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* Dirty Donald: Urban Dictionary: Noun: A particularly creepy middle-aged peeping Tom who must always secretly video others doing sexual or lewd acts for his later enjoyment.

  ~I am pissed.  I am burning up (again). If I were the Wicked Witch of the West (some say I am), I’d have fire surging from my slender fingertips. If I were God, I’d thrust lightning bolts through groins. If I were the Devil, I’d probably be ecstatic with the likes of Dirty-Donald-Trump.  I mean, who does he think he is–Hugh-Old-Fart-With-Three-Blonde-Bimbos-Hefner?

  Buuuuuuurn, Baby, Buuuuuuuuurn.  Meeeelt, Baby, Meeelt.

  I watched Dirty Donald on Larry King last week and was jumping up and down in my living room like a lunatic.  Well, I wasn’t physically jumping, but my pulse was performing a few back flips.  Larry King says, “Donald, many women are offended by the USA Contestants wearing sexy, seductive lingerie. What do you have to say about that?”  Thus, Trump responds in his Trumpolian, arrogant, Wall Street, egotistical manner, “Well, that’s because they’re jealous of the contestants. That’s because the girls are beautiful and they’re not. Times have changed.” Miss USA????  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

  Excuuuuuuuuuuuuse meeeee, Mr. Dirty; the reason is—because we don’t want our little girls to watch a damn Soft Porn, Playboy Bunny, Miss USA Contest.  The reason is—we don’t desire to view fishnet stockings, Brazilian waxes, glittery garters, and slut black heels protruding from our TV screens.  The reason is—if we wanted to experience this, we’d order “Debbie Does Dallas” from channel 65.


  I’m not a prude.  I’m just sick as triple hell when somebody like Dirty Donald sexualizes everything… dictates – “Oh, by the way, Miss Minnesota,  you’re going to be doing a photo shoot in your Victoria Secret underwear.”  Furthermore, I presume that Mr. Dirty even picked out the flimsy panties and lacy bras all by himself.

  Gag.    Puke.   Yuck.

  If you aren’t grasping what I’m saying here, go switch on The Kardashians, The Hills, or Jersey Shore, Biaaaches.

  Anyway, now we have this trashy, tarty, titty substance-less mess on The Miss USA Contest and I’m just thinkin,’ this is one more thing for our young daughters to look at and ask, “Is that how I need to dress? Is that what I have to look like? Is that what’s going to make me popular, acceptable, beautiful, happy, successful?”

  It is all so Montag and Plastic.

  Picture it: After Miss Alaska gets done with her fishnet, lacy braed, leathered thonged, g-stinged-up-the-ass photo shoot…the judge might ask her something like this: “Now tell me, Miss ALaska; what is your talent, dear?” And she’ll answer, “Ohhh, I play the flute.” 

   Ummm, something isn’t meshing.

  A note of apprehension to future contestants: I’d make sure when you bring your flute to the next pageant, you discuss it with Dirty Donald beforehand. You might want to know which end of your body you will be playing it with.  

  Because babe, in the end, it’s not about values, morals, or principals. It’s not about the future of our daughters or sisters.  And it’s certainly not about intelligence or ability.


  It’s about ratings. It’s about currency. It’s about Dirty Donald getting his rocks off while he acquires more…more…more at other people’s expense.  The thing is Mr. Dirty; you’ll never get enough, will you?

A Last Note:  If you want to do Dirty Donald and the Media Pigs a favor, watch Miss USA. If you want to do your little girls and sisters a favor now and in the future, TURN IT THE HELL OFF!

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