I don’t hate Donald Trump. What a curious idea to me.
Hate, in halfway decent people (not, for example, Klansmen and Nazis) is reserved for those who are more... substantial than Trump. He’s a greasy little swindler; corrupt, treasonous, a pathological liar, a sniveling coward, and a degenerate, bigoted, misogynist buffoon; but at his core he’s simply a frightened little excuse for a man propped up by an entire ecosystem of kleptocrats, quislings, phony Christians, cynical mouthpieces, spineless toadies, and assorted other nincompoops - and foreign propaganda and dirty money.
He doesn’t even measure up to his grandfather, the draft-dodging pimp, nor his father, the tax-cheating Klansman. He’s a thin-skinned balloon, constantly pumped up by others.
Worms like that, even bloated ones, don’t earn my hate. They merit no more than contempt, and such civic actions I can take to help rescue my country from the odious machinations of the various bad actors stuffing quarters into him.
