Driving through the northern exurbs of the Twin Cities on my way to a golf course, I find myself wondering how many strip malls with shitty-looking takeaway places at both ends and, in between, a pawn shop, a vape shop, and a tattoo parlor, are needed to meet local demand. I know the residents think I have to fight off criminals to drive into my garage when arriving home late from having been served vegetarian fare by a gay waiter, but to me their world doesn't look like paradise, either. The jokes practically write themselves, once you've taken in the scenery.
Q: Why don't Trump voters go to the dentist?
A: They spent all their money on 4-wheelers.
Having established my elitist bona fides, let me try to strike a conciliatory note. What is with the tiny entrees served on the center of a "dinner plate" the size of a satellite dish? If Trump voters knew about these places, they could have some fun, because you shouldn't have to cook up oatmeal at home right after dropping $40 on plant life at some candlelit bistro without a TV in the bar. Tucker Carlson should enlighten them. Instead, he's making the case that caring for children is gay. Real men frolic with porn stars while momma's home nursing baby Barron.
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