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September 26, 2016
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My uncle's stance on the 2016 Presidential Election

Hillary or Trump? Doesn’t matter, my wife will still be a cheating whore

Will Hillary Clinton’s experience be enough to carry her to victory or will Trump’s promise to shake things up in Washington propel him to the presidency? It’s a burning question that’s dominated the American dialogue in recent weeks. But not for me. For this hardworking, loyal husband it makes no difference who becomes the next leader of the free world.

How could this be? You see, it’s very simple. Donald Trump promises to make American great again and keep jobs that have traditionally been outsourced to developing countries right here in the US of A. Even if Trump could somehow come through on this highly unlikely promise, I couldn’t care less. Even if American production and prosperity returned to post World War 2 levels, I still wouldn’t be able to unsee what I saw on when I arrived home early from work January 13, 2001: My wife bent over our mahogany table, a table which I bought with my sales quota bonus, with a ball gag muffling her screams of ecstasy while my best friend, Gary Brown Jr., thrust away with abandon at the opening through which my three beautiful children entered this world. Because of that retina-searing atrocity that haunts me night and day, it doesn’t matter if Mr. Trump’s presidency results in an unparalleled capitalist utopia the ruin of our great society. For me, life will forever be a cruel, hellish joke devoid of any meaning.

For her part, Hillary Clinton denounces the idea of a powerful leader who can fix a “crooked system” system by his lonesome. Hillary is adamant that no one person can fix the entire system. Instead, she promises that, if elected we, the American people, will fix the problems within the system together. What Mrs. Clinton doesn’t seem to grasp is the fleeting, temporal nature of togetherness.

See, Mrs. Clinton, my wife and I had spent many a long night talking about how we planned to travel the globe in retirement together, or how together we’d start a quirky bed and breakfast with a naughty name (‘Morning Wood’) or how we’d grow old, you guessed it, together. But I never felt more alone than I did in that Holiday Inn, watching the live feed of the surveillance footage my private investigator had set up in my home.

While I picked at the remnants of the Papa John’s Dual Layer Pepperoni pizza, my best friend, Gary Brown Jr., devoured the sex of a woman whom I’d shared a bed with for 16 and a half years. While I desperately drizzled Papa John’s Special Garlic Sauce over my already greasy pizza, the godfather of my oldest child dripped hot candle wax on the same nipples that had nourished my progeny as my wife begged for more. I was watched helplessly as extra wax fell on the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets I’d purchased with the AMEX I’d opened to fund the endless shopping ventures my partner attempted to fill the void in her dark soul and thought, “You’ve broken me, you lecherous bitch. You’ve finally killed the tiny bird of hope caged deep within my psyche, you vile, wretched whore.” Mrs. Clinton, we will never be able to fix this this crooked system together because the sad truth is we are all, each and every one of us, utterly and inescapably alone.

It doesn’t matter if we elect Hillary or if we choose Trump. Regardless of the outcome of this year’s election, my wife will still be a cheating, cantankerous whore, a cancer to foundation of love, and my life will still an empty, pathetic mess. That’s why you won’t see this 47-year-old shell of a man at the polls this November. No, you’ll find me right where I was during the election of 2012, 2008 and 2004: Alone in my studio apartment, masturbating to a picture of myself in a cut-sleeve Verve Pipe T-shirt, a picture taken moments before the West-Michigan-bred post-grunge rockers launched into a transcendent version of “The Freshman.” It’s a picture I’ll never tire of ejaculating to because it shows me as a someone who’s young, hopeful, painfully cool and so far from the living hell I currently trudge through on this scorched, godforsaken earth.

With love,

Kenneth Larson, former voter and current infidelity victim

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