The wheels on my car, the wheels I rely on for the most important functions remaining in my retired, sick-all-the-time, but still-a-father-with-kids-in-school days, have recently been under assault once again. The back right tire has had a slow leak in it for three months because of some piece of metal embedded in the treads. And last week the front driver’s-side tire was cruelly popped by a piece of road debris, a hubcap that was left on the road to be run over repeatedly. Number two son and I had to be rescued from the roadside by AAA (and that is Triple A, not Alcoholics Anonymous… a fairly important distinction).
It meant I had to drive around on an emergency spare for a while and spend the majority of my Memorial Day holiday at Sam’s Club’s tire repair center getting two tires fixed.
And how do you deal with tires being damaged and needing to be fixed so often? Satire of course. After all, it has the word “tire” in it, doesn’t it?
The piece from Vox points out that satire is the way comedians are dealing with Trump news and Trump fake news and Trumpian self-satire usually administered to claim innocence over a truly horrible and self-damaging something he said. They are using satire to cut the crap and get to the center of the ridiculous dog-and-pony show Trump puts on and Trump supporters are constantly dazzled by. I point this all out because I satirically believe no one who looks at my posts on this goofy-danged blog ever watches the videos. And it probably is true, that thing you are thinking at the moment, that Mickey only adds videos to fill up space.
But if satire can be used to pop the tires on the political clown car, then why can’t it also be used to fix the tires on my little gray errand-wagon?
Of course, you will say, “You can’t fix a tire with satire! You have to have tools and patches and rubber cement for that. And you would be right.
But I have had three major tire-related disruptions to my little retired life in the last two years. A careless driver ran into the back tire of my little pony last spring and not only wrecked the tire, but bent the back axle and totaled the entire car. Then I hit a pothole on a carefully unrepaired Dallas street and not only destroyed the tire, but dented the entire rim. And now the new tire disaster fills my holiday with more sit-and-wait-and-pay-lots-of-money woes at a time when I really don’t appreciate such a long run of bad tire-luck. It drives me to satire.
So maybe satire can’t fix a tire, but it can make me laugh about it. And isn’t that better than crying, or a long string of cuss words so foul they would’ve gotten me fired before I retired three years ago? Besides, I already tried those. They didn’t work either. But satire makes me laugh about it and feel a little better. And, after all, it has the word “tire” embedded in it. And that has to count for something.