My monthly touching base phone call to the cashier that set off the alarm for last year's Purge turned political today. The charming thing about speaking with Miss Ezz is these phone conversations occur outside of a ghetto supermarket, where she is almost always interrupted, within her 10-minute conversation window, by someone asking for change, the time, a light, a smoke, a date, or directions.
"I really am fascinated by the Trump candidacy, him being the first non-politician since Perot to run. At a certain point the media jumped on Perot and got rid of him, but they've been on Trump all along and he is still hanging in there. He has some smart people working for him. But I don't think they're smart enough to lay on the female vote, which is a must. Look, I'm a woman, and I'm telling you that women vote on looks and charm in the case of male candidates and for the candidate with a vagina in the case of a mixed gender race.
"Trump needs the vaginal vote and he does not seem inclined to compromise his position—which is admirable—to get it. If you don't get the vaginal vote someone else will, because women are stupid and easily led—No, not you sister. No, not that one—the other one right there. You got it baby. Take that into Mister Ron and he'll tell you what to do with it—back at you, Sugar Pumps, you know it's a sea of stupid bitches were drowning in out here, don't you?"
"Of course you do—later, Shug."
