Not my protector.

I was talking to Sylvester this very morning. He said to me, “How is it that anyone who was alive in the eighties and nineties- people who listened to our music — could possibly vote for that stinking pile of orange crap?”

“I assume you are talking about Mr. Trump,” I said. “And I’ll thank you not to use that language in my kitchen.”

“Really, though!” He said. “How can this election be this close? People who lived through Boy George, The Thompson Twins and David Bowie… How can they betray the things we all believed in?”

“Sylvester, calm down,” I suggested. “In any given population you are going to get a certain number of people who are either misinformed, selfish or monumentally stupid. People who don’t understand how to use Google to check facts. They’re what we call in Canada, ‘Morons’. We will see exactly how many there are in the US in a few days.”

“You can usually tell them apart from normal people,” I continued. “They refuse to consider any opinion but their own, often buy into ideas that keep them at the bottom of the social pile, and are too uneducated to realise…