The icky, sticky awfulness that is the trumpy GOP

They need to go back into the shadows.

I often think of donald trump as a black light on a hotel bedspread.

All the icky, sticky, unspeakable awful, all the unholy foulness, the teeny tiny creepy crawlers, the vile, unsettling repugnance you really don’t want to think about and certainly NEVER ever want to see.

So, you pull that blanket to the foot of the bed. Fold it over itself a couple of times. Doing your best to ensure your feet won’t accidentally graze the faded fleur-de-lis patterned fabric in your sleep.

And you get into bed. With that certainly soiled bedspread, largely out of sight and mostly out of mind. You know it’s there, but it’s not really an issue. It’s not really bothering you. So, you close your eyes and begin to drift off to sleep.

When suddenly this Heat Miser looking fucker barges in, storms over to your bed, grabs that bedspread, throws it wide open, covering your entire body and hitting you in the face, and before you have a second to scream, “Hey, you Mr. Heat Miser looking fucker, get out of my room!!!” he pulls out a black light flashlight, and shines it down upon you.

Upon. That. Very. Bedspread.

Exposing everything. Every one of your worst fears confirmed. Everything you guessed was there but never, ever wanted to see. All of that stuff hiding in that faded, threadbare pattern — it’s all there.

And you’re surrounded by it. It’s everywhere. It’s terrifying and revolting, and frankly, given some of it, it’s really fucking disturbing.

But the man isn’t done.

Almost as if he’s speaking in tongues while summoning the spirit of Archie Bunker himself, he rattles off a CVS receipt‘s worth of vitriol. The most hateful, vile, sexist, racist, xenophobic bile comes spewing out of his mouth, and as he continues, the unthinkable happens…

The icky, sticky, unspeakable awful, begins to come to life. The more hate he spews, the more of it comes out of the fabric and takes “human” form.

And no matter what you do, you cannot get them back into the bedspread. They no longer had to hide in the shadows of those matted fibers anymore. Someone had let them come out. Had set them free. Had welcomed them. In all their icky, sticky awfulness. And they were never going to go back.

So, as you can tell, I haven’t given this much thought or anything (obviously lol). And you could make a compelling argument for why this kind of shit proves that I have no life. Or that I’m certifiably insane. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong on either front, but I digress.