I feel bad for those pins.
I am the Mack truck Donald Trump sat in on Thursday afternoon. I know I look like your all-American big rig, and moreover a natural Trump constituent, but I am, in fact, neither. I’m a first-generation liberal truck; life is a highway, but I’m pro-choice.
While I may have been built domestically, many of my components are from abroad: I am the sum of immigrant parts. I consider myself an American, but I can’t forget the Japanese, Venezuelan, and Australian elements that make me, me.
Donald Trump is anti-immigrant, and I am anti-him. I’m literally a truck, how can I get behind a travel ban?
I know I’m a rarity amongst my 18-wheeler brethren, but now given the national spotlight, I have to speak up. In a two week span, 10 black girls went missing in our nation’s capital. Senate approved a bill endangers animals previously protected in national wildlife refuges in Alaska. The State Department issued a presidential permit for the construction of the Keystone XL pipeline. My honks have turned from “woos” to guttural cries.
I’m a glorified dump truck—let’s dump talking about me.
I’m not one to preach, but I have driven all over this country and seen a lot of things. From rural Montana roads to the bustling streets of Manhattan, there is success and defeat everywhere I turn. Americans need to rally together and fight for collective success, not the continued rise of the 1%. The president is as out of touch as a keyless Lexus.
I was “born ready,” Trump was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. This man should not be behind the wheel of the country, but the only way we can haul him is to hold him accountable. Let’s continue to check his imbalances, protect our inalienable rights, and fight for freedoms he aims to run over. This man has so little substance that even if he was drunk he couldn’t get a DUI.
This truck wants to dump that dumb fuck.
I tried to probe him with a hot seat belt.