snip ...

I was going to write about Donald Trump mocking Jon Ossoff's looks.

Because of course he fucking did.

I was fully prepared to spend the next eleven hundred words reminding the world that there is a level of confidence found only in aggressively average white men who have failed upward their entire fucking lives and housecats who launch your favorite drinking glass off the kitchen counter, maintain eye contact the entire time, and then stroll away like they just solved world hunger.

I was ready to unpack the staggering, reality-defying, almost Old Testament level of arrogance required for a solipsistic sack of sh*t who looks like a HoneyBaked ham that spent three humid weeks floating face-down in the stagnant pond outside a shuttered catering hall before somebody dragged it out with a landscaping rake and shellacked it with aerosol cheddar to decide another human being's appearance was fair game.

This is a man whose face looks like a taxidermist rage-quit halfway through and left the invoice on the carcass. His skin has the damp, collapsing texture of a motel pancake. His cheeks sag like overstuffed grocery bags, his lips look stapled on by a drunk carnival worker, and his eyes have the glossy panic of two boiled onions trapped behind aquarium glass.

snip ...

The whole thing resembles a wax figure left beside a space heater in a room that smells aggressively of feet. Like someone tried to rebuild an antique catcher's mitt using expanding foam, expired mayonnaise, and a personal grudge. Like an animatronic Thanksgiving turkey that woke up, looked in the mirror, and immediately started lying to children.

And yet this fucking guy looked at Jon Ossoff, one of the most objectively handsome men in the Senate, and thought, *Yeah ... I'm the one who should be critiquing faces.*

The confidence isn't just unearned.

It's fucking hallucinatory.

Trust me. I have thoughts (little bonus at the end).

snip ...

And as a bonus " here's that little blurb about Donald Trump mocking someone else's looks:

.

snip ...

You squint through those puffy, pissed-shut eye ----- - through a face that looks like it's being slowly reclaimed by gravy - and YOU decided to talk about LOOKS?

You look like a thumb with gout. A swollen, throbbing, angry ------- thumb with gout that somebody wrapped in a pontoon boat tarp and propped up behind a podium.

You are a rotting, wretched, repulsive rectal wart of a man, and Jon Ossoff is what your sons see in their nightmares - tall, hot, and honest.

So, you can take your saggy ass - that vast, veiny, vinegar-soaked expanse of curdled cellulite sloshing around back there like a trash bag full of clam chowder - sit it the --- down, and never again presume to judge another person's appearance, you decomposing ------ disgrace.