N A S T Y
I have noticed that Trump is a man of few words. I mean, he talks a whole lot but he only knows a few words.
If he likes something, it’s beautiful. Beautiful piece of cake, beautiful bombs, beautiful letters … things he likes are beautiful. Things he does not like are nasty. Nasty questions, nasty reporters, nasty signs, nasty voters, you get the picture. Beautiful and nasty are the only adjectives he knows.
It’s the nasty that bothers me.
Think hard. I’m serious now. Can you think of anything nastier than Trump in person. I mean, that tie scotched taped on the back. Okay, maybe that’s not nasty as much as it is stoopid looking.
The hair. Nasty. Those swept back wings on the side – nasty. Look, I’m no expert on hair, but … no wait, I, in fact am an expert on hair and I have a diploma and license to prove it. The wings are held back with duck fat. That’s why he smells … nasty.
The pompadour hair-do. God only knows what nasty crap he puts on his hair to make it stand up like that.
Stormy Daniels. Look, I don’t care how much you like her, she’s still nasty. She tried to extort him.
The elevator shoes that make him constantly look like he’s walking downhill.
I will be a happy woman when one of the reporters says back to him, “Sir, you are the nastiest man to ever occupy this office.”
I just needed to say that.