You can’t wash some things out of your brain.
When I was about ten years old, I walked into my parents room late at night when my mother was climbing on top of my dad.
At the time I didn’t know it, but looking back, it has that oddly repulsive quality that some people are drawn to like the scene of an accident—when it’s too ugly to look the other way.
Donald Trump is that accident.
Donald Trump as a viable option for president is just as horrific and repulsive as coitus paternae.
And it’s Orange! it’s Orange!
(Ahhhhh! Where’s my zeppelin! Oh, the humanity!).
When I was about ten years old, I walked into my parents room late at night when my mother was climbing on top of my dad.
At the time I didn’t know it, but looking back, it has that oddly repulsive quality that some people are drawn to like the scene of an accident—when it’s too ugly to look the other way.
Donald Trump is that accident.
Donald Trump as a viable option for president is just as horrific and repulsive as coitus paternae.
And it’s Orange! it’s Orange!
(Ahhhhh! Where’s my zeppelin! Oh, the humanity!).
