Pressenza
06 Nov 2026, 07:18 GMT+10

Trumpissus was wandering sadly through the sylvan District of Columbia, the visor of his MAGA cap pulled low over his eyes to shield them from the harsh klieg lights of reality, and all the ugly and dumb reporters and sta following him. Only Natalie with her echoing harp could match his melancholic stride. Without purposeas with all his decisionshe accidentally stumbled upon a reflecting pool, which coincidentally happened to have a presidential lectern in front of it.

He wished desperately to be loved by the millions, even billions, to be honored with multiple Nobel Peace prizes, and to be anointed Emperor for Life. But he knew deep, deep in his sole lifts that he had stolen millions from those millions, (and wanted to steal trillions so he could beat Musk), that he had ignobly started a war that had killed many innocent people (not to mention all the Venezuelan fisherman hed summarily murdered), and while he had already anointed himself Emperor of America, Greenland, Venezuela, Canada, and the Vatican, he knew hed soon find himself exiled on the remote isle of Saint Mar-a-Lago.

It was because Trumpissus feared that he was going toNO, he could never say that word, never! Instead of thinking about the worst word in the dictionary, he bent down as if to prayhis tie hanging between his legs like a red ladder down to hell. He removed his cap, and tried to bend over to see his reflection in the pool, and by doing so, he hoped to discover the best words, the goldenest wordsand he cupped his small hands in front and moved them about as if he might catch them.

Despite the wind, his coif remained stock still because hed recently plaited his hair with gold, as had all his sta, even Steven Miller.

Oh woe is me, Trumpissus moaned, which was instantly echoed by Natalies harp, Oh, woe is me.

It is Ken Paxtons and Chuck Schumers fault, and his words returned like some taunt from Natalies harp.

He tried to lower his knees carefully onto the edge, but due to all the gold on his head, he collapsed heavily smashing his knees, arms and chin against the concrete. The nib of his tie dipped into the pool and turned it blood red.

They sighed plaintively one after the other, and on his own, Trumpissus managed to regain his balance and he leaned slowly over the pool to find those best words, the winningest words to convince the American rabble of all the winning he had done for himself, and convince orto shorten that wordto con them into voting for him one last time, legally or illegally, even though he wasnt on the ballot.

He stared into the pool as if waiting for a teleprompter to scroll the best and most tremendous words, but the pool was so clouded with the floating debris of his deceptions, it only reflected what to him appeared to be Jon Husteds backside.