Why? Because this blowhard lives in a glass house. He can dish it out but he CAN'T TAKE IT! It was one thing for this blusterer to go after the pansies in his own party during his campaign for the nomination, or Hillary Clinton, who was shot full of so many holes over the years she was a living breathing pinata. But women like Tammy Duckworth, Elizabeth Warren, Kirsten Gillibrand? Uh-uh. Watch your step, because these are not weak-kneed officious over-careful easily pierced career male panderers and kiss asses, but women who have overcome all the obstacles put before them by men holding power to get where they're at—the United States Senate.
These savvy women, and many more in the senate and house, and throughout offices all over the country, know what a man is all about, they know the vulnerabilities that manhood suffers, have possibly spent long hours being conditioned to pamper and protect the precious over-blown egos of men throughout their lives, and can easily zero in and puncture them with one clipped barb, which Gillibrand has already achieved as she provoked the listing, whining, thin skinned Dotard into accusing her of prostituting herself for his skimpy political donations.
She has him looking bad, like a little boy who had his ball taken away by the neighborhood bully. She has him pacing around the White House foaming at the mouth and searching for revenge at the audacity of females calling him into question instead of yessing his every whim like trophy wives and ex beauty queens or “Apprentice” molls looking for jobs.
My Dad, a professional baseball player from 1937 until 1953 (he lost 3 years in the war), played in an era where dog-eat-dog bench jockeying was so prevalent and filled with racism and such utter viciousness that feuds were established and brawls common. Dad said, “You have to know the art of the needle. You study guys. A hitter, a pitcher, you find out what distracts them, what pisses them off, and then you pounce, to see if you can get to them. We had a guy named Birdie Tebbetts on the Tigers. He had this piercing voice that carried all over the field. He was a catcher, an educated man, a master psychologist, and he'd talk to hitters, but his specialty was pitchers, and from the dugout he'd find one little weakness to expose, and he'd needle, and needle, you'd see the guy get red in the face, and he'd fume on the mound, and half the time the guy'd go berserk, one time a pitcher came in the dugout after the game and punched Tebbetts out after he got knocked out of the game. We were embarrassed to see how crazy he could drive an opponent, which in that era was an enemy.”
Well, ladies, Trump IS the enemy. You go after him with the same vengeance General George Patton voiced to his troops before battle in World War II, only you do it with the tongue of a Birdie Tebbetts, the barbed tongue that slides into the very heart of his false pride. You hint that he slurs his words, that he is not intelligent, that he's sliding into senility, that he's irrational and psychologically unbalanced and perhaps a sociopath or a psychopath. He is lazy. He spends more time on his hair than he does the country. He is fat. He swings the golf club like a girl! He cheats in golf while his aides look away and pat his back and tell him “nice shot.” You make fun of him because he's too lazy to walk and simply climbs out of a golf cart to take a swing. He's such a fearful coward he had to have a doctor lie about his feet to get out of the military during Viet Nam. He is this, and that...
Women in the press should question if any woman has ever slept with or married him for any other reason than his money and power. All democratic women in power should instantly go on the warpath against the dotard with every weapon in their intellectual arsenals—while he is listing, while he is teetering, while he is continually exposing himself as an inhuman slob and historic villain, and a big slobbering baby.
Ladies, go get him!