Put aside your mixing bowl of cookie batter, or
lapful of tatting, or supermarket tabloid, or whatever inconsequential
thing is occupying your tiny little attention span at the moment. Gather
around. Old Uncle Neil has something important to discuss exclusively
with my female readership.
And no, this isn't another liberal cri de coeur
— whoops, sorry gals, "cry from the heart" — over Donald Trump's raging
sexism, his continual put-downs of women and descent into vulgarity.
Yes, that kind of thing is infectious. No doubt part of the pathology
explaining Trump is the unspoken male desire among his reality TV fans
to get back to living in a man's world. Less worrying about bruising the
delicate sensitivities of feminists. More seeing who can pee the
To be honest, a Trump nomination, while steadily moving
from impossible farce to inevitable tragedy, is in my mind still among
the realm of Things too Awful to Imagine. And perhaps with good reason.
The GOP establishment isn't frantic because of Trump's policy stands —
they agree with him; they want a wall. No, they're frantic because in any half-sane world, Trump loses to Hillary Clinton.
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