A Mark Twain-inspired Lampoon of Trumpian Adoration
In this great land of ours, it seems there's always a ruckus stirring among the populace, like a hog in a mud puddle.
Now, there's this feller, Donald Trump, strutting about like a bantam rooster, and some folks, bless their misguided souls, they reckon he's the cat's pajamas, fit to lead this grand nation.
Well, I declare, it's like praising a catfish for its ability to climb a tree!
Now, I ain't one to throw stones in a glass house, but supporting Trump as the leader of this here country is like hitching your wagon to a one-eyed mule—bound to run you off the road sooner or later.
Why, it's as sensible as trying to teach a pig to play the fiddle! But I reckon folks will do as they please, even if it means dancing with a donkey and calling it a waltz.
So let them trumpet their support for Trump, but mark my words, when the chickens come home to roost, they'll find themselves up a creek without a paddle, wondering how they got there in the first place.
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