Heidi Hall and the TDS Brigade: Bay Area Retirees Rage as Kiley Skips Their Prius-Powered Pity Party
Well, folks, I strolled into the Miners Foundry Cultural Center on Thursday night, shades on, smirk locked, and just maybe a little hazy from a pre-game puff of something herbal. Just in time, too, to watch Congressman Kevin Kiley (R-CA) pull a vanishing act on the Indivisible Nevada County town hall, leaving a room full of Bay Area transplant, Trump-deranged, Prius-piloting relics who ditched San Francisco for bucolic Nevada County clutching their “Resist” pins and unraveling into a woke frenzy. These orange-man-hating fossils turned their “nail Kiley” rally into a three-hour TDS therapy session with keynote preacher Supervisor Heidi Hall, Nevada County’s self-anointed queen of sanctimony, leading the charge like a progressive televangelist on a righteous bender.
Over 300 retirees, fresh off unloading their Bay Area McMansions, jammed into Miners Foundry tighter than MAGA hats at a truck stop with their Priuses clogging Broad Street like a Berkeley co-op invasion. They had rolled up to roast Kiley for dodging their smug glares, after he picked a tele-town hall earlier this week over facing their Trump-fueled fury live. Word is Kiley had “scheduling conflicts,” but I’d bet my last dime bag that Kiley was sinking jumpers with Matt Gaetz at some secret GOP hoops hideout. Meanwhile, I leaned back, possibly riding a slight buzz, and watched these TDS-addled transplants lose their marbles, guided by Heidi Hall, Nevada County’s patron saint of Trump-triggered tantrums.
Supervisor Hall, eternal nag to anyone who doesn’t weep at “Covfefe,” strutted onstage in a tie-dye getup that screamed “I peaked at Woodstock.” Armed with a PowerPoint titled “Kiley’s Crimes Against Our Feelings (And Free Stuff that Gen Z Will Pay For),” she unleashed a half hour tirade, her voice wobbling like she had just spotted a red hat in the crowd. “He’s hiding behind a phone while we’re here fighting Trump’s ghost!” she wailed, glaring at the crowd shaming them into donating their pensions to her future congressional campaign. The retirees cheered, though half were distracted by the venue’s overpriced kombucha bar.
Heidi Hall was a caricature so absurd I barely have to exaggerate. She waved a petition—400 signatures allegedly snagged at the co-op during a lab-grown meat sale—demanding Kiley “face the people, not Trump’s shadow.” I would have joined the petition for fun, but my pen was busy doodling snacks. “We deserve a rep who’ll stare into our souls while we drop truth bombs about the oppressive systemic patriarchy and all its intersectional sins,” Hall bellowed after sipping from a mason jar that looked suspiciously cloudy. Maybe Heidi and I are kindred spirits?
The crowd was a Bay Area burnout buffet: gray ponytails, crystals on sagging necks, and Patagonia vests yelling “I maxed out to Kamala.” One geezer, “Raging Terry,” told me he was there to “purge Kiley’s racist Trump vibes.” Terry, in a “Trump Lies” tee and a scowl, tried slipping me a flyer for his “Meditate the MAGA Away” retreat and I was like, nah man, I’m already pretty Zen tonight. Eleanor waved a “Kiley = Trump 2.0” sign, hissing with those progressive crazy eyes and hair like the lion in Narnia, “He’s got that Cheeto glow.” I nodded—sure, Eleanor, it’s the lighting, or maybe my shades are tinting things funky.
The Q&A was a TDS fever dream. One granny demanded Kiley fund a “de-Trumpification sanctuary” for “TDS survivors of 2016.” Another wanted an apology for “Trump’s pollen haunting us.” A third just wept about “golden hair in my nightmares.” Drinking from her mason jar, Hall nodded solemnly, cooing, “Heal the trauma,” like a woke Dr. Phil on a budget. By the end, they were chanting into the night, clutching hemp candles like it would banish Mar-a-Lago’s spirit. Me? I was raiding the snack table because those vegan muffins slap different when you’re this amused.
Kiley’s probably sipping a cold one somewhere, laughing at this circus. I did catch wind that Supervisor Hall’s cooking up a follow-up: a sit-in featuring interpretive dance, a “Trump-Free” potluck, and a campaign donation jar for her next big run for office against Kiley. I’ll be there, shades on, ready to watch Supervisor Hall and these transplants trip over their own hysterics again. Stay tuned, Sierra Thread crew—Supervisor Hall’s woke retiree rodeo is just getting started. Stay lifted, folks—this is Rusty Dankbud, out.
[Rusty Dankbud’s my name, puffing out parody—every word’s a silly puff of fun!]
Editorial Note: The parody article has been slightly revised. In the original version, there were a couple instances of mistaken identity. I mistook Eleanore MacDonald for Jan Bedayn. Damn sunglasses. Also, according to my loyal follower, Terry McAteer, he was not at the shindig. Hoping his colonoscopy went well.
