At this one, I arrived 9 hours early and the main area gate closed in front of me…. The only reason I got in is my shirt, and me saying loudly to secret servicemen, I AM DEAF… I AM DEAF.. to get took to the handicapped section that still had seating.
You stand in a crush of people for several hours and walk for miles till the secret service opens the metal detectors. You can’t bring so much as a cracker or drink of water in. No chair, no umbrella, no food, no coolers, no containers… nothing but yourself and a tiny bag.
Inside, there is about a half mile line to potty or buy a corn dog or bottle of water, and only a few hundred get chairs or bleachers.. the vast majority is gonna stand about 12 hours straight in direct sun or rain… no shade, ever… with very little chance of a drink or food…. That’s even if you can get thru the crowd to a concession stand.
Once you get patted down by multiple secret service officers, you are not allowed to go out and back in.. you know once you are in, you won’t be going back out to your car or to eat until you leave. The gates opened at 2. Trump didn’t speak till 8. And then it’s always a 2-3 hour speech, and all of us, KNOW this is what we are heading into and do it gleefully, just for a chance to stand on the same fairgrounds as him.
Knowing this, think about tens of thousands of old folks on walkers, that Vet I sat with, the children and the nuns. It’s fucking unreal.
And I’ll tell you something else. Twice, I left my seat. Once to pee, in a porta potty, soon as I got seated. And about 6, I went to a particularly dense area of crowd at the edge of my area and squatted and snuck half a camel.
Both times, I left my one of a kind hand tooled jacket and one of my coach bags with a Michael Kors wallet under my seat. You just can. Twice, people around me lost their cellphones and a watch elsewhere on the grounds. Both items were returned within an hour, by strangers who found them. It’s like, all wickedness, all nefariousness, is left at your car.
Children run and play unsupervised; people take their shoes off and walk around in socks and feet… everyone talks to everyone. Everyone takes rest breaks sitting or squatting and offers everyone else a hand to help them off the ground. Teenagers let little old ladies have their places in line or help them walk, sometimes for an hour or two, just holding their arm while they chat with their friends. Nobody pushes or shoves and very few cut in line, and I am talking thousands and thousands of people forming ONE line to be screened by the SS for HOURS…
Some people DO bring things like chairs and tripods and umbrellas and leave them at the gate and just get them when they leave. I don’t know if it’s all the cops and secret service, or what, but you KNOW you and your shit is safe.
Nobody is a stranger. Nobody is making fun of anything… everyone is hugging and holding hands and sharing stories with tears streaming down their faces, when you tell your story. Everyone in line around you listens politely and hugs you when you are done. My particular job in the MAGA family waiting lines is, because I TOWER over almost everyone, people all day hand me their phones to hold over my head and take panoramic photos of the crowds.
I probably held $50,000 worth of phones yesterday of people I never seen before and never will again. The richer people buy big pans of food at the concession stands and bring them to the bleachers and just hand them out to the poor people. People take off hats and pins and trinkets and give them to each other. Its somewhere between Christmas and Woodstock.
All this shit about us being TERRORISTS? LMAO.. nah… we are a tableau of the good.. the best… in every single one of us. We are the GREAT part, of America. 
Yes, there were black rapper types with gold teeth, pinup girls, beauty queens in tiaras, Spanish boys with tattoos on their throats, soccer moms… A homeless vet, RVers, teachers, an Elvis impersonator and weight lifters. This is what irritates me about the media claiming it’s white pride rallies. It’s the opposite of that. You hear a constant droning chatter of accents and languages. It’s a family reunion of the human race.
–The Wicked Bitch
This rally was never mentioned in the news. You know what’s mentioned in the news? “Trump lost weight because now that he’s out of office, he no longer has access to the white house kitchen. Presstitutes in journalism are destroying the planet: not cars. –J.J.
