Trump: Stall-hogging the Election

You know what it’s like when you really, really have to go to the bathroom but there’s someone in the only stall? You cross your legs or hold in your sphincter and stare at the sink or the empty Gojo soap dispenser or read the note about how employees must wash hands — STATE LAW! and walk around in small circles or shift your legs a bit so the person knows you’re there and ten minutes go by that seems like a hell of a lot longer than ten minutes and you’ve read the wash hands sign so many times that the words start sounding funny like they’re not real words so you put your hands under the Xlerator hand dryer to kill time and all you get is puffs of cool air so you try the San Jamar hands-free paper towel dispenser (slogan: Smart. Safe. Sanitary.) and wave your hands under it but nothing comes out so you try again more forcefully but get the same result and you realize you look like crap in the mirror and wonder if it’s you or the lighting then you start thinking maybe there’s another bathroom somewhere else, a secret bathroom where there’s a line of empty stalls and full soap and paper towel dispensers and hot hand dryers and maybe even some Prell Hand Sanitizer but you realize that if it existed, you’d never make it there anyway because it too late so you run outside, look for a patch of grass at the side of the building, squat down while keeping an eye out for people and trying to keep weeds out of your ass, pull your pants down and take a big dump, wiping with that wadded piece of filth in your purse that resembles a tissue, pull your pants back up, but still feeling like you have to shit? That’s what I felt like after Trump was elected president.

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