Read This: The Four Donald Trumps You Meet on Earth
In which a writer performs a much-needed study / necropsy on the woman-hating, Cheeto-skinned, self-loathing ghouls a woman encounters throughout her life:
"Screw it because you aren’t that lady in that poem whom Ezra Pound can only see as a collecting bin for dribs and drabs left by men. You’ve got money and a job. You made yourself. All those other Trumps are dead, or fired, or pleaded no contest to the charge of sex with a minor, or all of the above..."
Read the rest of Wendy Molyneux's equally hilarious and horrifying piece over at The Atlantic.