My colleague Hunter nailed it (again) a few hours ago:
You're sick, I'm sick, we're all completely sick of talking about the great orange human shitstain that the Republican Party base decided was the perfect man for making America great again.
In this week of yet more revelations about Donald Trump, both direct from the lips of the GOP nominee himself, and via the words of some of those whom he groped and attempted to rape, “sick” has a partner: “rage.” His brazen aggressiveness epitomizes rape culture, male entitlement and, as we have seen over the weeks since the July convention, a thoroughgoing creepiness, a latent pedophilia in his focus on young women, including his own daughter, whom he could not avoid inappropriately touching right there on the stage of the Quicken Loans Arena.
The string of reasons for why this bullying, crooked, racist, xenophobic, misogynistic, scofflaw, know-nothing, combination deadbeat and spendthrift of others’ money is unfit to be president could circle the Equator several times. Not a day now passes without some new exposé of his boorishness, his astonishingly idiotic economic plans, his insulting of some new cohort of Americans or other humans, his unrejected support from white nationalists, his stunningly ignorant foreign policy ideas and his constant lying and bullshitting.
Having seen Hillary Clinton dismantle him in the previous debate, there is no doubt she can take him down again. And with him a bunch of those Republicans whose own views and proposals are the same or not far removed from his, but who have couched their own rhetoric about them in more murky and circumspect language than his.
But Trump isn’t just unfit to be president. He’s unfit, period. He should no more be at that townhall in St. Louis than a hooded Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.