A few years ago something wonderful happened. I learned I’m losing my memory. Not in a Joe Biden circa 2019 kind of way. In a good way. Let me explain.

These few years ago, prior to the forced lockdown and during a hike through Petroglyph National Monument, I suddenly realized I didn’t remember what the ex-wife sounds like. Her voice. I can’t remember her voice. I remember all the screaming and insults and gaslighting her voice would convey, and I still feel so much of that as the internal scarring of a galactic gut punch. But the voice itself, the tone, the very audio quality of what made her voice her actual voice, my brain has forgotten that. I can’t remember what she sounds like.

What a lovely, life affirming epiphany! I lived through the verbal abuse, I can’t remember her voice, and now I’m living a charmed life.

And then I hear Kamala Harris speak. Her every word is like she’s trying to pull a fetal pig by the tail through her nostrils. Her endless rambling is like a fifth grader trying to finish a 500 word essay with meaningless, mindless meandering starting at word 105. Her voice is what a dullard harpy sounds like, squawking away in a monotone, stuck on an mp3 of Crazy Frog set to infinite repeat.

I hear Kamala Harris speak, and against all earthly logic and every thin thread of self preservation, I long for a return of the sweet shattering torment of having the ex-wife’s screeching once again ricocheting within my skull just to drown every syllable excreted from Kamala Harris’ face hole.

I guess what I’m saying is it’s excruciating listening to Kamala Harris saying words out of her mouth. Dang, that alone is reason enough to vote for Trump. Can you imagine Kamala’s voice representing our country for four years? Putin already has enough reasons he wants to nuke us.