Trump hollers like a screaming goat and pounces on you like an enraged hippo bull. You love this man and respect him so much — he's so cool! You look in the mirror and say what you’ve been saying every day for the last fifty years: “You’re the champ!
That Paris Hilton, though, you’d grab that beaver, are you right? Ivanka’s got a bigger, perkier rack, and that’s important to a guy like you -- you're not afraid to say so. ” You put on your tux and make note of how much you look like Sean Connery — not old, balding Connery, but dashing Goldfinger Connery with a full head of hair.
You’ll say you’re sick, order in some burgers and pizza, and rent that Tim Allen holiday movie you’ve been hearing about.And tomorrow, when you check out, you’ll pretend that you ordered the movie by accident and demand the .95 refund. As you leave your corner penthouse suite, you notice a gorgeous young blonde in a tiny black dress follow you down the hotel corridor and into the elevator.She is positively stunning, and you are feeling a bit frisky from the Cialis you took.The Cialis has kicked in, because you see your husband's flaccid, freckled member balloon into a glistening deli pickle. " he says, grabbing you roughly by the back of your head and mashing your nose into his groin. And there awaits the sight that has haunted you for years. He makes a very loud sucking sound and stares right into your eyes. He's clearly feeling a combination of pleasure and pain. You have an out of body experience as he guides your head over his swollen member, up and down.Blood trickles from your left nostril and mixes with your tears and saliva as Donald grinds his semi-erect penis relentlessly up and down your face. On the bottom of your husband's left testicle is a ruddy, swollen melanoma, the size of a silver dollar pancake. His orange and purple ding-dong grows to the size of a waterlogged Twinkie. You wipe the strange taste of zinc and mushrooms from your lips, orange tanning spray collecting on your fingers and at the corners of your mouth. Tears well up in your eyes and mascara runs down your cheeks.These moods have been coming over you lately, and you feel defenseless against it.You decide you won’t be attending the party tonight.You take a step toward her and she spins around like a ninja and knees you hard in the nuts.You feel a sharp streak of pain course up through your core all the way to the tiny rivets on your scalp. " yells your husband from the top floor of your penthouse suite in Trump Tower. Your husband, the President-Elect of the United States — //PETUS//, as he calls himself — is waiting for you in nothing but his silk leopard briefs. He kicks his feet and makes a sound like a crying baby. The most famous man in the history of the world is feeling //great//! " You've been doing it for years now, but Sunday nights still throw you into an existential panic. You can see the swollen red line around his torso where his tight man-panties have cut viciously into his 48” waistline.