Something truly reeks like a ruptured septic tank every time Donald Trump opens his mouth on a mad run to the Republican Presidential nomination. Whatever could it be?
It’s you. Yes, you. We tried to warn you about Duane from Accounting’s nuclear chimichangas. We begged you not to eat three. Now, we’re not so much hoping you lit a match in the bathroom as bidding on bulk lots of gas masks on eBay and calling a priest to exorcise whatever concentrated evil came out the back of you in there.
Fortunately, that tribble-scalped Manhattan goober is ever puckered up and ready to kiss the lowest common denominator’s ass at the drop of a deuce. You only get so many chances to wipe your ass with a wealthy, powerful lunatic.