Tired

 I understand.

You're tired. 

Tired of hearing his name. 

Tired of hearing his voice.

Sick and tired of seeing his face. 

Even as he continues to stick it on our passports and airports and bath towels. 

When you click on over here, you don't want to be reminded that we have a yam for a "president."

And yet, that's where we are in the year of our lord 2026. 

Not just a "president," but the worst possible example of a "president." 

During the First Trumpreich, I made it a habit to respond to each and every one of the Orange Worst's tweets, back when he was allowed on that platform. My wife begged me to stop, fearing that prolonged exposure to such stupidity would cause my own cognitive powers to turn fallow. Since that time, I have made repeated efforts here at Entropical Paradise to look away from the swirling vortex of greed and pain. 

Let's talk about pets!

Let's talk about school!

Let's talk about anything that doesn't have that faint patina of filth engendered by the convicted felon and former game show host. There hasn't been many days in the past ten years that did not carry some new outrage brought on by the existence of this bloated sack of protoplasm. 

How about that Met Gala, huh?

I'm tired too. But we have a job to do. 

We have to right this ship. We have to get back on course. Any course other than the one on which we currently find ourselves. Time to take our reality back.