It’s 66 degrees on Christmas eve. I’m outside dressed like Trump after he rolled out of bed with Clinton. At least, that’s how the creep looks in my mind.

Personally, I wouldn’t have turned down Clinton either. I had a COVID fever dream where I met him and Hillary on a rope bridge on a hiking trail; just like the one in Temple of Doom. Afterward, we went and got Glamour Shots together.

Just ask your parents. Chances are, if your mom is kinda hot and in her early fifties, there’s a hidden photo of her all dolled up and ready for a mock Epstein Island drill. It’s all kind of sickening in hindsight.

Just like that Honey Boo Boo shite from a decade or so ago. Why do parents want to paint their children like street sluts and then parade them around until judges pop a boner?

This country allowed all of this to happen – rape, racism, robbery – so we’d turn eyes on our own communities. Beyond that, rich white men were auditioning for sixties Batman villains. Bam. Bang. Boom.

His funeral won’t be enough. We’re gonna spend another ten years chasing down his loyalists, and it will be the death of us. I normally wouldn’t want to hear “you were right” while simultaneously set aflame and being anal probed to death by our soon to be alien overlords, but I’ll make an exception.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.

Happy Christmas Eve. I’ve never been Merry in my entire life, but I’ve Pippin’d a few parties here and there.