He’s the kind of man you’d feel pity for if you weren’t so repulsed.
He’s the kind of man who, as Michelle Obama put it, “stands just a little too close, stares a little too long so you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.”
He’s the kind of man whom women don’t like to be around.
He’s the kind of man who wields his desperate hunger for female attention like a blunt, uncomprehending instrument; who carries his hunger on his shoulder everywhere he goes and thinks it makes him look like a caveman—when really it makes him look like a clown.
He’s the kind of man who thinks all men think like him, which, to be honest, is the most pathetic thing about him. He doesn’t know that he’s actually a grubby face pressed against the window on the outside of real, happy human relations.
He’s the kind of man who is constantly pressing his clumsy presence on women around him, knowing it’s unwanted and doing it anyway, because he doesn’t know any other way.
It’s pretty simple: Donald Trump is a loser. And now all women know it.