May Trump find a lump of clean coal in his stocking.
There's truth, the whole truth -- and then there's nothing like the truth.
Trump's behavior renders some of us speechless. If only it were the other way around...
I know this is lousy poetry, but consider what I'm working with here.
Perhaps the wrong progeny has been named as a "special advisor."
You can stand up for what you believe in, my friends -- just as long as you don’t take a knee.
I'm sure there won't be any risk of identity theft once we start filing our taxes on postcards.
I keep trying to make sense of awful politics through bad poetry.
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