MAGA and The City




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The best part of living in LA is how quickly people come and go. If they’re not leaving for good, they’re hopping across the globe for reasons I forget after drinking cocktails while checking Facebook updates. When you’re a Trump supporter in Los Angeles, you don’t get much play.

Living life as Hitler is rough. Last year my “friends” dismissed my nationalism and love for our nation’s people as silly conservative notions. Queer, if you would excuse the pun. Sanders had this in the bag and clearly a (Democratic) socialist utopia was on the horizon. I was just being different for the sake of being different. The eye rolls and shallow debates ending with “Oh Bryden, it’s 2015. You’re just an idiot”.




It’s 2016 now and a Trump presidency is very much a possibility. The Bernie stickers are all torn down and the tough choice of Jill Stein or Harambe faces these degenerates. They won’t talk to me these days; I’m apparently a racist. All white people are racists. Even them!

I have worn all three of my MAGA hats out into Hollywood from time to time, though I am reserving wearing all three at once until DJT is announced supreme leader of our once United States of AmeriKKKA. (Shit, what a Freudian slip, I’ve clearly been in California too long. )It has gotten a few questions, mostly positive. However, I want to clear up the confusion of the bad ones right away.




There is an interesting idea that everyone who supports Trump is a nationalist, and everyone who supports nationalism is a racist, and all racists are white nationalists. This is for lack of a better phrase in my saddened Hitler mind – BAT SHIT INSANE.

The Trans Pacific Partnership goes against everything a nationalist would believe in, yet Trump’s running mate Mike Pence was a 2015 supporter of the trade agreement. Nationalism is not an inherently racist idea, it is instead a pride on one’s country and want for protection of it. This is obvious by the Legal Immigrants For Trump. All racists are not white nationalists. This should be evidenced by BLM and Hillary Clinton herself.

I am a very proud nationalist. I am sure that comes as no shock to anyone who is familiar with me from this site or my show, but, you’re not in Hollywood. Most of the people I speak to at the bar first believe I am being ironic. How could a gay man in Hollywood support such a racist, sexist, homophobe? The initial dismissal is the stings every time.

There is a dance as they buy me a drink and I give them a cigarette to find out how serious I am about making America great again. Once they realize I am totally and completely behind Trump, it goes one of two ways: either they stand up, call me Hitler (rightfully so, I am in fact wearing a Trump hat) and storm(front) off or stay as a result of my good looks, ask the bartender for a stiff drink and ask me why. Not in the “OMG Y!!?” way, but a sincere one.

This is where things get tricky. Do I stick to Trump or do I speak to them about nationalism? I usually just advocate for Trump knowing I will never see them again. We talk jobs and trade, immigration and national security are hard ones but every now and then they stick around. Many understanding what we’re facing with ISIS, not wanting to be thrown off of buildings themselves.

Maybe that’s the first date, maybe I never see them again. I’m the hot Trump guy they met at a bar one night. I’m a cute story they can tell to their friends about that (not so) crazy night they had on their extra day off on labor day weekend. The problem is sometimes I text them. I don’t call them – I never call them. I text them, and we meet again.

Because my heart has been so broken I don’t waste time even bothering with the slow introduction. “Come over, I have vodka and I’m bored. Let’s talk politics” I say. “Oh that’s right, I still haven’t listened to your show” they’ll say, if they respond at all. I pretend to clean up but there is always a sink full of dirty dishes that I can shake off by saying “Sorry, I should wash my dishes.” They never care, they’re here to see me.

Instead, they see a giant fucking Trump For President 2016 Make America Great Again flag smacking them in their big dumb face as soon as they come through the door. This may as well be an old German flag, because I am in fact Hitler after all. I’ve never had anyone turn away and run but, there is usually a look. “Oh damn, he’s serious.” It’s a look I get all the time here in Los Angeles, something that baffled me until I realized I lived in a land full of folks who are empty. It’s not a gag. I think it scares them I’m not alone in my views and frankly they don’t know the half of it yet.

If we manage to get through the night I may or may not have slept with them, usually not. I’m often too drunk but enjoy the company. They’re likely gone out of my life forever. I always wait for them to text first. They don’t call. Nobody calls anymore. The thing is…sometimes they text. When they do it’s usually one of the last times.

We’ll meet at a bar, it’s nice, we don’t talk about politics. We just laugh at each other’s stories. There is a moment when we’ve both said everything we’re ready to say to each other at this stage. So the question comes “Are you Hitler?” Reluctantly I have to admit to them.”Yes,” I look them straight in the eyes, “I am Hitler.”

Bryden Proctor is a New Media Central Editor-at Large & host of Right to Bryden. You can follow him on Twitter @BrydensNotFunny