Death by Trump

Donald Trump winning the 2016 election didn't really surprise me. On November 7th 2016 I made the following observations.

"As for the presidency, I don't like the numbers I see. I think Trump has the inside track and based upon my most recent analysis he wins by a ridiculously close 270-268."

"Every other analysis I've seen seems to disagree with me so here's hoping they're right and I'm wrong. But I have this really bad feeling that I'm not wrong."

"Also not out of the question would be Clinton winning the popular vote while Trump wins the electoral vote. I think the opposite is less likely."

The next night, after it became obvious that Trump was not only going to win but was going to win big, I went to bed and lay there contemplating my own mortality.

This is something I had never really done as deeply as I did that night. At the time I was worried the dumb fuck would get us into a nuclear war and that's still possible.

Never in a million years did I consider he was going to get me killed by a fucking virus.

I have COPD. I did have a minor cardiac event but that was 15 years and I've changed my lifestyle significantly since then. Still, being 71 with underlying conditions probably means if I catch this thing I'm done for and, to be honest, it sound like a terribly unpleasant way to go.

The prick in the White House seems intent on saving his economy, while pushing the blame for the virus on everyone but him, and thus being able to get re-elected.

Only a complete moron would fall for this slight of hand and shifting of the burden of guilt but "moron" is a pretty good description of a large part of the US population.

But I'm not going to give the son of a bitch the pleasure. I'm going to vote against his ass even if it means killing myself in the process.