This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Let me get this out first. I am no fan of Donald Trump. Not only will I not vote for him, it bothers me that molecules that he may have once exhaled might accidentally touch people I love.

This does not mean that I like Hillary Clinton any better. It distresses me that her very life depends on oxygen that would be better served in a snake or a terminally ill rat.

But there comes a m oment when one political hog becomes more objectionable than another. For me, that moment came when the now infamous recording was released of Donald bragging to NBC's Billy Bush about assaulting women.

The video prompted a series of women to share their experience of being groped and propositioned by a large, poorly coiffed garden slug.

It's obvious that Donald doesn't really believe that "No means no." He's rich and powerful enough that "no means whatever my lawyers say it means."

I agree with Donald. Up to a point. Not once in my entire life have I believed that "No" means literally "no."

Where I come from, the phrase was more accurately: "No means a punch in the face or a scratched eyeball."

Back then, if a girl said "no," that was end of the matter. One didn't insist beyond that point without incurring considerable risk.

If she said "no" or "stop" or "Take me home," I immediately translated them to mean, "I'll rip off your face" or "I'll tell my brothers" or "I'll knock you out and take your car."

It could be that I wasn't rich, not much to look at, or that I was simply too afraid to force the issue. Or maybe it was that I had standards. Really. I could have.

In my entire life, I've only ever really been attracted to girls/women whom I was afraid of disappointing. I was always looking for a relationship. Granted, a lot of them didn't work out once the women understood what I was really like, but that was OK. Eventually, I got it right and found one who did. Forty-one years last Monday.

I'm still somewhat of a pig, though. If it's on display, I'll definitely look. If a woman wears a pair of jeans so tight that it's possible to count freckles through them, it's obvious that she's looking to be looked at. I'll oblige.

And so will Donald and 95 percent of anyone on the planet with a Y chromosome. It's in our nature, almost as fundamental as sports, hunting, providing, and legitimately provoked violence. We're primates first and nice guys second.

The same is true of women. Call me cynical, but I have a pretty good idea of what Hillary Clinton would resort to if it would help guarantee her the presidency.

The big question for the rest of us wrestling with our own primal urges is, which two animals do we want to lead America? We'll have to sort through our own problems and base needs to make that decision.

I've made my choice. As the husband of a woman, father of three daughters and grandfather of seven granddaughters, it won't be Donald.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.