She slithers into that briefing room like it's a drive-thru confessional for the spiritually bankrupt, clutching a binder stuffed with pre-chewed propaganda and wearing a smile so stretched it looks like it was stapled on by a drunk taxidermist. She speaks in a dialect that's been laundered in cowardice, rinsed in a pawn shop Bible, buffed by interns with no soul, and spat back out like a hymnal rewritten by ChatGPT after a head injury. You ask her about a seventy-nine-year-old man calling a woman piggy, and she hands you that polished little turd she calls "frankness" " like it's a sacrament, not the verbal equivalent of picking a scab with a dirty fork and calling it dermatology.

She stood there with the moral confidence of a show dog in heat at a Confederate parade, looked straight into the press pool with her powdered face like a tampon commercial villain, and told them they should be "grateful." Grateful that the guy who treats women like half-off appetizers at a casino buffet decided to call one piggy in public, on camera, aboard Air Force One, like that somehow makes it noble.

According to Karoline, this was a blessing. A gift. A little Christmas miracle wrapped in misogyny and shoved under the tree of American civility. She thinks it's honesty. Transparency. Like we should all be thrilled that instead of slut-shaming behind closed doors like a coward, he had the decency to do it out loud, on the record, in HD. You know " real presidential ----. Just a grown-ass man bullying a reporter like a hormonal warthog with a press pass, and his human bullhorn Barbie nodding along like it's performance art.

This isn't candor. It's dick-first diplomacy in a church pew with the lights on.

And if "frankness" is all it takes " if saying whatever grotesque, demeaning filth spews from your dusty meat-hole is now a character trait worthy of celebration " then fine.

#3 Indeed!

#12 No, bell boi. Very good at her job would be to effectively communicate reality.

Owning the libs is hardly that.