May 20, 2020
I cannot even watch him (I don't even have to say his name for anyone to know who I mean). The few clips I've seen recently *literally* nauseate me, and I feel like a hand is gripping my viscera and twisting it in ways I thought only possible by the most wrenching of physical illnesses. When he is finally gone, either voted out in November (and thus really gone in January) or by breath leaving his bloated, heartless husk, I will dash out into the street and let out a scream *most* primal. I get giddy just thinking about it.