It confuses me that Donald Trump is getting such a bad rap. I’m voting for him.* And I’m going to explain why.

I’m voting for Trump because I’m hoping for a fascist state. At least I think I am. I just want everybody of the Muslim nationality to wear patches and get into camps. I only like Americans.

Wait. Muslim isn’t a nationality? Oh, well. Whatever. Close the mosques! This country is getting overrun by the ethnics and someday whites will be a minority! We need to protect our religious freedoms!

We should make Islam illegal though because ISIS.

Thanks, Obama. (Another Muslim!)

I hear America put people in camps once before and that makes sense to me because it was rooted in racism and irrational fear. I like racism and irrational fear because I’m white and those things have served me well for at least 200 years.

I endorse Trump because Sarah Palin endorses him and I like Alaska and its big bears. Very American. I also hate sex before marriage but I enjoy the two kids I had at 16.

Forgiveness! God is good! I also like the freedom girls. Remember them? They wore sparkles! I love sparkles. I love small white cheerleaders singing memorized songs like Hitler youth. It makes me clap.

I also like vague rhetoric about America being the best country in the world and how we’re going to take down the bad guys because brown people in the Middle East are the bad guys. Also they wear weird clothes. This is how we know they’re bad guys. Sometimes people talk about “white terrorists” but we all know they don’t exist because terrorists are brown.

It may not be immediately apparent how freedom girls, brown people, and weird clothing connect with Trump’s promise of freedom, but I assure you, they are connected and I, for one, am ready to make this country great again!

Like when we had Japanese Internment. Those were the good old days! Also, anti-immigration laws based on national origin. Yes, please! The heyday!

And get marriage back to its sacred condition of a man and woman marrying and divorcing 2-5 times, like Trump did, and women staying in the home and not having access to safe abortions and no gays marrying because when I say “freedom” I mean for white straight Christian men.

Jesus!

I know everything The Donald says is true because he reminds me of my grandpa and I always liked my grandpa.

Which reminds me, I like Trump because he’s a real American success story. He’s white, male, and rich, which means he WORKED HARD for what he has and never took handouts. He didn’t pay taxes because he’s an excellent businessman! His billions make him more valuable and more American and even though I’m poor, I believe THIS MAN has my interests in mind. At least he understands the value of not taking handouts, unlike like those darn urban youth.

I’m not racist though. That Hillary is a super race baiter. If people would just stop talking about racism, it would go away! Like AIDS! And poverty!

I don’t see color as long as people act white and aren’t terrorists and don’t talk funny or wear weird clothes or have a name like “Sanchez.”

Speaking of which, we need to close our borders and build a wall!

Freedom. Stamina. Big hands.

Yeah. That’s right. I endorse Trump because America was founded on FREEDOM, and Trump symbolizes freedom. He is everything right in our country, which he explains by talking about really important stuff and using the best words and not being a loser.

Trump is so smart his sentences don’t even make sense to the standard mind. What a guy! He doesn’t lie. The media just skews his words. What they say about Hillary, though, is true. 100%.

I know this because I hate her.

Really though, mostly I just love those cheerleaders in red-white-and blue satin who make me clap. And the rallies where he says “Make America Great Again!” So much hope. Right around the corner.

I love clapping.

Trump 2016.

*This is satire. I’d rather have my left arm eaten off by rats.

Dear Children,

There are four of you. I adore you all. I want the best for you. I want you to become the people you were meant to become.

And yet, I have never carved your sandwiches into the shape of trains.

Maybe you’ll never care. Maybe you’ll live your whole life without ever mumbling to yourself in the wee hours of a heartless morning “Where was MY baby carrot shaped into an owl with little raisins for eyes? WHAT ABOUT MY BENTO BOX?”

But just in case, I’d like to offer an explanation of what may appear a deficiency, and may in fact be a deficiency, but isn’t entirely without thought either way.

In short, I want you to eat the sandwich because it’s a sandwich, recognizing that as such it has merit all on its own, even if it isn’t round like the wheels on the bus. It has bread, maybe some meat, lettuce, mustard or mayonnaise. These things feed our bodies. Feeding our bodies is amazing. Cute sandwiches do not actually feed our bodies better than non-cute ones.

I want you to get used to this. I want you to eat the sandwich because it’s a motherfucking sandwich, not because it looks like a fish.

Eat the motherfucking sandwich because it’s a motherfucking SANDWICH.

Sorry.

Yeah, I know. I get it. It’s more fun to eat a sandwich that looks like a baby bear. That sounds fun to me too. I love small furry animals. But the thing is, nobody is going to make turkeys out of your cheese balls in your adult life. Nobody is going to make the boring yet necessary parts of life more compelling through Pinterest-inspired sculpting.

Someday you’ll have to sit in meetings while the office manager discusses for the 27^th time how everybody is putting the mail in the mail thing upside down and you’ll be like THIS DOES NOT MATTER HOW IS THIS MY LIFE MAYBE I COULD KILL ALL OF YOU but there will be no way out of it because you need the money and this is your job.

Nobody’s going to make the office manager’s speech more amusing by removing his clothes or putting a donkey headband on him or sticking him in a unicorn suit with the butt part removed.

Nobody’s going to have him discuss how long food should be in the refrigerator via haiku and interpretive dance.

Take a moment and imagine how rad that would be. But will it happen?

No. Never.

You get Boring As Fuck. You get office casual, large table, legal pads, old coffee and general malaise.

A Powerpoint. If you’re lucky. Probably without fun slide transitions.

Nobody cares if you’re entertained.

You get the square sandwich with stuff inside. Probably even with crust.

You see? The minute I start making food AMUSING is the minute you start expecting food to be amusing. Why the hell would I sign myself up for that shit? Get used to bananas as bananas not centipedes and apricots as apricots not clownfish. Why?

