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“will they make me wear an orange jumpsuit?” the threat of prison has broken Donald Trump’s brain
it seems that Trump has been pestering his lawyers about a certain topic
Little Donny Fuckface has no good days left — and he knows it.
as he wanders through the halls of his shitty, vermin-infested Florida golf motel — alone, friendless, unloved, his Slovenian trophy wife nowhere to be found — the quadrice-indicted twice-impeached popular-vote-losing adderall-huffing insurrection-leading judge-threatening lawyer-ignoring witness-tampering disabled-veteran-dishonoring inheritance-squandering language-mangling serial-sexual-predating draft-dodging casino-bankrupting daughter-perving hush-money-paying real-estate-scamming bone-spur-faking ketchup-hurling justice-obstructing classified-war-plan-thieving weather-map-defacing horse-paste-promoting paper-towel-flinging tax-cheating evidence-destroying charity-defrauding money-laundering diaper-filling 91-count fluorescent tangerine crime-factory has one thing on his mind:
what will it be like when I go to prison?
it seems that Trump has been pestering his lawyers about a topic that’s broken his brain:
Would he be sent to a “club fed” style prison — a place that’s relatively comfortable, as far as these things go — or a “bad” prison? Would he serve out a sentence in a plush home confinement? Would government officials try to strip him of his lifetime Secret Service protections? What would they make him wear, if his enemies actually did ever get him in a cell — an unprecedented set of consequences for a former leader of the free world.
ha ha. good. this soft, pampered slug — this privileged overgrown baby whose greatest worry up to now has been “am I getting the most ice cream?” — let this keep him up at night. let it rot what’s left of his brain.
just deserts, bro. just deserts.
meanwhile, another heartwarming story came to light this week, about Donald Trump’s deep and enduring love and devotion for our nation’s wounded combat troops.
At his welcome ceremony at Joint Base Myer–Henderson Hall, across the Potomac River from the capital, Milley gained an early, and disturbing, insight into Trump’s attitude toward soldiers. Milley had chosen a severely wounded Army captain, Luis Avila, to sing “God Bless America.” Avila, who had completed five combat tours, had lost a leg in an IED attack in Afghanistan and had suffered two heart attacks, two strokes, and brain damage as a result of his injuries. To Milley, and to four-star generals across the Army, Avila and his wife, Claudia, represented the heroism, sacrifice, and dignity of wounded soldiers.
It had rained that day, and the ground was soft; at one point Avila’s wheelchair threatened to topple over. Milley’s wife, Hollyanne, ran to help Avila, as did Vice President Mike Pence. After Avila’s performance, Trump walked over to congratulate him, but then said to Milley, within earshot of several witnesses, “Why do you bring people like that here? No one wants to see that, the wounded.” Never let Avila appear in public again, Trump told Milley. (Recently, Milley invited Avila to sing at his retirement ceremony.)
isn’t Trump charming?
“why do you bring people like that here? no one wants to see that, the wounded.”
what a callous fuck.
imagine you’re a serverly wounded soldier. after five combat tours, sacrificing yourself for your country — you find yourself in a military hospital, minus one leg, your life permanently altered. you live though months of hell — bedridden, undergoing multiple operations and grueling physical therapy — and when finally you’re discharged, you’re confined to a wheelchair for the rest of your life.
and what does the President of the United States — your Commander in Chief — say about you?
“no one wants to see that, the wounded.”
fuck you, Donald Trump. you piece of shit.
of course, when this story surfaced, Little Donny Fuckface reacted in the most Little Donny Fuckface way possible: he logged onto his failing app and called for General Milley to be executed.
it is dangerous as fuck for this guy to keep running his mouth. as Mary L. Trump — first-hand witness to Donald’s lifetime of fucked up pathologies — puts it:
Whichever way that conversation plays out, however, it is Donald’s threats—which are becoming more extreme and increasingly pointed—that are not at all theoretical.
Do we think his amped up followers, who’ve been wallowing in the juices of Donald’s grievances four over six years now, are going to read Donald’s post as mere historical commentary? No. Neither does Donald. That’s why he posts such things. He knows what his followers will believe after reading, “in times gone by, the punishment would have been DEATH.” They will believe that Gen. Milley betrayed Donald and therefore deserves to die.
at long last, justice is coming for Donald Trump, and really, it can’t come fast enough.
it is far past time for Donny to be found culpable for his metric fuckload of crimes and sent somewhere to stew in his own rancid juices.
let him be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit he fears so much, and let his stupid death threats echo impotently off the walls of his lonely cell.
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