Remember the Caine

Let’s take a state of the House of Abe as in president we don’t have one, just a primadonald hillbent on bringing down the House like Simpson sad with the priests who were having a pillar fight in his temple. Tromble is, Tromp ain’t no Simpson, but a sneak oil salesman who’s been colooting with Russians. It’s a sad state with affairs when people are without a precident when they most need one, like in that movie about the crudemen of the Caine who couldn’t act while Captain Queeg kept bull bearing his balls and implying reverse laxatives on the ship’s lackey crew after they had been having the runs on strawberries. In the movie the men finally find their bagbones and relieve the loonertike Queeg on the basis of genetic mendel incompetencies under Article 184, what is like a navel aversion for our Amanment 25. This ain’t no hollerwhoop twittium. The good noose here is: the Tromp is self-inkremlinating. Here are some samples of his resident e-bull, that diarrhea of his mind that provides daily entertaintment for his deployables trying their hand at an alien invasion from Planet Earth.

People say I am an incognitive ignoronomous as if I was subthink less than a moron. There’s no truth to that, because nobody knows my own mind, leased of oil me. That’s what it means to be the Precident. I can be anythink I want to be, the most poorlitterate correctumed person in the world or its orbiting opposite. The truth is I am the most Precident Precident there has ever been. This comes national to me. People say I’m not honerous, but people will say anything. The truth is I am the most honerous person there is. There is no one more honerous. Take coloooting with the Russians for incidence. There’s no colooting with the Russians, and even if there was, it’s not my wars crime. Too much and too many fake nudes and people making too much of hellsinking. Hell isn’t sinking. If anything it’s rising, like the oceans, which is oil more of the same witch hunt. Believe me.

So does the Trompster own the company story or is he the company story? Does the muddy laundry, the debt stiffs and the Russian oilygarchs making house cults end with this Repocalyptic precident or do they begin with him? How much of this is tragikarmical and how much of this is a house job?

Our children may not remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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