After the appropriate of time has passed, I hope it is no longer too soon to use this diss: Walk much, F.D.R.?
For three straight days, Rhiannon was isolated by her peers. They could not find it in their hearts to forgive her for dust cropping at the Lollapalooza. She should have known better. Don’t eat Indian food from a grease covered truck.
Donna Porcellino was pissed and then some. If she were a cartoon character, a steady flow of steam would spew from her ears, causing her hair to rise three to five inches above her scalp. Alas, she was just a mortal composed of flesh and blood, so she was merely drenched to the bone, her shoulders hunched, her nerves tightly wound and knotted, barely containing the angst from within. Her facial expression clearly said, leave me alone or I will chew your head off.
For a while now, I have referred to Trump as current
president of the United States himself dictator wannabe, but that ends today. As you can see from my opening sentence, he will simply be called Trump, just like his gaudy pointless towers. It’s a shame they are still a source of income. I look forward to the day those ugly edifices are beautified with boards indicating closure and bankruptcy.