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I’m picturing this as the finished project and the writing process:
redeye
kevinod
“December 7th was a terrible date, just terrible. I would have swiped left, believe me.”
He doesn’t read the Mickey D’s menu- “chocolate malted” what kind of 1950's bullshit is that.
Judging by the hour that lapsed between that first tweet and the second, more “official” one, no, not in the least
In that same ceremony Trump called Pearl Harbor “a pretty wild scene” like it was some kind of ‘60s love-in orgy.
What color crayons did Kilmeade use for his Jackson book?
If he’s so keen on keeping his promises, why doesn’t he start with not allowing the GOP to touch Social Security and Medicaid/care, LIKE HE PROMISED!!!
And that Tweet. Holy crap. “It is my honor to take lands away from the American people so some rich person can buy them for themselves and exploit them.”
The Code 45* message today is simple: nothing. That is, someone (the list of suspects grows by the day) obviously took away his phone again. There was one infuriating, generic info-tweet about his trip to Utah to sign his fucking proclamations and complete his despoilment of both Bears Ears and Grand…
“But what about all the Jews that Hitler didn’t kill!”
Socks. On. The. Beach.
“They don’t know your land, and truly, they don’t care for your land like you do,” Trump said...”
Does anyone think Trump has ever been to the wilderness and wondered at the beauty of nature? If he’s ever outside the city, he’s somewhere which is, or will shortly be ruined to become, a golf course.
Today’s Code 45* indicates that our anti-hero’s subconscious is viciously berating him again. The mouldering, dog-chewed Satanic Garfield doll found under the bed in the Lincoln bedroom along with a scattering of dried-up silverfish and a dead mouse (well, it could actually be a super, super dusty tampon - but we will…
Does anyone think Trump has ever been to the wilderness and wondered at the beauty of nature? If he’s ever outside the city, he’s somewhere which is, or will shortly be ruined to become, a golf course.
My baloney has a first name, it’s c-o-n-t-r-a-b-a-n-d
