Donald Trump is a Real-Life Freddy Krueger.

I have been alive to see the installation of six different presidents. And for most of that time, here is what happens. An older man, typically a white one, with the exception of Obama, who was half white, gets elected as President of the United States. He serves four years, typically eight, and when his time is done, a new man takes office, and that former president of the United States rides off into the sunset, rarely to be heard from again.

They are usually really hard to find. They may give a quote here or there. They may be involved in humanitarian endeavors, or you just don’t hear a peep out of them. But hundreds, if not thousands of news cycles can come and go, without one mention of a former president. That was until Donald Trump.

I have refrained, painstakingly refrained, from writing about Donald Trump because there is no one that I would rather see kicked into the huge gaping pit from 300 then 45. But despite my best efforts to not think about this failure of a human being, I have no choice. I would have to place myself into a sensory deprivation chamber, with no contact with the outside world to escape him. No one, including myself, can enjoy the internet, television, radio, or newsprint without being intellectually assaulted by his existence.