Forget his silly rhetoric. Forget what he says. Read his body language, his appearance, his expressions.
First, there’s the orange hair, combed weirdly forward so that it always looks disheveled, strange, unnatural. Is it the result of follicle implants? Or does he comb it that way to cover bald spots? Does anyone around him ever tell him he should fix the hair?
“Uh, Dad, you should maybe let it go gray and natural.”
“Uh, honey, it’s looking a bit odd.”
Or, from a trusted advisor: “Uh, dude, you need to do something about the hair.”
Trusted advisor is then fired. It’s not as easy to fire one of your kids or your wife or mistress, so Trump just ignores them and continues to do his hair thing. This is the guy, after all, who during the divorce proceedings from his first wife invoked the fifth amendment 97 times out of a 100 questions about whether he’d been faithful to her. I think he’s claiming the fifth amendment about his hair.
Then there’s the color of his face, this perpetual sunburn from a tanning salon. I mean, hey, we know he can’t be basking on a beach in Florida, so it’s got to be the result of a salon or sun lamps or aliens with really bright, hot lights aimed at his face.
Third item: his mouth. It purses and scowls frequently, the lips sculpting themselves into various weird shapes and designs. It often reaches a point with this mouth where I wish it were in front of me so I could grab it, stretch it, sculpt it into some semblance of a genuine human smile. Not going to happen. This mouth spouts so many lies and so much shit that when it’s resting, it’s perpetually turned down, like a sad face emoticon.
Now, the fourth item in this body language scan: his hands. He claims his only exercise comes from the movement of his hands. Stubby thumb and forefinger rising into the air, forming a nearly perfect ninety degree angle to each other as that pursing mouth announces that he’ll make America great again.
Yeah, okay, orange dude with weird hair. And you say you really want to be president? Well, president of what? The U.S.? Seriously? You’re better suited as prez of the local dog catcher unit. No, on second thought, that would be an insult to dogs, who are way smarter than you.
The other night, when we were watching Trump debate Clinton, our dogs actually jumped down from the couch and left the room. They understood that hate is what fuels you, feeds you, propels you forward in your weird reality bubble.
Oh please, Mr. Orange Man With Weird Hair and Hand Gestures, just go away, okay? Four years of you would do us in as a country, a nation, a collective consciousness that strives to move forward, to move beyond racism, misogyny, zero respect for women, and all the other Neanderthal beliefs you represent. Even the dogs recognize you as worse than Romney, who kept his dog in a crate on top of his car during a trip north. Worse than W Bush who got us embroiled in the Mideast. Even the dogs can’t stand to see you on TV, can’t stand to hear you speak, can’t tolerate your lies.
Unfortunately, dogs can’t vote. But we humans can.
No, Clinton isn’t perfect. Clinton isn’t clean. Clinton doesn’t have the youth vote. But she has my vote because she’s smart and experienced and the alternative is just too gross and depressing to even ponder. I thought W was awful. But you?? There are no adjectives in the English language that can possibly describe the horrors and the damage that you could inflict on the world in just four years.