Does God Want Us to Vote For Trump?

Back in May, when Trump won the Indiana primary, I felt like such a dope. I was actually waiting for someone to tell me what we were going to do. Just days earlier, we’d all stood on the platform together, refusing to get on the Trump Train.

“Never!” we cried. The conductor was crazy, the destination too uncertain. The price was far too high. Then the train belched out another of its horrible, noxious clouds, and when the smoke cleared, only a handful of us remained, and almost everyone had climbed aboard. I felt like Rick in Casablanca, “standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look on my face, because my insides had just been kicked out.”