Plastic. Cheap. Poor quality. Orange. And nothing like you thought you were going to get. Electing a President is like drunkenly ordering random crap off Temu at 3 o’clock in the morning.
All over the US of A, people are recovering from the mother of all hangovers and wondering why they now own a replica Panzer tank with its own built-in gun rack and sushi bar.
Somewhere, far, far away, a powerful Russian dictator is rubbing his hands with glee. “Americans, they will buy any old rubbish!” he chuckles, and orders another online advertising blitz.
He who pays the piper calls the tune, and Trump is merrily dancing to Putin’s dog-whistle. He has already officially banned intellectuals, rainbows, and stone walls.
All this demonstrates is that Putin has a sense of humour. His appointee, described in some quarters as “Like Dubya from Wish”, lacks the common sense or awareness to realise that he is a puppet deployed for comic effect. He puts the constant pain in his arse down to age, not to the hand that controls him.
This gives Putin a problem. He has four long years to maintain this circus, and to ensure that enough of Trump’s remaining sanity remains intact. He sees the danger of Trump actually losing his last remaining marble, and becoming a slobbering object of pity like Joe Biden. Although he has the failsafe of Vice-President JD Vance, whose job is to concentrate on vice.
Luckily Putin doesn’t need to feed words to Trump. He can mangle the English language like nobody else, it’s the best language, it was spoke before time began, as you all know, with the words, the very best words, that words string out like string and it unravels, like I said, and the threads, the very best threads, which I myself made, tied together for all eternity.
Is it possible to return a President and get your money back?