OPINION: There are things I wish I could have said about Donald Trump, but at the time I couldn’t.

I wish I could have said that listening to him was like putting your ear to a tin can on a string and discovering a decomposing squash on the other end of the line. The sound of amplified mush.

But I couldn’t. Nor could I say that his face had the eerie, vacant look of a crash test dummy getting a gangrenous toe amputated: something is wrong here, some law of nature is being transgressed. I could not say it was possible to fit his moral compass inside a fob hanging in a drawer inside a Sylvanian Family glory box. A tiny heirloom for the family unit that doesn’t need oxygen …

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