On December 16, Stephen Miller headed over to Face the Nation to do some racism, presumably popping into Party City on the way for a discounted can of hairspray tinted the color of sadness.
Look, Stephen, I get it. There was a time in the late 1990s when I wanted to be blonde but couldn’t necessarily afford to stay blonde. That dark-rooted period of my life is stained by a sticky mist of L’Oreal root concealer. I wasn’t fooling anyone, and neither is that liquid merkin situation.
The only ongoing crisis you need to worry about right now is fading that scalp paint into your widow’s peak.