After reading my column last week, I’d like to say to female readers that I humbly beg your pardon for dropping that nasty little C-bomb. When I saw it in print, it struck me as a tad bit much. It’s just one of those hand grenade visceral words, one of two in our current vernacular, and it really should be used cautiously. So I won’t do that again anytime soon. OK?
That said, I also must confess that I was a bit pissed that I wasn’t able to include Melania in last week’s roster of “Feckless Bitches,” due to deadline. ’Cuz I’m tellin’ ya, the FBOTUS earned herself a slot on that squad for that nasty little jacket episode on her quickie to Texas.
All kinds of pundits were wondering what could possibly have been the intended message, because we know for damn sure Melania didn’t just grab that jacket and run out the door. “I Don’t Really Care. Do U?” What exactly was she trying to say?
Hey, let’s not overthink this! Occam’s Razor (remember him?) says, basically, “When in doubt, roll with the simplest and most obvious solution.” And obviously, this was exactly what it seemed to be—a nasty little Valentine sent to the precious base.
Dum Dum enlisted his wife to send this pissy message to his beloved cult of Deplorables, to let them know that he did indeed hate it to high holy hell that he was forced to sign that exec order to keep families together. He positively can’t stand it when he’s forced to do something for political expediency. Just loathes it. And Mel’s jacket was a super fun way of winking to da fokes while driving the media batshit at the same time (and once again, we see that Mr. DeNiro’s recent assessment was spot on).
This evil shit wouldn’t be happening at the border if Hillary was president. You know that’s true. No way a woman rolls with this kind of deep, dark prickitude. Such ghastly prickitude is alien to the female, maternal sisterly essence. It can only come from the heart and mind of a deeply corroded, fucked up man. It’s a vivid reminder that we really, really, really would benefit greatly from a female POTUS in ’20.
I was disappointed to see that no one took the opportunity to smoosh a coconut cream pie in Twitler’s face during his trip to Vegas to doom Deano Heller. Ah, well. Just remember that we all have the chance to do exactly that, figuratively speaking, on November 6.