Time to fess up. I sense in these posts a streak of envious sublimation from the guys and from the gals, an overpowering Father complex coupled with raw, naked sex attraction. Let's face it. This President has the power of sex. JFK had it. Taft had it, by the hogshead. Trump gives off a smell, and the ladies smell it. He has the casual, burly appeal of an old-time movie idol. Think Andy Devine. (American Andy Devine, not British Andy Devine.) You ladies are squealing a little loudly about the man, I think. If you saw him in a bubble bath, and he gave a little wave with that strangely soft, pink hand, you'd be in that tub in under half a minute. Trump has the stout, powerful, barrel-chest build of a birch tree. When he says, "I moved on her like a bitch," you can picture him tensing, aiming, and leaping like a tawny orange puma. There is something called the primordial life force. It's present in the splitting of an atom, it's there in a lightning strike, it's there in the explosive shifting of the tectonic plates, and it's present when Trump fixes his shaggy eyebrow in a cantilevered, demanding pose that says, Love me - take me - do not deny me - fill me - satisfy me - worship me - I am the life force - I am destiny - I am Shiva, come to conquer, pillage, and dominate...
'Scuse me. I said more than I intended. (Still, is it impossible to suppose that Trump will rise above and triumph over the subpoenas and investigations of 2019 with the irresistible power of sex?)
Trump is an ugly man. Don't associate his appearance or behavior with women. There is nothing feminine about that asshole.
