Kink / shame.
Assuming the intelligence about what Donald Trump had done to a hotel bed in Moscow, as detailed in the dossier, is true–which I won’t, at this time, without further confirmation–but assuming it’s true.
It’s not the pettiness or the kinkiness of the act in question, although the former is juvenile while the latter is simply unconventional.
It’s not the continuing pattern of exploitation and degradation that surrounds his relationship with both sex and women, although that remains reprehensible.
It’s not even that he was caught engaging in such activities by Russian intelligence, which shows a dire lack of judgment or discretion for a man in his position.
It’s that after he realized what he’d done, he still felt entitled to his ambitions, even if those ambitions would leave his entire nation under continuing threat of foreign influence.
If Donald Trump had any integrity, any courage, or any strength at all, he would have told the Kremlin to release everything and he would weather the storm his own foolishness had made. But Donald Trump has none of those things, and he would rather see you and everybody you care about rotting at the bottom of a ditch than have you see him at his actual size.
Assuming it’s true.
Which I won’t.
At this time.
Without further confirmation.
Creative Control 