I’ve inducted that puffy orange nightmare Donald Trump into my Shit List Hall of Fame, where he’s the one and only member. His induction reads, ‘The Biggest, Most Toxic Human Disaster since Chernobyl and American president #45.’
A nice dichotomy, don’t you think?
I’d no choice, really; just the fact he exists threatens my peace of mind. Maybe putting him on my Shit List was a silly and childish thing to do, but it made me feel ever so slightly better. Besides, he started it.
I’d truly hoped the shock and dismay of the election would wear off and I’d move on, but that seems an insurmountable task now. Each time I turn on the television, read a newspaper, or listen to the radio, there he is. In all his insufferable smugness. I can’t bear to watch or listen; it makes my head explode. And I don’t know how to handle the strong, visceral aversion to a bloviating cheese puff.
Angry Birds helps unleash some of my frustration. I find the sound effects — explosions and screaming, glass shattering — soothing in a weirdly psychotic way. Violent scrubbing, too, has been therapeutic. My floors have, frankly, never looked this good. But beyond that, I’m lost and I can’t go around swearing and glowering forever.
I suppose I could volunteer for deportation, that’s free, but I’ll have to learn a language first. Wait, I’m uentflay in igpay atinlay. ¹ Any takers?
copyright © 2016 little ittys
¹ Translation: I ‘m fluent in pig latin.