President Musk, I Presume

Elon is doing the real work while the toddler king twiddles his thumbs. Trump screams for attention and gets it being reassured he's the center of the world while the power behind the throne fights his imaginary battles resplendent in glory. Bodies are everywhere around him and he's only getting started. 

On the Seventh Day He Rested

But Trump will be back to destroying the country tomorrow. 

And They Call the Wind Uriah

Trump's followers, acolytes and flunkies constitute nothing but a big Trump fart and gaseous emanation. Swamp gas, as it happens, since Trump didn't come to drain the swamp but to fulfill it. And Washington, accordingly, is a world of Heeps, a cesspool of the undeserving groveling for power, acting like pricks when they get it, sleazing the maidens and befouling the place with their presence, leaving us wondering whether to call the hazmat people or a priest to get it disinfected. 

What am I saying, they're still in occupancy. As Heeps, they will have their day and then fall. Push it too far. As for us, we must regroup and conserve our strength. Our opportunity will come. The Heeps of the world, like Hegseth, are fundamentally weak. Usurpers of power. Evil magicians who know the magic words -- racist innuendos, intimations of violence and other dark insinuations. They manipulate. They coerce. They position themselves to seize illicit power and rule. 

But we will stop them. With their help, because they always push it too far. For now the Heeps have won. Their leader is a supreme Heep, running a gladiator school for slime balls and reprobates. He too will fail. They will fall under the weight of their corruption and degradation.

The World is Trump's Toilet

Donnie is like the little kid that wants everyone to come into the bathroom and tell him what a nice potty he made.