Just in case y’all are wondering how I’m doing with the whole “feeling sorry for Mr. Trump” thing. . .
Dear Mr. Trump,
Remember me? I wrote you a kinda-sorta nice letter a few days ago. Yeah, so this one’s not so nice.
Some people are wondering if the Democrats hired you to make the Republicans look bad. If that’s true, I commend you: you’re doing a fine job. If it’s not true—if the opinions and ideas you’re spouting are actually real—I beg you to pick up your toys and go home.
I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. In fact, because of my off-the-charts empathy, I often make excuses for bad behavior. (That’s the downside to my “And” theory of humanity.) You can see it in my first letter to you, can’t you? I point out a bunch of obnoxious things about you, and then I make excuses for you! “I think maybe you’re sad,” I said. “You’re okay,” I said.
Well, I take it back. You’re not okay. Not right now, anyway. Whatever’s “okay” about you is currently sinking to the bottom of an outhouse full of your ignorant, egomaniacal, abusive, brutish bullshit.
(I don’t think Jesus would dig that last paragraph. Except I bet he’s laughing behind his hand, the way parents do when their kids say something that’s horrible and hilarious at the same time.)
Listen, I know I’m supposed to love you. I’m know I’m supposed to pray for you—and not just that you’d get the hell out of the POTUS race. But right now I’m too busy loving and praying for my Muslim brothers and sisters whom you’ve stripped of dignity and who will undoubtedly suffer an increase in persecution right here in the land of the free because of you. The last thing we need is a leader who validates religious intolerance and incites hatred.
And to my Muslim friends who read my last letter to you, I recognize now that I’ve assumed benign intent for too long. I pray they’ll forgive my naiveté and know that I stand with them.