Thank You, Donald Trump. Let The P*ssy Revolution BEGIN!

Out of respect for language and journalism, I will capitalize my T's when I write the name Trump, but know this, dear friends: had I my druthers, I would always and only use the lower case "t" to write out the name of the impossibly whiney, wretched little man known as Trump.

Listen, I hate politics. If you want to argue politics with me, consider yourself the winner. It's all yours. Politics can suck my pussy. Suck, not grab.

Pussy. Yes, that's the word of the day, isn't it? Pussy. Once a cat, then a vagina, now a word that can't be written in publications without the three middle letters asterisked out. And yet, something kicked in this time around when the word "p*ssy" rose to take over our every waking moment. And how vile, how ironic it is that we now associate the word with Trump. (Please kill me before I start to visualize.)

When imbecilic scuzzbucket Billy Bush was caught on tape talking with the eczema-encrusted, dusty, Cheeto-colored Trump, the world received an audio file that changed history. "Grab 'em by the pussy," were the Republican candidate's words.

Within seconds, that became Trump's campaign slogan. Donald Trump for President: Grab 'Em By The Pussy!

Trump's most recent put-down of women seemed to ignite something, something that won't un-ignite. He has let us all know that sexual assault is his God-given right as a famous person. The ugliness of this waddling, weird, orange man with home insulation strips for hair is what may have finally set the p*ssy revolution in motion.

But the buzz now is that people are wondering why this particular incident is the one. Why, when he's insulted everything possible is the "pussy" incident the straw that breaks the camel's back? With all that he's said against others, why is it that we are all now going nuts over what he thinks of women?

It's because women are the largest group. There is no demographic here, no measurement for race, religion, political affiliation — there is only one large community that spans the entire globe, and yes, we are the majority. And we are gonna come at Donald Trump like a vagina with teeth, baby.

But it's not just our numbers, it's the spark of revolution that has finally caught fire.

This last pathetic Trump bit held just enough challenge in it to ignite all that rage in us. All those years, decades, centuries of being put down by men, men whose ONLY strength over us has EVER EVER EVER been brawn. We have dealt with misogyny for-f*cking-ever, and it's always sickened us.

Women like me came out of the womb laughing at men's claim to superiority; men win because they can beat us to death — that's the only reason men EVER got to the place where they actually feel that diseased sense of superiority.

But the spark — it happened. Perhaps it was a good thing that this Trump tape came out. Perhaps all we really needed was that last push in order for us to begin that long awaited revolution. Perhaps all we needed was the first taste of blood, eh?

Weak men FEAR women and that is why they hate us, revile us, abuse us, talk smack to us, belittle us, make jokes about our bodies, beat us, rape us, stomp on us...

I may not be De Niro, but I see far. And I see where this is going. It's Cleopatra time. Let the revolution begin, women.

(And please, man, for the sake of all that's precious in this world, spend some of your fortune on some orange concealer to at least attempt to cover over the white portions where the eye protection goggles shielded you from the spray tan. I'm sure MAC makes something that can blend that difference. Speak to one of the ladies at the counter, I'm sure she'll bend over backwards to help your famous ass out. Or not.)

Cherchez la femme, Monsieur Drumpf.