As an American citizen at Presidential Election time, you often feel like a poor, young, passive Thai bride left with no option but to marry an old, ugly Westerner who smells bad. You hope for a better life, trusting that your repulsive partner cannot actually be that bad, that your new life cannot be any worse than your present situation, surely. Alas, you are wrong. A nightmare of domestic drudgery and sex slavery is all that awaits.
Hilary Trump sounds like an ersatz Dickens character: an empty-headed, hapless gadabout who despoils everything he touches from The Pickwick Papers, perhaps; or a pompous chancery lawyer from Bleak House. Whichever novel you choose, our future certainly looks distinctly Dickensian with either Hilary or Trump. I can only think of a woebegone Thai bride Little Nell when I imagine the average American in 2017. God bless us, every one.
I won't be voting again, purely on the grounds that there is no candidate from the pages of Victor Hugo, noble and true. (Although, to be honest, at this point, I'd probably settle for Damon Runyon. At least his crooks are funny and likeable).