Sorry, I just can’t contain my excitement any longer. This is the man I have been waiting for all my life, almost like a real Prince Charming.
He has it all, the perfect hair, the wealth, and above all else, the best public relations record of any Republican presidential candidate to date.
Move aside Ronald Regan, there’s a new visual entertainment personality that’s ready to make the obvious next step into the political theater.
I mean just look at his foreign policy. He understands what the greatest threat to this great country is, namely Mexicans. Or is that more domestic?
Fine, the greatest foreign to domestic threat, all those “people that have lots of problems and they’re bringing those problems. They’re bringing drugs, they’re bringing crime. They’re rapists and some, I assume, are good people, but I speak to border guards and they’re telling us what we’re getting.”
You heard him, people. He got it straight from the gun-toting horse’s mouth.
I mean, come on. What better authority on the character of illegal immigrants than people who volunteer to shoot at any living thing that tries to climb a fence?
Better yet, he has come up with the best solution: Have the Mexicans build a wall along the border.
Simply genius, especially considering how much of our country’s infrastructure has been the handiwork of illegal labor. Kid tested, mother approved.
Trump is misinterpreted far too often. I think this is because he is not only a fantastic businessman (talk about the master of downsizing — “You’re fired!”), but also an intellectual. A philosopher, if you will.
Just take his stance on gay marriage. He puts it in words we can all understand. Golf terms, to be exact:
“You see these great players with these really long putters, because they can’t sink three-footers anymore. And, I hate it. I am a traditionalist. I have so many fabulous friends who happen to be gay, but I am a traditionalist.”
The man just gets it. Size matters, and so does the institution of marriage.
I take it back. The man is a poet.
Just not like Walt Whitman, or Oscar Wilde, or any poet that’s gay. Because they use long putters, and that’s just sickening.
Sincerely,
Zachary Byers
Class of 2016