“Your Fired”, was his claim to fame.
Everyone, everywhere knew his name.
Down the moving stairs he’d tread.
The long tie cotton candy head.
A stunt he thought, with actors bought,
To bring attention he had sought.
He’d grift them all, no chance at all.
No chance that he would win.
Greeted by cheers from Plebeian crowd,
The Press gathered round to listen.
MAGA spewed from his thin lips.
His thinning hair did glisten.
The snake oil he sold that very day,
They bought and slurped and drank away.
He couldn’t believe the money they’d pay –
To look at him, their savior, they say.
Polling said that he would lose.
Then Comey threw a wrench
Hillary ‘s votes, “out window” went.
And Trump to White House sadly sent,
Winning was to Trump a lark.
Oval Office, his ass he’d Park
Knowing all the work he’d shirk,
genuine, real good honest work.
Didn’t know the work required.
All the documents he must read…
He’d require one-page reports.
Colored pictures he would need.
Reading words he had no need.
He thought it was so lame.
How could he improve his speed?
He could hardly write his name.
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