Just Follow the Tragic Footprints!

At Trump's last town hall event he was described by many news sources as "dancing to music for 39 minutes."

First off, no one dances to "Ave Maria". Twice.

Second, standing rooted in one place and slowly shifting one's tiny fists side-to-side as if you're pretending to jerk-off two men at once is not dancing. There is no dance studio in the world that teaches the "jerking-off two men at once" dance. Asking a woman to dance and then standing as though your feet are glued to the floor while pretending to jerk-off two men at once is not likely to get you blown in the cab on the way home. Any cheap wind-up set of chattering teeth is capable of more physical latitude than he presented that night.

I can only suppose that while he stood there on that stage, his eyes closed in quiet reverie, appearing to jerk-off two men at once, that he was perceiving his future when he'll be sharing a cramped jail cell with several large, muscular minorities and doing whatever he can to temporarily delay the inevitable and horrible and painful and well-deserved anal assault which awaits him the moment his adderall wears off and he can no longer remain conscious.

If not that, then what? Besides, I mean, the most obvious conclusion being his brain and body have devolved into the human equivalent of guacamole.

But it sure as Hell wasn't dancing.

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Kamala Harris went on Fox News and cleaned their clocks.

Colin Allred debated Rafael Theofore Cruz and cleaned his clock.

Democratic clocks are running fine. Bring on the election.

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Technical Note: Yes, I had to add the "More Trump Lies" title to this piece because I always forget that wayyyy too many people on the 'net are not terribly concerned with the political machinations which control their very lives and thus have to be spoon-fed the related facts in my 'toons as though they arrived written in sizzling photons on the side of an alien spaceship that has suddenly landed right before their eyes.

If, on the other hand, it obviously appears that my gag for the day is meant only for the amusement of the perverse imp that guides my hands then, by all means, either ask for enlightenment or send the authorities because I may have ingested one too many bowls of Sugar-Blasted Choco-Bombs for my own good.

- Lefty