A Buzzed Stream of Consciousness during the Presidential Debate.

I‘m on my third beer and I still don’t like either of them. I find myself, with half-numb lips, making the faces Donald Trump does to try to lighten the mood. I squint my eyes and press my lips together and look at myself in the mirror for a laugh, but I still kind of feel like crying.

I can’t believe this circus. My stomach hurts.

Why quit smoking? This ship’s going down. We’re all fucked, and I can tell by looking around that I’m not the only one who feels this way. I still can’t believe these two are the ones that made it through. These two.

And they will tell you “Well, you know there’s more than these two, right?” But let’s be honest. We’re not ready for that kind of radical thinking. Not enough of us, anyway. This is it, you guys. This is it.

It gets harder and harder to care about things when it doesn’t seem to matter what you think in the first place. Everyone’s so damned tired.

I’ve got the debate live streaming in the background. And I feel guilty, because maybe I should be paying attention. Once in awhile I go back and realize that neither of them are saying anything anyway.

This is it.

Grab her by the pussy.

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