Say what you will about the guy: “He’s a birther!” “He’s an asshole!” “It’s a toupee!” I don’t care if he licks batteries and takes body shots off southeast asian she-male lingerie models with @stevenplace. To borrow a Brock Lesnar’ism, the man knows how to take chicken shit and turn it into chicken salad. These goat eyes see some real potential for the better in a businessman who can turn around a company with 1000 times more debt than it has assets, because that’s really what the United States, Inc. has become. Uncle Sam is more and more resembling an isolated sociopath so grotesquely debt-bloated that only someone with real savvy and the connections to coordinate the effort will be able to knock out the wall of his foreclosed-on luxury high-rise apartment and hoist his carcass back down to earth before he chokes on the rolls of inner cheek fat sagging down the back of his throat. Nothing devalues a property more than remains you either have to dismember or wait for the ants to take care of.
Da’Trump should run. There. I said it. I’ll retire my “none of the above” stencil if he does. Isn’t it about time we have an unabashed F-bomber in the White House? I mean, sure, we had Cheney. And don’t get me wrong. I appreciate a robot heart hip-pack and your shotgun mistaking a friend’s face for a quail as much as the next guy. Hell, I even thought it was baller when he told some other old rich white guy, “Fuck yourself!” on the Senate floor. But Da’Trump is keeping it real for the people, even for Republican women’s groups, and being applauded for it.
I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather have a tried and true business mogul with an attitude at the helm over another cookie cutter smiley glad hand with hidden agendas any day of the week. Well, except maybe for Saturday. Shomer shabbos!