It happened again. There I was, going about my daily business, trying to live out my common life as best I can, and BAM! I turned around to find Eric Trump, as usual, silently staring at me from behind a tank of tropical fish. His sallow skin glowed blue under the eerie fluorescent lights, and he sneered with his upper-gums amid the slowly swaying seaweed, as if to suggest that I was the pitiful, unsuspecting cuttlefish, and he was the Moray eel, ready to strike. Of course, he never does—he simply watches—and time and time again I have no option but to be scrutinized by Eric and wait until he is finished, with only a thin glass barrier, a few gallons of salty water, and some brightly colored fish separating the two of us.
I have honestly lost count of how many times this has happened, but it has been going on for several months now. It’s gotten to the point where I might even become used to the daily disruptions; however, I cannot. It is exceptionally jarring, and I would not wish this psychological torment on my greatest enemy. It adds in a whole new aquatic element to the male gaze that I did not believe could exist, and did not want to ever have to deal with.Especially not from a member of the First Family.
Frequently I have come home to find Eric Trump staring at me from behind a tropical fish tank in the corner of my living room. I have seen Eric Trump staring at me from behind a tropical fish tank in my rearview mirror as I am driving to work. I have gone into my bathroom and pushed aside the shower curtain, only to find Eric Trump in my tub, staring at me from behind a tropical fish tank. Sometimes I will fly on an airplane, look out the window during takeoff, and see Eric Trump standing on top of a building, staring at me from behind a tropical fish tank. I have looked through binoculars, only to see Eric Trump in the distance, staring at me from behind a tank of tropical fish.I have eaten soup with a spoon, only to look down and see Eric Trump reflected in the metal, staring at me from behind that same tropical fish tank. The list goes on and on.
I’m not frightened—I guess I’m mostly just confused. It makes me feel as though I’ve done something to deserve this, but I know that I haven’t. To me, he’s not even a person. It’s so, so sad. He has taken on a slimier, fishier form. Some days he seems to be a small, yet aggressive bull shark, while others he is simply a lonesome, despondent anchovy. I cannot imagine his motives, but I can say with certainty that he is absolutely void of all morality. He is shameless, and quite pathetic. I’m not sure how he even has the time to do this while running his father’s business, stealing children’s cancer charity money, and hunting big game—but he does seem to have the time, and boy, is he persistent.
I suppose now all I can ask is…why? Why is he doing this? Why me? How does he keep finding me? And what must I sacrifice in order for him to stop?