His Vampire Diaries: Death, Taxes, and Trump

The discovery of a new and depraved low in common denominators is a thing worth noting. An assumed floor had been reached but--yuck--there's a basement with emoluments, an Uncle Fester and implements of torture. And it's a pernicious little Uncle Trump Fester without the charm and good nature of the prime-time version. 

This is not a nice, renovated space with a lab, mood lighting and a lava lamp but a bonafide creature infestation and dungeon of horrors with an old furnace and ages of soot and shit and corpses and probably bats and their guano and hideous stuff in the crevices. The habitat of Trumpism is a dark, toxic and threatening environment.

Donald and the money ghouls have been living there for ages. We didn't really see or understand them but our worlds are converging and it's on their terms. They are vampires. They want more than they are given in life and so they take it, other lives be damned. Donald most fears the light of a free press because it means exposure.