The other day, with the gusto of a cooked-shrimp demagogue desperate to be adored, he resurrected the slur he once denied calling African nations shitholes like he was retrieving a cherished heirloom then sighed into the microphone about wanting immigrants from Norway and Sweden, as though whiteness were a visa and humanity were ranked on a color-coded spreadsheet. It was brazen, bigoted, breathtakingly vile and yet the silence that followed was somehow worse.
Because maybe none of this is new. Maybe its the same cycle weve all been screaming into the void about since he rode down that motherfucking escalator like a cross-wired omen someone accidentally green-lit for public consumption. Or maybe this is just the natural byproduct of letting a small, spoiled man speak like a king long enough for him to believe he is one.
His words feel less like sentences and more like airborne toxins microscopic particles of malice drifting into the national bloodstream. Sometimes he speaks and it feels like the English language files a restraining order. The man doesnt open his mouth; he opens a portal. And what comes out is always the same: the hungry, hollow howl of a pampered pariah swaddled his entire life in sycophants, a man untouched by consequence and utterly unacquainted with refusal.
More accuracy, honesty, and memorable turns of phrases:
https://jojofromjerz.substack.com/p/shitholes-sycophants-and-the-sour?utm_source=post-email-title&publication_id=1198484&post_id=181357462&utm_campaign=email-post-title&isFreemail=true&r=638ph&triedRedirect=true&utm_medium=email