Holiday gift for everyone: the correct name for Not My President

Last night with my family.

Everyone’s up in arms and will be for the duration.

Only the dogs were happy. Two of ’em, a full-grown rescue Greyhound named Frankie who may have his own website and certainly gets a lot of visits on FB, and my sister’s new puppy, Layla. My sister swabbed Layla’s cheek and sent away for her DNA profile. She’s one half Golden [she herself is pitch black] and a number of other things including Australian shepherd, pit bull–very small part–and boxer.

On the way home my brother told us he picked up a perfect epithet for Trump, from someone he met in a group of people which explains why he doesn’t remember her name, and he’s sorry and I’m sorry because I’d love to give her credit for the name I’m going to be using for the fascist elected by a mere 27% of voters:

THE TWITTLER.

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