My Friday Q poem:
A comp’d POTUS is comp’d.
Surrounded by enemies he picked.
Ushering an end of America’ Americans.
Die, die fecund deplorable. Just die.
I am NOT better off than 4, or 8 years ago.
I am exactly the fucking same off.
YOU failed Potus.
How the hell could you?!
How absolutely dare you fail me like this!
Q is overweight and it’s soooo obvious.
My Sid viscous attacks for Friday long fun party-ball, with disrespectful joys.
Q-Team,
I wish
You had
More time.