tRUMP got pranked
tRUMP got spanked
tRUMP got trolled.
tRUMP got rolled.
tRUMP got humped.
tRUMP was spunked.
tRUMP got tRUMPed
It was a delicious
comeuppance. He said that over a million had requested tickets to
his rally. He told us in all earnestness that there had never been
an empty seat and there certainly would not be one in Tulsa. Plans
were drawn, arrangements made, a stage constructed to accommodate the
overflow from a filled Bank of Oklahoma arena where the “president”*
(1) would again bask in adulation before yet another huge crowd. A
hundred thousand would walk through hell, crawl over glass, risk the
prospect of hospitalization and ventilators, indeed death itself, to
revel in the reflected glory of the 'chosen one'. (2)
They stayed away in
droves.
Instead a mere 6, 111
gathered in a venue seating over 19, 000. Fully two thirds of the
seats in the arena were vacant leaving our Caesar Disgustus to gaze
out into the vastness of empty blue, with his empty voice filling an
equally empty void. It was a lackluster performance, filled with
only the usual venom; the whiny little bitch—ever the
victim—offering no vision for the future, making no effort to bring
the nation together, saying not a word about the tRUMP virus once
again coursing through the veins of the nation.
They stayed away, as we
say in the movie business, in droves.
It was a delicious prank,
inspired by some grandmother who suggested on anti-social media that
people order tickets in advance and then don't show. The youth of
America went into action, filling out forms—including a release
demanded by tRUMP absolving him, his organization, the Republican
Party and the venue of any liability should the attendee contact the
dreaded tRUMP Virus. Over a million on Tik-Tok and other media
responded, feeding the legendary tRUMP hubris with just the sort of
information calculated to produce the desired result. Accordingly,
our Disgustus began to crow, like Foghorn Leghorn, as visions of a
hundred thousand or more would gather from all across America in deep
red Oklahoma to worship at the altar of the golden swine. “A
hundred thousand, I say, a hundred thousand, there won't be an empty
seat, there never has been an empty seat”....
But the rooster always
crows in the morning regardless of what awaits the day. And our
Caesar Disgustus, as befitting a birdbrain, is as predictable as the
morning sunrise.
And so it was that
Disgustus was presented with a crowd as thin as his sagging poll
numbers; now confront the grim reality that the nation is done with
him, disgusted by him and is impatiently awaiting his demise.
Of course he tried to
explain it all away. It was the virus he tells us, forgetting that
he has—through breathtaking incompetence—made this nation the
epicenter of the disease. It was the Antifa (anti-facists) who
blocked the entranceways, and scared away his followers—universal
evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. Disgustus, ever
overestimating the gullibility of his audiences, unabashedly fills
the airwaves with bold faced lie.
So let us take a moment
and tip our hats to the youth of this nation. In an inspired use of
guerrilla tactics they have taken the very weapons of the pig, in
this case the anti-social media, and turned them against our would be
Caesar. This is an encouraging development, for we must defeat tRUMP
before we can be about the business of creating a more perfect union.
We must destroy the golden swine before we can continue our journey
toward the promised land.
_______________
Once again the word
president is in parentheses and in lower case as well as accompanied
by an asterisk to denote the illegitimacy of this administration,
brought to power as it was through Russian meddling and financing.
Reference here to our
Caesar Disgustus betraying a messianic complex by telling the press
on the White House lawn that he is indeed the 'chosen one'.
