Recently, Donald Trump announced he would support a ban on Muslims entering the United States. My heart broke when I heard this, as it meant I had to reconsider a truth I held very near and dear – that Donald Trump should be the next President of the United States.

You see, Mr. Trump, I was your biggest support and number one fan. There was no one who agreed with you and your positions more than me. Defund Planned Parenthood? Yes. Build a border wall around Mexico? I've got my trowel in one hand and anti-Hispanic slurs in the other. Gun control is for little pussy babies? I'll shoot literally any person you tell me to. But banning all Muslims on entering the US? That's where you and I part ways, compadre.

It hurts me to leave you, Donald Trump. I was there from the beginning. When you announced your candidacy for the Presidency, I made all my friends quit laughing and start DVRing old episodes of The Apprentice. When NBC cut all ties from you, I tore out my cable box and tore up my Social Security checks. When you told the truth about the mosque in Jersey City that cheered on 9/11, I applauded your honesty, integrity, and candor. When you made fun of that reporter with the retard arm, I saluted your straight shooter, no-nonsense demeanor, laughing so hard I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. When you supported Jenny McCarthy on her stance that autism is caused by vaccines, I immediately went down to my local hospital and blew it up with dynamite. I was team Trump, Mr. Trump. But banning Muslims? That's shameful and un-American.

It's with a heavy heart I renounce my support. I've made a giant bonfire in my yard and set ablaze my “Make America Great Again” hats, sweatshirts, bumperstickers, potholders, decorative candlesticks, Hummel figurines, coasters, switchblades, vibrators, Grecian urns, twelve string guitars, Faberge eggs, gravity bongs, Fat Heads, and stationary. My backpiece of Donald Trump shoving Barack Hussein Obama's birth certificate down the the throat of an anchor baby has been laser removed. I can no longer in good conscience jerk off thinking about you having sex with your daughter, Ivanka Trump. I'm sorry to have done all this – I truly loved you, Donald Trump, emotionally and physically. But now I'm, as Fleetwood Mac sings it, “going my own way.”

I'm voting for Barney Saunders.