But the gravity-defying force that will lift me from my home on Nov. 6 and carry me to my polling station is schadenfreude. When I think of people like Donald Trump and Brett Kavanaugh—men who have never experienced any real disappointment or struggle or pain and are openly hostile towards and mocking of those who have—I just want those motherfuckers to lose. Same with all of the frothing MAGA motherfuckers who, as the Atlantic’s Adam Serwer articulated yesterday, mine glee from cruelty towards us. I want them to feel like shit, even if said shitty feeling only moderately interrupts the torrent of privilege, and I will derive more immediate pleasure from their defeat than our victory. Yes, the country will be a better and safer place if progressive politics win out, and this will make me happy. This will be a good thing. A great thing. But I also want them to be crushed, and this want for their political destruction and descent into self-doubt and irrelevance exists independent of the desire to win. And, also, it will bring my black ass joy.
