The U.S. President would call himself a giant pussy if he were his own foul twin

The U.S. President is an undisguised coward as well as vindictive and just plain infantile. It’s not enough that he can simply ignore questions reporters ask him, jowls askew in flustered agitation; he has to try to prevent the asking part, too.

This manifests in his schedule of rallies, too. He will only address crowds in abject Trumpist shitholes in places like West Virginia, Tennessee and Montana. These habits, combined with his conducting a “presidency” from behind Twitter, make him no different from every workaday right-wing blogger; they ban, block and delete all dissent, however civil, and can’t even be bothered to bullshit after a certain point — they merely hide.

Hopefully, when he finally kicks it, his unseemly carcass will be placed in a dunking booth filled with piss and shit and people can take turns wandering by and trying to hit the target from a reasonable distance, like ten feet. After every successful dunking, the carcass will be dutifully retrieved and returned to the booth seat for another round. After a few weeks and millions of happy dunkings, the mess and the stench will be sufficient to warrant moving on to the next step: a giant funeral pyre at a Superfund site somewhere in New Jersey.

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