Friends of my enemies.
The single most infuriating thing about the very real subset of “left-leaning” Trump supporters–traditionally Democratic voters who can’t stomach either Clinton or Sanders and have convinced themselves that maybe Trump is worth a shot–is having them shrug their shoulders and tell you, implicitly, that the misogyny, xenophobic rhetoric, and empowerment of garden-variety racists and woman-haters simply isn’t enough of a deal-breaker for them.
“Maybe he’ll have good ideas about the economy.”
“Maybe he’ll have good ideas about national security.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
He enjoys and encourages support from the goddamned KKK. He retweets Neo-Nazis and then grins his snake-oiled smile and says “Oh well.” When anybody comes to his rallies in protest he gleefully demands that they be beaten by the feverish crowd. He tosses around sexist bon mots with the casual air of a two-episode antagonist on Mad Men. This has been a long parade of unrepentant ugliness and it belongs nowhere near one of the most powerful offices in the modern world.
I don’t care if his ideas about the gears of governance have been vetted by every available think-tank and a half-dozen Nobel Prize winners and given bright golden stamps of approval. (They haven’t. Not even close.) A Trump presidency is not a reasonable American experiment. It is a work of dystopian speculative fiction. Voting in actual support of that because your choice of Democrats leave you unsatisfied is like buying a house with a tremendous ragged hole in the roof because the granite countertops were just adorable.
Creative Control 