Trump got beaten at his own game on camera by a younger, handsome FRENCHMAN. A Frenchman with an OLDER WIFE. This is literally Trump’s worst nightmare, and I am loving it.

For a great tutorial on why GOOP is spewing nonsense, I recommend Dr. Jen Gunther:

“I will continue to stand strong for men’s rights -- and oh yeah, some rights for sluts too, I guess. Whatever.” <-- what he really meant.

If you’re curious, the NYTimes concluded that 66% of his business ventures failed or had serious problems.

Never mind that if he’d just put his inheritance into mutual funds and left it alone, he’d be far, far, far richer than he is now.

Here’s an example of it’s sparkling repartee; I’m surprised it got past the pilot stage, quite frankly.

Of course they’re not going to go after Trump’s “bad hombres” — it’s much easier to go after people who are just trying to live their lives. Like this guy, whose neighbors and WIFE all voted for Trump:

I hate even thinking this, but at least he set himself on fire, not her.

So, as a woman: is it poetry when I list what I want in my burrito bowl, or only mostly poetry?

I saw Hard Rain in the theatre because Christian Slater was in it. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a disaster film made after the good disasters — tornadoes (Twister), volcanoes (Volcano AND Dante’s Peak, which I also loved because Pierce Brosnan somehow manages to drive a car over lava after its tires have burned…

At my 10th college reunion, the class president made a joke to the effect that all the women looked essentially the same and all the men were fat and balding. No one laughed, because it was essentially true.

“Naval Reserve committment.” I am skeptical.

Let us all remember that Tom Cruise was allegedly Christian Bale’s inspiration for his portrayal of Patrick Bateman.

Cornstarch, probably.

“I was trying to explain that all hospitals are required by law to treat patients in need of emergency care regardless of their ability to pay and that the Republican plan does not change that,”

Huh. As a rower, all the ladies I know who like boats could also break me in half across their muscular thighs. Different species, I guess.

Not to be facetious, but why would you want models draped all over your yacht? What if you want to actually sail your yacht somewhere -- how do you scare them off? Can you use a broom to shoo them away, or do you have to pry them off, like barnacles on the hull?

I just... hate her? Like, so much? She wasn’t even born on third base; she was born an inch from home plate, and still somehow thinks she hit a home run.

In case anyone is wondering what you can look like after ingesting colloidial silver:

What a shame, all those years of clean living and exercise and I still developed three autoimmune disorders. OH WAIT, THEY’RE GENETIC. It doesn’t get much more pre-existing than that. Also, fuck this guy.