Because there are some things we do because they need to be done even though they may not be our favorite.

Like eating, for example.

Although, how is eating not your favorite? How is eating ALL THE THINGS not your favorite? What the fuck is wrong with you?

EAT THE MOTHERFUCKING SANDWICH.

Sorry, again. You know how I struggle with potty mouth.

Okay, are you with me so far? Carving sandwiches into cute fuzzy shit when you’re two is a slippery slope to “Oh, Johnny, you don’t like grapes? What if I turn them into a waterfall cascading into a large Brazilian swimming hole?”

“Oh, no celery? What if I make it into a lion eating a hyena but in our front yard? Wouldn’t you like a lion in the front yard? Lions are amazing! Lemme hear you roar!”

Well, that’s how it is in my brain, at least. I see myself getting pulled around by a tiny ass dictator shouting I ONLY EAT APPLES WITH THE WINGS OF GREAT BALD EAGLES and that terrifies me.

Y’all are annoying enough without demanding artistic enhancement of food items.

Or, I’m lazy.

That’s probably it to be honest. My goal each day is to get food INTO your bag. Its spot on the adorable spectrum is 3,000% not what I care about.

But hey, we all have our talents. I once told you I went to Julliard so many times you told your kindergarten teacher and she invited me to do a presentation at the school on singing and dance.

Tell me that shit isn’t better than a blackberry lamb with a kiwi sun.

That’s creative as fuck.

Anyway, I hope you have a nice life. I love you. I also love trains, baby bears, eagles and clownfish, but not in food form, unless it’s a party, and I’m not throwing it.

Eat the motherfucking sandwich.

Sincerely,

Mom

Although, remember that one time we made a rainbow cake to celebrate marriage equality? fucking NAILED it. Crafty as shit.

We went to Target recently and sure enough there were no signs indicating which toys were for boys and girls. Lemme tell you what happened because it was traumatic. Plus, I think I may be on the cusp of uncovering a major conspiracy.

First, my 5-year-old daughter got all confused about which aisle was her section because the Great Wall O’ Pink was so subtle she failed to notice it. You know how kids are. I had to steer her in the right direction but she still went to the science kits.

Lo and behold, next to those science kits was a DOLL.

As in, a baby doll.

Well, Target, this is some disturbing left-wing propaganda! Next thing you know she’ll start thinking she can be a mother AND a doctor. Thanks a lot. That will take a decent amount of work to undo.

No worries though. I gave her a stern talking to: “Honey, princesses don’t do science. Princesses study the humanities because they’re better equipped for sensitive artsy things like Jane Austen and feelings.”

Anywho, my son looked right at me and asked “WHERE ARE THE TOUGH TOYS?”

Growing obviously confused by the subpar signage, he too started wandering over to the doll area. Of courses I rapidly explained that he may not play with dolls because nobody likes nurturing males.

The whole point is to block boys from such things so they grow up with a clear idea of gendered work expectations. It bothers me that Target is now placing the reinforcement of heteronormativity and traditional masculinity more squarely on MY shoulders and I resent it.
As if I don’t have enough to do.

After he was safely set up with things that make loud sounds and kill things, my daughter started crying because she couldn’t find the fairy-themed-pastel Legos.

As you know, girls are unable to play with Legos made of primary colors. They try, but their minds are not built for that sort of thing. They end up confused. My girl got so upset I had to get down to her level and remind her of every Disney princess saved by a man. Nothing soothes a confused female brain like remembering she too may someday marry a wealthy white male with a large home and horse.

So my daughter is tearfully staring at red blue green and yellow, lost and afraid, demanding to know where the soft hues of pink and purple went, and I had no explanation for her because THE SIGN WASN’T THERE SO IT WAS HARD FOR ME TO TELL WHICH AISLE WE WERE IN.

Luckily I remember just in time to look for The Wall of Pink. Always look for the pink!

Safely back in the pastels, I realized my son had once again followed us. Normally I would point to the sign above my head that said “Girls’ Toys” but THERE WASN’T ONE so I had very little evidence to prove this aisle was off limits to him. Then I had a terrifying thought that stopped me in my tracks: what if my SON picks out the fairy themed Legos for himself?

Wait. Target. ARE YOU TRYING TO TURN OUR KIDS GAY?

That’s it, isn’t it? You are on a mission, probably funded by those fluffy-headed supporters of gay marriage, to turn all kids gay by forcing girls to play with Hulk (that buzz cut, remind anyone of butch lesbians? Coincidence? I THINK NOT.) and boys to play with FAIRIES.

Ahem, fairies?

I’m onto you. I know what’s happening here. You’re trying to get my girls to play with primary colors and my boys to strap on fairy wings in attempt to make them forget Jesus.

Jesus HATES FAIRY WINGS.

Was this Obama’s idea?

It was, wasn’t it?

Thanks, Obama.

I STAND WITH KIM DAVIS!

I also heard you let women breastfeed anywhere they want in your stores. Exhibitionist trashy weirdo slut store!

Off Target, Target.

Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah. Right. The degradation of America’s youth through left-wing propaganda involving toy aisles.

Maybe you think you’re being sly but I’m a damn sharp tool. I’m the sharpest tool in the shed. Nothing gets past me.

And let me make something clear: You won’t be ruining my kids any time soon. I’m going back to Walmart, a place with nice traditional values like gendered signs and worker exploitation.

I’m an AMERICAN. I have RIGHTS. Kim Davis! Jesus! Straight people!

Gendered toy aisles!

Target, you almost really messed us up.

But we’ll never surrender. The fight is real.

Eye of the tiger, America.

ALL GIRLS HATE CONSTRUCTION STUFF TARGET duh