“We should invite them for a drink,” I said after we left to go shove their plastic levelers under more wheels of our rig.

“Maybe,” Dave said. “Did you see the bumper sticker?”

“No,” though I had noticed the model name on their trailer was Connect.

“Trump-Pence 2020,” Dave said.

I didn't close the storm windows because I knew Dave would say, “I'll do it.” Then I'd make a show of how I was going to do it anyway and he'd have to say, “I don't mind, really.” So I sit here and he closes windows around me. Then he comes over and kisses the top of my head. “I think you smell good.”

…that no one is above the law except brutal police, billionaire hedge fund managers, a percentage of rapists, and undocumented immigrants. Apart from that, no one else. Oh. And the president.

Putin: Mr. Putin? Mr. Putin is the father I had killed for speaking out against my regime. Call me Vlad. We are friends. 

I foolishly thought I was done being surprised by this embarrassing presidential failure of epic proportions only America could muster, but we have dropped trou for all the world to see — and the festering boils on our wrinkled, flaccid democracy are cause for retching from here to Timbuktu.