I won’t lie. I am filled with a very familiar feeling right now. And it’s ugly.
Hearing about Trump’s taxes pushed me over the edge. Sure, I get to pay 2% of my income, on top of the other 30%, because of Obamacare. But we reward Trump for being a terrible businessman.
The thing with the candidates in this election is that the one you won’t vote for reminds you of every boss you hated.
He’s the blustering butthead you couldn’t escape till you were mad enough to take the first halfway decent offer that came along.
He’s the one who made you turn your back on your cool team for greener pastures.
The one who found a way to scratch a fingernail down the chalkboard of your soul 260 days a year.
The one who got promoted and rewarded as dozens if not hundreds abandoned their passions because of him.
And I know plenty who worship at the Cheeto Jesus altar who feel the same way about my candidate.
As I’ve said before, some you’d want to go over a cliff for and others will kick you over it.
That’s the choice on Nov. 8. I choose not to get kicked. I’m fuckin’ Lucy this year. That ball is mine. And if it isn’t, I am not giving it to him.