Sometimes there are glitches going from my laptop to my phone. Today was such a day. So let me try again.

The prompt was to write about something ruined and/or improved. My response follows.

I don’t know what to believe anymore — the selling of swatches of his so-called “surrender suit” seems cheesy and crass enough to be true — but auctioning off fifteen-minute private meetings with his blow fish almost daughter-in-law?

In the photo her mini dress has two flaps that overlap but not nearly enough, so that the opening points upward to you-know-where. Her strappy platform sandals — one toe turned slightly inward! — are covered in silver glitter — not in this instance a nod to Beyoncé, just an assertion of her trashiness. “No Kissing” says the caption and again I wonder if it’s real because of the ruined face above the décolletage, the lips inflamed with filler such that the comparison to blow-up masturbation dolls is rather on point. Who would want to kiss those lips?

Those lips are often parted as she honks out her MAGA message. Can’t we all still hear her hollering out in triumphant shouts: “THE BEST IS YET TO COME!”

Being who I am and given what sources I have collected, of course I’ve seen her “before face,” back when she was married to Gavin Newsom, before she was trying to outdo Elvira with the slutty garb and black eye shadow. She was cute! Attractive. Had a normal face. Perhaps she also had more normal politics.

And then don’t get me started on the Mar-a-Lago photos! You’ve seen them, I’m sure. Photo after stilted photo of big-boobed women in revealing dresses, wearing stilettos, flanking Orange Jesus holding up those god-damned thumbs — another quotidian thing he has ruined, along with red hats and our fucking flag.

I ask you: why is at least one of them so often canting her torpedo boobs into the demented wanna-be-dictator’s rib cage? I yell “Gross” every time, but that doesn’t quite capture the revulsion does it? Because it’s not just lascivious, tawdry, weirdly uniform sexual posturing, it’s also the attendant brainwashing.

It’s everything that makes these ruined women say, “He’s my man,” or “I like his policies,” or these days, “Biden crime family.”

Their delusions are uglier than their pouty lips and reconstructed cheeks, scarier than all those waterfalls of fake blonde hair (spare me, please!). Yes, spare us. Spare us the shared ruination.