Donald Trump is inciting such a funky, creepy-ass class of people to vote. I didn’t even know the woodwork they’re coming out of was still made.
The D is using his immigration platform to needle into a deep thread of old, old racism– slavery era style– without having to even call it out– or call it black. He’s teaching people how to find the vein, and he’s giving them a syringe full of anger they didn’t even know they liked. Now they’re in love with his orange self.
The man has poked the world’s meanest tiger. He’s woken up the beer-soaked, too-sodden-to-be-articulate, pokey-toothed, late-night wife beaters, and he’s given them a voice. Lord have mercy. Ewwww.
Usually they sleep through Election Day. And every day. Please let them stay asleep this time. He’s like meth meets the voting booth. Heaven help us. I don’t know whether to go to church, synagogue or the rifle range.