MAGA-hatted thug

I can't do it. I can't come up with words vile enough to attach to that soulless thing in the Oval Office. I stare at him in disbelief with my mouth open, my throat aching, my head feeling like it's in a vise. I want to throw up, cry, scream, smack something. There isn't a quarter-inch of him that doesn't disgust me. If someone told me they'd give me a million bucks if I'd say one nice thing about Trump, I'd pass and just be happy with my jar of quarters. At least I wouldn't sell out my soul with pro-Trump bullshit.

I'm stunned there isn't billowing smoke or actual flames every place he goes. He blows up everything.Ruins it. Crushes it into the ground with a determined side-to-side roll of his golf shoe.Like someone stamping out a cigarette butt....but it's really our Constitution. Or a photo of Rosa Parks. Or a Vietnam Veteran's combat medal. Or a Doctors Without Borders application. Or a refugee's bowl of gruel. Maybe it's a drawing of the chains attached to John McCain's arms or the packaging from the Puerto Rico paper towels. Whatever it is, Trump is crushing it, diminishing its worth.

Trump walks all over things I love, things I cherish. He lowers the value of great things and increases the use of things that make me squirm. He's reckless. Heartless. Soulless. He scares me a little because I honestly think he has no boundaries, no personal rules, no self-imposed stop signs.

He's stone cold. Ruthless. Dangerous. He joked about having a "bad hair day" on the same day as the Pittsburg synagogue shootings. That is a man smoldering with evil, man who needs to be stopped.