A day before the New Hampshire primary Donald Trump referred to me as a pussy, quoting an audience member at his rally. Now, you might think that would bother me. But it doesn’t. I’ve been called a pussy hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. And it never bothers me. Because this pussy’s got claws.
The first time I was called a pussy was in fourth grade. I got out in four square, but refused to leave the game. Roger Wilkins said, “Move it, Pussy.” Everyone gasped. But did I let his words defeat me? Oh no, I let them inspire me to take action and stand up for myself. I immediately went and told the teacher and got four square banned from recess. Cuz guess what, Roger? Claws can scratch.
When I was 17, my first girlfriend ever, Melissa Joyce, called me a pussy because I wouldn’t drive in the fast lane. But I did not shrink in the face of her insult, instead I grew stronger. I dumped her the next day and made her give back the necklace I had bought her for her birthday. Then I sold the necklace for $60. Sorry, Melissa, but claws are sharp.
I’m like Michael Jordan. When you trash talk him before a big game, he turns right around and has the best game of his life.
Last year, a bunch of teenagers at 7-Eleven called me a pussy when I Purelled my hands after touching the door handle. So I bought all the lighters in the 7-Eleven. Have a good time not smoking until a new shipment of lighters comes in, teenagers! Because when these claws swipe, it stings. Oh baby, it stings.
Do you know how many people called me a pussy when I did that Simpsons audition video? Like every third comment was someone calling me a pussy. But the joke’s on them because every one of those vulgar internet commenters now gets a whole lot of Ted Cruz for America spam. Swipe! Scratch! Slash!
You know what? I’m glad Tump called me a pussy. He wants a fight, I’ll give him one. I just hope he has the Neosporin handy.