We can now officially stop pretending
I want Donald Trump to die. There, I said it ...
In case you missed it, Robert Mueller has died.
And in case you missed it, the president responded thusly …
Mueller has a widow. Didn’t matter to Trump.
Mueller has two daughters. Didn’t matter to Trump.
Mueller has grandchildren. Didn’t matter to Trump.
The President of the United States learned that someone he is opposed to no longer exists, and he greeted the news with, “Good, I’m glad he’s dead.”
So, yeah—please, Donald Trump, die. ASAP. Right now. Choking on a burger. Tripping into the corner of your desk. Fucking one of your young whores. Getting stabbed with a pen in your vag-neck. Having an eagle peck your eyes out. Suffering an allergic reaction to RFK’s meat pops.
Whatever it takes.
Seriously, whatever it takes.
You have made it clear that death is an appropriate wish for those who hurt innocent people.
Die, bruh.
Die hard.