The Smelly Truth About Trump

There’s no chance Trump has accepted responsibility for a fart in his entire life. 

“Ahhh, who was that…?”

Trump hangs his head and chortles, “Sorry guys.”

This has never happened. It’s impossible because it requires of the farter:

1. The emotional intelligence to shrug off the embarrassment of ejecting smelly gas from your bum.

2. Friends/loved ones you’re comfortable being vulnerable around.

I presume Trump has neither.

This matters because if you’re too insecure to process the embarrassment of emitting butt exhaust, a symbol of your imperfection, your humanity, then you’re an undeveloped person. An adult baby. Which is fine as long as you’re not president.

It’s a problem if you’re president because adult babies are susceptible to being manipulated through flattery. They’re also too embarrassed to seek counsel because they’re too dumb to know the smart guy they pine to be asks for advice too. And they have too much hubris to ask to be picked up early from a playdate because a Russian autocrat is spitting in their mouth.

Wanton crop dusting is rude, but when an occasional air tulip floats out it’s not the end of the world…

Unless you’re terrified that being exposed for a single imperfection will cause a chain reaction unraveling your constructed facade and exposing a secret you keep even from yourself:

That you’re an opportunistic, shrewd, low IQ trust-funder.

And a gassy one at that.

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