There are no more prescient pollsters in this world than hungry vaguely international models. They can read the prevailing winds like Frank Luntz with a magical vagina. Does that dude have real money or is that Lambo rented? Will ten thousand drachma pay my rent? Why is there no exchange rate for former European Union currencies?
When they start coming out for Hillary it’s less about political philosophy and more about jumping ship to the casino barge with the booming craps. This is the final proverbial nail in the coffin for Trump who made a valiant, if not entirely narcissistic and plodding attempt at defeating a scandal-plagued old lady who can barely walk and nobody likes. You couldn’t tap out Ronda Rousey’s grandmother. Pull the feeding tube, dumbass.
November 9th is the day everybody wakes up to find themselves less fat, less unhappy, and operating hip creative agencies ideating genius ideas on how to make recycling sexy again. Yeast infections will reek of fresh chamomile and women in Taget bathrooms won’t scream when men in dresses whip out their hogans for a good piss. Nirvana. With hearings.
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