Donald Trump is not well. He keeps talking about the “late, great” Hannibal Lecter. As if Lecter were a real person. Worse, even the fictional Hannibal Lecter never died. He tells us that Haitians in Springfield, Ohio are “…eating the cats. They’re eating the dogs. They’re eating the pets of the people who live there” because some Springfield woman lost her cat and decided that her Haitian neighbors had, inexplicably, stolen her cat, killed it, and eaten it. (Spoiler: The cat was in the woman’s basement, and was found the next day, alive and uneaten.) He went on, for ten minutes, about Arnold Palmer, regaling the crowd with stores about… the size of Arnold Palmer’s penis. He is obsessed with the fact that Kamala Harris, when applying for a position with the Alameda County District Attorney’s Office, failed to include a stint at McDonald’s on her résumé. (For the record: I have never included my paper route on my résumé.)
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