Well done, Mr President… I would weep but I have no tears left. I’m all cried out, Orange Man. I expect to see you dancing… any day now... like those air puppets in the manufactured wind... outside the discount tire stores; just another bloviating... soulless holiday float… a vacuous emptiness with dead eyes… Hell is waiting and you’re glad to go, given that it looks like what it isn’t. Anything is better than this, eh? What have they got on you, Mr. President? It has to be pretty bad.
Did you green-light this latest offense against the terrified and defenseless? I hear you gave Satanyahu the go-ahead. Say it ain’t so. Please… God. You had such an opportunity, Mr. President. You could have changed The World. You could have set a standard for the ages. You could have achieved the impossible in bringing honesty and transparency to government, BUT… you have done nothing but tarnish a legacy that will never come to pass.
Is this true Mr. President? When you can get a clueless whore like Piers Morgan to be shocked... that’s a real win. Piers has less courage and conviction than Jordan Peterson and that is saying something.
I close my eyes and I see you before The Glory-hole of Evil, blowing The Devil… for reasons as yet unknown. What will you say to your son, Mr. President? What will you say to your wife? Are they simply battery-operated animatrons, so… no problem there? Is it a Stepford Family for a Stepford World? Did they arrive shrink-wrapped from Amazon? Did they land by drone on the lawn of The White House?
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