Why Long Island Still Loves Trump
In Suffolk County, N.Y., where the Hamptons collide with MS-13, the president feels like a local.
because Long Island is comprised of mean spirited hyper-entitled property values fetishizing pants-shitters who have become irreparably deranged from their naive quest for a 1950s sitcom reality that was never going to exist, no matter how much of the ocean you can see from your hurricane-target homestead.... no matter how many able-bodied young people you shoo off your lawn and into those bursting metropoli you've spent your life mis-avoiding because fear is the bored man's orgasm... no matter how many well-meaning brown people you passive-aggressively hector in the hope that they'll leave you to your fading collective dream of an affluent sexless white utopia where life is an infinite loop of bland shit going your way.
so bafflingly petty, cartoonishly arrogant, and myopically near-sighted that the thought of anyone (especially someone younger and/or of another race) having just as much or more than you have sends you into a eco-genocidal blind rage where you'd rather blow it all to volcanic nuclear hell than just be fucking happy that you still live in a relatively quiet area that isn't anywhere close to as besieged with violence and death as your real exploiters would have you believe.
so bafflingly petty, cartoonishly arrogant, and myopically near-sighted that the thought of anyone (especially someone younger and/or of another race) having just as much or more than you have sends you into a eco-genocidal blind rage where you'd rather blow it all to volcanic nuclear hell than just be fucking happy that you still live in a relatively quiet area that isn't anywhere close to as besieged with violence and death as your real exploiters would have you believe.
Long Island doesn't love Trump.
Long Island IS Trump.
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