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Watching Donald Trump’s Speech Made Me Horny and I Know That’s Sick…

Listen, I’ve changed. I’m not the person I used to be. I used to be young and thin with thighs that don’t rub together.

Now, I’m older and meatier and my thighs do kind of meet at a weird point but in a way I am enjoying my new body. I know it’s all those tacos that I convince myself I can eat without reservations as if I’m twenty-one again.

But, I’m way past twenty-one.

I wish I could go back to that time. I was able to digest anything with humor and grace. Lately, I’ve been a renegade.

My words are lethal and my attitude reeks of every ounce of the entitlement of — “fuck you.”

Fuck You All.

Fuck America. Fuck the World. Fuck the friends that used to be friends but are now reminders of why this planet will be extinct in no time.

Donald Trump gives me permission to be a bitch. I mean, this guy was a thorn in my side back when he was just a greedy billionaire who I met via the New York Post — where I read about how he was set on displacing an elderly lady because he needed her space to fulfill his Trumped out mega fixtures.

I was disgusted and annoyed at the audacity of people with money and power. They get whatever they want without any consideration for the victims that stand in their way.

I was fully aware that I was inhabiting a city that is notorious for implementing this particular mindset — but it didn’t make the shit smell any less foul.

He got what he wanted then — and he’s getting what he wants now.

As Donald Trump awkwardly recited his agenda for the country that he imagines exists — I laid on the couch fuming as the sweat of a day’s work cascaded down my breasts and found refuge in places that needed cleansing.

Being American has become a status that warrants ample strength to endure these days.

Under the current administration — I can dig it. But anything past a First Lady that resembles my skin color and a president who is partially soaked in my heritage — won’t arrest my fancy.

Damn the buggers who were White enough to initiate Armageddon.

Every syllable out of the estranged lips of a man who is secretly begging for his release amid the drones of deceit — seemed to instigate my need to offload the backed up fodder that I didn’t permit — but rather carelessly rendered for a later date.

That date arrived and I was ready.

Booty calls are for one thing but this time it was everything.

If you can’t discharge on command — don’t bother. So, here I am dialing with all my might as I listen to the sickening coverage and peep the colors that signal the demise of so many like me — who were born a slave and died exactly that.

He came and so did I.

It was a maddening session that needed to be acted out with fury and might. These days are bad. They are treacherous. They don’t leave any possibility of rescue or even a do-over.

Afterwards, I lay there — grasping onto the buddy of the night. My tears stained his chest and he asked why.

I lied and said that I missed him. But, I really missed me.

Who was I before Donald Trump?

That’s all I could ponder after the orgasm of my life.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://medium.com/membership https://www.patreon.com/Ezziegirl

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