Pickled Balls

Trump and the other guys trying to preserve their pathetic patriarchy are forgetting that it has to be dead. On a shelf or in a museum. Salted, pickled, sugared or embalmed. 

They're trying to embalm their balls while they're still alive. Anything alive is essentially dying, which drives them nuts, out of infantile egotism. Culture and institutions persist, to a degree.

Some idiots like to slap their names on things, so they can keep striving after they're dead, which is kind of sad. Love is what you leave behind. Mostly they have none of that.

But, whatever. I'm okay with their pickled balls on a shelf somewhere. In fact I'm good with it, because they'll have to be dead or neutered, and perhaps their patriarchy with them. 

And that will mean the end of the harm. Or some of it. For a while. And harm is having its day, yet again.