Hair Furor

    Last week we participated in the second annual [T]Rump Roast.  As you may know, each successive speaker tries to outdo the former, usually after "trash talking" the previous effort.  For example, the commentator following us remarked:  "I didn't know you were such a fan of the man." 

    Here is a tiny, G-Rated snippet of our "tribute" to Red Don:

    This anencephalic invertebrate, this Amuse Douche, is a waste of foreskin, a human hyperbole, a urolagniac hamper bandit who could make a dung beetle puke.  He is primordial slime four billion years past its expiry date.  Half canker, half cancer.  Despite bearing an unfortunate resemblance to himself, it is hard to regard him without thinking of Jabba the Hutt.

    He proved that man has not evolved from apes.  

    Not yet, anyway. 

    He brings joy everywhere he leaves. 

    Mortality is his only redeeming feature. 

    His arguments against abortion are an irony.  

    His only contribution to human discourse was introducing Americans to the term "Backpfeifengesicht".  If he had a native language it would be Mendacity. 

     He is a sneeze on the breeze, trifling even in its own toxicity.  His historical "significance" will be overstated by an asterisk.