He's the Sultan of Slime and he lies all the time,
He's fickle and feral and foul.
His mind is a cesspool of grievance and grime,
He wears a contemptuous scowl.
He's ruined the lives of his multiple wives
And cheated on each of them freely.
His tame evangelicals think that this jives
With their faith, but I ask, "Does it really?"
He's pasty, he's pouty, he's putrid, he's painted,
He claims every day he's a victim.
His cronies are crooked, his cohorts are tainted
And daily poor choices afflict him.
He's rotten, he's rude and he's callous and crude,
Insulting all those who oppose him.
The basics of courtesy seem to elude
both him and the cultists who chose him.
"I'm a star so they let me just grab 'em down there,"
These words should have ended the question.
Do you think that it matters? Do you simply not care?
Does it give you a vile indigestion?
Debating disaster, the gulf's even vaster,
The elephant's swallowed the room.
November draws nearer, the future grows clearer
And Kamala promises doom!
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