Don’t judge me but several nights ago, I slept with Donald
Trump. I didn’t mean to. I was watching what the Republicans call a
debate.
But many wouldn’t have earned a good grade in my son’s middle
school debate class where they taught to attack the argument and not the
person.
At some point, I fell asleep.
The station replayed
many portions of the so-called debate all night long. Each time I awoke, there he was, not allowing
others to speak, calling people names that are more true of him, bullying,
putting his hand up, giving his permission for another to speak as if he were the
moderator, just indulging his incurable narcissism. He was connecting with other bullies and
appealing to bad qualities in ugly ways, putting down an opponent for not being
for torture and all kinds of disgusting shit.
In the morning, I was
kicking myself for not changing the channel.
I think in my sleepiness, I thought it would end. So in some creepy, disgusting way, I slept
with Trump. Here he is describing the
size of something.
The painting “Sleeping
Woman” is by Karoly Ferenczy, (1912)
