Yes, Junior, it’s the usual B.S. — i.e., no one outside of the Republican National Committee wants to buy your book, and no one who can actually afford a plane ticket and/or a $9 bag of trail mix would be caught dead holding it.
So, yeah, whine some more, Little Lord Fauntleroy.
So what would you call someone who writes like a prairie chicken with four feet of rebar stuck in its head and who nevertheless thinks his “book” deserves a coveted slot in airport bookstores? Maybe … uh … “triggered”?
It’s the No. 1 book because Daddy told the RNC and the other Trump-cult satellites to buy it in bulk. Most people would rather be seen walking around the airport with a flamethrower and a crate full of hand grenades.
Full disclosure: I haven’t read it. But for some reason I’m guessing it’s not exactly Voltaire.
Big news! Pennyfarthing’s Trump-bashing series is now a trilogy! Get your copy of Dear Pr*sident A**clown: 101 More Rude Letters to Donald Trump by Aldous J. Pennyfarthing. It’s hot off the presses, yo! And, of course, Dear F*cking Lunatic: 101 Obscenely Rude Letters to Donald Trump and Dear F*cking Moron: 101 More Letters to Donald Trump are still selling like lukewarm-cakes. Reviewers have called these books “hysterically funny,” “cathartic,” and “laugh-out-loud” diversions from our temporary hell on Earth. Don’t delay. Click those links!