To Donald Duck

You smart little quacker…  How did you get this far? I wake up every morning and all I hear is your quacks. “Quack this, quack that”, “Duck did this and Duck said that.” Your face is on Time, your rich, paunchy, feathered- stub wiggles on CNN  every god-damned night, every vexatious word that comes out of your foul, beak is e-very-where. I can’t get enough of you… And neither can the rest of your fellow animals. Neither of us is big on politics so I am not going to make this political. This is jus a little outburst.

Bravo. Your ballsy wit to run for office gave courage to a cluster-quack of overly-proud howler monkeys to chant a tedious hymn of terrorism, incompetency, paranoiac phobias and obam-ination; you’ve sacked the stars and stripes of the GOP’s dignity, and for that, you only have to thank your overflowing-sewer-of-a-mouth. You trumped over the Bush dynasty, you made Rubio and Cruz look like brick-brained High School bullies and you left Christie behind to eat your GOP-crumbs; you are really the only one left. You march for the oval office with all your cards laid open on the table

I am even inclined to believe your fake quotes since they’re no less crazy than your actual ones. You label the Republican party as “too far right,” but what are you? And still, people don’t care… look at the publicity, look at the love, look at the admiration. I bet you’re proud… You should be. They eat it up. And I suppose that personal honesty is–and has been–your biggest gun since you re-compensate for the other one by building skyscrapers.

Sometimes I think that your rectum and your mouth are one. You awakened every maniacal die-hard-American hiding under the velvet sheet of political correctness with messages of hatred, fear, vigilance and promises for luminous futures. You gave them a reason to vote, a reason to get in “politics” and a reason to show their true colors. That’s quite a feat, I bet that you looked up to your German ancestry for such aspirations. And frankly, no one–not even you–actually knows what the quack you will do with this country if you ever get into that house.

Maybe they like your immigration policy which is interesting… Perhaps you forget where your wives came from, or was it ok for them to come because they were Aryan? But your horde, your blissful horde, all they know is that you are the Man, you are the tough-ass soldier on the battlefield, dodging bullets and planting flags in slow motion. You are the boss, The Trump, El Jeffe the western Allah, The Great Gatsby from Queens–whose poor daddy only gave him $1 million dollars for college–, the Chuck Norris of politics, our voice…of reason.

That’s what they see in you, but it’s not what you are: just an asinine brat who made a fortune from lawsuits, nothing but a lavish scammer; you are the unearthed reincarnation of the hateful oblivion this world has been trying to destroy since 1945, the nightmare before, after and during Christmas, a slimy memento of disgusting yellow fever. A wannabe playboy, some pretentious kindergarten bully too incapacitated by his own power that refused to grow up, a rabid hyena with no leash chasing its bloody tail!


Sorry, I went on a hateful rant there. I’m sure you can relate.

But I guess the point is that you are just another trend, a hollow fashion to be soon forgotten. Another…toy, shiny and loud, to be neglected. And I don’t want to lose my composure here, but I just need to say one last thing: your obnoxious voice will mute over the people’s indifference for you, and no matter how many “great pieces of ass” you got, yours will wrinkle up and end up looking just like your face.


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