Ugh.

I finally got through the three-month hour finale of The Apprentice this weekend. Two words: superlative porn. WHY is Trump so obsessed with being the biggest and best at everything (except, of course, at maintaining financial solvency in his casinos)? If his buildings aren't the biggest and his offices the most luxurious and his real estate the most desirable and his show the most popular and his name the most famous and his girlfriend the most beautiful and his faucets the most gold-plated, will his world come crashing down around him? Is his grasp of reality empire that shaky? What is he working so hard to overcompensate for?

And WHY on earth was Regis Philbin involved in this bloated Trumpomercial? His blinding flashes of the obvious ("Wow. There was lots of conflict on your show!") could paralyze an entire city. His mere presence exponentially depletes the intellectual value of everything he touches. His voice makes my fillings ache. Please. Make. Him. Stop.

And you know what REALLY makes me uncomfortable? Pretend Friendship For The Sake Of The Viewers At Home. All the "fired" contestants sat there in the peanut gallery in that last hour and a half like best friends—after they'd spent so much time pummeling each other both face-to-face and face-to-back on TV for the last three months. I know we ignorant viewers see only what the editors want us to see for the sake of "drama" and "ratings" and "never letting us behold the beauty that is John answering the phone in his underwear even though we had to see all the flabby male contestants answer the phone in THEIR underwear"—and, for all we know, the contestants are all best friends who keep passing around the same kidney in a valiant effort to keep each other alive. But if they're gonna manufacture all this conflict and drama—and if Trump is going to keep reclassifying every minor disagreement between two people as "you two HATE each other"—why give the impression that they're all buddies at the end? Why, Santa? WHY?

Anyway, the nightmare is over. Another cute-enough straight white guy won. (Have there been NO gay people on this show? Or do the gay contestants all subscribe to the self-loathing myth about open homosexuality equaling corporate suicide? Or are the producers merely afraid to stand up to the destructively self-righteous Christian Hate Industry?) Anyway—thankfully—the clown-suit-wearing pussy-hound didn't win. And neither did the "I'll drop muh skirt!" bad-judgment queen. Or the pushy broad with the dykey hair.

And now we can all have a Very Trumpy Merry Christmas.