You ‘re only job was to take out the trash. Instead you dug into the trash.
I know this, because I buried that shit deep.
You found it. You read. You’re dead.
No: don’t blame me for this. You’re up to your elbows in peanut sauce. You’ve smeared yourself and my reputation.
I cannot run for president. This is worse that skeletons in the closet. This is full-fleshed, full-frontal. Appendages in your face.
So now you know the truth.
Deal with it. Or just put it back and forget this whole diatribe.