The most hugest man in the world

He spends his mornings, alone in a big house, watching television, playing with his phone. He surrounds himself with sycophants and crooks and disgraced incompetents and white supremacists.  When he bankrupts companies, he does so with equal parts aplomb and denial. He is to grammar what Jim Nantz is to Vin Scully. Tone deaf, he can be found playing golf and bringing back to life deceased American icons. To his followers he is a paragon of virtue, a voracious reader, and a top-notch negotiator. He looks at his detractors and says NYET.  He has the best ties, the best words, the best children. Once, at a military school, he dreamt of conquest, but settled instead for refurbishing the Commodore Hotel with a loan his father co-signed. He knows heroes when he sees one, and he hasn't seen one.  He has slept with more women than you, many more. He has cheated on all of them, but they deserved it. His hair is glorious and manly and as real as the America on his hats. He is cloddish in both victory and defeat, but he is never defeated.  He is ... the president of the United States.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Scott Pruitt's Peculiar Fascination with Pot

But for a suit