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Why I Kinda Wanna, Never Could (But Totally Would), And Never Will #VoteTrump

Depending on who you ask, everyone seems to either love Donald Trump, or despise Donal Trump.

Depending on the day (among other “things”), if someone were to ask me whether I would toss in my 2016 Presidential Election vote to the guy who caught fire — by verbally firing other people on primetime television for profit, in an attempt to find his (I assume?) next apprentice — I would say, “fck off, no!”; or “haha, you know, if I could guarantee that no one would ever know that I did, I could envision a scenario where I may sell my soul to the devil.”

And that’s the problem. I’m slowly starting to realize, the only reason I “hate” Donald Trump (aside from the shyt that comes out of his mouth) is: I feel like I have to, in order to look myself in the mirror. See, I’m a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, (non-smoking Leo #CharlieConwayJoke) hashtagprivileged white dude with one/SOONTOBE2 degrees *douchebagbragface*; I work (hashtag do this) from home in the clothes I slept in (sometimes, not always) the night before; my fiance is a hardworking, intelligent, rule-follower who educates children for a living, out the door at 6:45 am and home at 4:30 pm; I think the so-called Mainstream Media is complete garbage; sometimes, I’m a dyck just because I can be; I battle Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and a lil’bitta ADHD too; some may call me eccentric, conspiratorial, a twouble makahor or hashtag elitist. I mean, shit — Donald Trump should consider my vote a slam dunk. I AM STAY-AT-HOME-ENGAGED-TO-A-WOMAN![gasp emoji]-OPPRESSED-WHITE MAN. Hear me roar, bitch (non-derogatory tone, used in an appropriate context, a.k.a., where I assume readers don’t actually think I’m a misogynist, making fun of Women’s struggle. In fact, you should know: I am a proud #Feminist hashtag and you can’t say otherwise because!)

Pause. [actual deep inhale taken and recommended]

But, I’m not racist (Am I?). I’m not — fck it, I could go on and on. You get the point: all the things I should hate about The Donald (#sincerely) I do hate. The reasons I love The Donald:

  1. He’s a fan of TB12;
  2. The first season of The Apprentice;
  3. His hair;
  4. His power-ties (probly’red);
  5. The second season of The Apprentice;
  6. He’s an avid golfer;
  7. I used to have a crush on Ivanka;
  8. He doesn’t give a fck about me or you;
  9. He knows we know that;
  10. He knows that we know, he’s trolling the world;
  11. He knows how to win;
  12. He knows the people who cheer his flagrant bigotry are fcking morons and those people make him look like an even bigger moron;
  13. He knows we know that, too; and
  14. He really doesn’t give a #flying fook.

If readers couldn’t tell by now, my lists of why I love Donald Trump and why I hate Donald Trump are identical, insofar as, they’re both unintelligent AZZFuh#k.

So, since I’ve seemed to determine that the only reason I won’t vote for Donald Trump is to salvage my reputation as a human — which I’m not sure I even have — I’m not really sure I’m the most levelheaded person the United States of America would want voting to begin with. That is to say, as of this writing, nine months away from the second time in a row the US may have a chance to vote the first black-ER President (S/O Benny C.) into the Oval Office, I don’t know who to vote for. I have my favorites, sure — #FeeltheBern fo’ life (numero UNO); Ron Paul (yep, Ron, numbah 2); Tom Brady (tree (3*) ); Raph Nader 4 (Fo’ or Pho); Christopher Nolan, fiver; Lincoln Matthew McConaughey (ranking: TBD); @thereal Larry David, six; and myself (because write-in’s are there for a reason, you guys), SEVEN! And, naturally, Cornel West, ocho.

In sum, what I’m trying to say is: Mr. Sanders, bubby, do us all a favor and end this facade right now; have a chat with the Donald; maybe smoke a blunt? I literally don’t know — something; and agree to do the right thing: Declare yourself President of the United States of America, then tell Big D that you want to make him your VPOTUS, and you will, as long as he — not you, for the love of Kryst, not you — does your dirty work for you.

Try this: “Donald, you PUTZ! You’re makin’AFOOL of the democratic process. But you’re OK — you’re OK… I readjour book by the way, The Art of the Deal — very, very compelling. Here’s mine: the entire free world is under the impression that I am the only person capable of holding the Presidency. They’re wrong, of course, but I digress [some handwaving]…Point is, I’m afraid, I can’t help that “normal people” think I’m the only person who can stop the Apocalypse (…what some call, you, Donald). You want your frequent, repeated and deliberate acts of public idiocy to mean something? Drop out, give the people what they want, and swing your immense crowd of deranged public supporters my way. Do that, Donald, and you can sit over my right shoulder for four, maybe (God willing) eight years. Every time I say something that pisses your people off, you can “Fire!” me on TV. You’re smart enough to know, only crazy people would think the shit you say is real.

“But I have a confession, Donald: I, too, want to make America great again. Will you help me do that?”

Donald Trump: “UUUUUGGGE, Bernie. H-E-YOUUUUUUUUUGGGGGah.”

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