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

Because of course he ------- 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 ------- 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 --- 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.

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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 ------- 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 ------- hallucinatory.

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

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

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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.