Scraping The Bottom Of The Barrel

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While I knew I couldn’t hide forever, I was hoping to steer clear of the political equivalent of Zika virus. Alas, today it happened. Donald Trump found me.

If El Caudillo del Mar-A-Lago is pinning his fundraising hopes on my help, we can cancel the rest of the campaign. Ain’t no way he gets anything me from me other than repeated derision, mockery and scorn.

I will say that I like the touch of putting my name in lower case. Very avant-garde, e.e. cummings (no, not Elijah, ya ignorant savages) like, with an air of mystery and character.

Other than that, I curse whatever wise ass or mailing list purveyor who sold out and gave Trump a list with my name on it. A pox on you.

Final thought: if you believe that Trump is actually going to pay $2 million to his campaign, without a large string with which to reel it right back in through “expense reimbursement,” you deserve whatever happens to you from responding to one of those “help me get this dirty money out of Liberia” emails.

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