Dear Mr. Trump,
I'm a little depressed.
Not about you, per se. The moment I wrote you off as a nutcase, you lost the power to depress me.
Even when you hold up some bullshit piece of "legislation" (like you really understand legislation), glowing with your "Look at me! I'm a big boy now!" face (actually scarier than your "Mussolini" face, which makes you look like something crawled up your butt and died), I remain immune.
No, what depresses me is that sea of happy (mostly white) faces that seem to populate your every photo op. Much more depressing than you is what crawled out of the woodwork after you. Smiling and applauding, they are always there, seemingly unaware of...well...anything.
But you. (Where have I see this before? Oh, yeah. North Korea.)
Now, given that these people are not certifiably insane, are apparently competent enough to match their belts to their shoes, and haven't be gelded, what would motivate an entire roomful of people - not to mention 292 or so Republican members of Congress - to encourage the tantrums and (potentially dangerous) antics of a petulant, mentally and morally deficient, giant orange man-baby?
I'm at a loss.
Since they can't possibly all be completely stupid, it must be either greed or fear. Now, no amount of money is going to make nuclear winter or global warming any more fun and, personally, I can't imagine how someone could possibly be afraid of you.
- Your BFF Steve Bannon and his dirt-digging machinery at Breitbart have something to do with it.
- You are Washington's Harvey Weinstein. (Are you Harvey Weinstein? The similarities are striking.)
- There are a lot of things about you that I don't know anything about. Things I wouldn't understand. Things I couldn't understand. Things I shouldn't understand.
What I do know is that this doesn't bode well. At the very least, it's creepy. And your "base" is starting to look like a Village People fancon.
Maybe Donald Jr. could shed some light here? They don't call him "Fredo" for nothing.