No wonder American life expectancy is declining. These presidential campaigns are killing us. We need a few months off from incessant bickering, name-calling, and fart-sniffing.
Michael Ian Black is an actor, comedian, and writer who also thinks the government is lying about UFOs.
I have tried for nine long years to understand Trump’s appeal. I was assured that I would understand if only I could escape my echo chamber. So I tried. And tried.
When my wife got cancer, our financial lives were saved because of my actors’ union health insurance. My union doesn’t hold its members’ hands, but it’s got our backs.
How will Harris handle Trump’s petulance, his interruptions, his lies? Will she go high when he goes low? Or will she reach out and grab him by the covfefe? I hope she does.
There’s got to be no better job in the world for a middle-aged dude with plenty of disposable income and a jet at his disposal. Best get on with the drum lessons from Dave Grohl!
Everything about Trump’s attempt at a stand-up routine has grown stale: the lies, the feeble insults, the meandering riffs that don’t lead to a punchline.
For a Jersey boy like myself who grew up flipping to anybody who looked at you sideways, Minnesotans’ niceness is inexplicable. But my wife is from there—it is utterly genuine.
OK, J. D. Vance: When did we begin equating fertility with patriotism? And, if Republicans are so keen on people having kids, why would the party cut family assistance programs?
I was willing to entertain the fantasy that Trump—a man devoid of compassion, obsessed with materialism and himself—might change after the rally shooting. Well, I’m an idiot.
I am grateful that Trump wasn’t killed or seriously injured. I am hopeful for his newfound belief in unity. However, I am extremely doubtful that his deeds will match his words.