When you see an English actor in an American TV show or film, nine times out of ten... Ahem, ten times out of ten, he's the freaking bad guy. Much the same could be said of real life, ain't that right?
Listen and understand! The Trumpinator is out there! It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, remorse or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead and he is elected.
Fetid hippies. Hatchet wielding Hells Angels. Unsanitary bogs. Duff bands (I
hate the Cure!) No girls. No cashpoints. England handballed out of the
World Cup by Argentina. And mud. Glorious mud. Lots of it. This time, thirty years
ago, "Glasto" was fun for a curious teenager in the middle of
his O levels.
I like my presidents to be unelectable. Demagogues. Bullies. Tyrants. Mad dogs capable of starting World War 3 on a whim. Donald J. Trump, a thrice married, thrice bankrupt, property tycoon turned reality TV star, is that fool and then some.
Your wife might be the breadwinner in the unit, but you, Male Trailing Spouse/ accompanying partner, are the clubland hero -- taking on femme fatales and dodgy foreigners in exotic locations your sad mates back home in Blighty can only dream about. It's a tough gig but somebody's gotta do it. It might as well be you and me.