Saturday, 10 October 2015

Childe Rand to the Trump Tower Came

"Nobody in America wants some sort of buffoon who insults women and calls them ugly. Nobody wants that." - Rand Paul

It is ye royal jousts and the good knight Sir Rand the Virtuous has taken the field against the Black Buffoon, Sir The Donald of Trumpland. And he doth approach his damsel, the fair and chaste Maid Carly of Hewlettland. "Prithee, fair maid," quoth he, "Wilt thou bestow thy favour on me, that I, mayhap, shall discomfit the base pretender who has dared besmirch thy honour with his most unseemly insult?" And the great lady offered the valiant sire her kleenex, stained with piteous tears, saying, "Take this favour, my champion, and may God's grace guide thy poll." And Sir Rand drew up his doughty charger, an olde elephant, trained in all the chivalrous arts, and raised his emulous poll toward that foe most foul, the Mogul of Mammon. For the villain had impugned all womanhood, including the queen herself, Hillary the most high, and also the beauteous Megyn, she of the purest blood, whose noble consort, the brave scion of Fox, had lately fallen before the Black Buffoon's prowess in battle. And, lo, the two contenders then did charge each at the other. But, alas and alack, the hufty-tufty trumpster did use his infernal cunning to knock the good Sir Rand into the dust, breaking his poll and calling out to the vanquished knight with haughty disdain,"Forsooth, you're fired!" before riding past the inconsolable daughter of fortune, Carly, taunting aloud, "Byr lady, what a face!" Then the blackguard fled that dismal field, victorious yet again, charging away toward his great bastion, Trump Tower. A mighty fortress it is, high in the clouds, impenetrable, where few mortals can follow without a private jette. And now the woebegone lady was sore afflicted with grief for her fallen defender, and did swoon most piteously, for none were left to take up her most sacred cause, the cause of womenfolk who must remain on the pedestal of double standard privilege if they are ever to break through the most dread and accursed Glass Ceiling. Ah, well a day, that such a fair damsel should pine away!

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