Poetic Justice Division

Trump is Comfort Food for Suckers

The Donald is my shepherd’s pie, I shall not want

Coronary arteries clogged with Kraft® American Cheese

He’s my Commander-in-Chef Boyardee®
He’s the Cheez Whiz® of diplomacy 
He’s creatin’ a stir like orange Tang®
He’s all grabby with Mrs. Butterworth’s® thang.

He gave the Kenyan a nice Hawaiian Punch® 
He sails the swamp like he’s Cap’n Crunch® 
He’s my Boogie Nights Fluffer-nutter®
He’s my Pop-Secret® Wiki-Leakin’ butter.

He’s my Hellman’s not fake Mayonnaise®
He’s my Orange Kool-Aid® ’til end of days
He’s my bigly Uncle Spam®
He’s my Slim Jim® of flimflam.

He packed lotsa Goobers® inside his cabinet
He makes me all a-twitter on the inter-Raisinets®
He’s Velveeta® on my tundra melt
He’s the Sloppiest Joe Manwich® I ever smelt.

He’s my too Cool for Majority Whip®
He’s my Ruffles® in guacamole dip
He’s my chunky Skippy® PB & J
He’s my sodium fix from Frito-Lay®.

He’s my Nutella® with Putin on the Ritz®
He’s my Oscar-winning Mayer Real Bacon Bits®
He’s the Mike & Ike® to my Tina when
He’s bitch shakin’ Orangina®.

He’s gets my Aunt Jemima® dabbin’ when
He erects his tiny Mar-a-Log-o Cabin
He’s my Rice-A-Roni® Reagan
He’s gonna grate Kraft American Cheese® again!

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Processed food for thought:
We get it. You feel left behind — financially insecure. The elites don’t respect your values. You’re made uncomfortable by the “other.” Especially by all those “GMO BLT’s.” Who knew there were so many of them? Worse, you suspect they’re all having better sex than you.
So naturally you binge on something that gives you comfort. Something that tastes really good — salty, savory, cheesy, syrupy, middle-finger-to-the-food-police good.
You tell yourself you can quit him. But you can’t. Because he’s in your face 24/7. Big steaming heaps of him. Bulging day-glo party-size sacks of him. Leaky superfund-site-size drums of him.
But no matter how many Happy Orange Food Dye #1 colored snacks of him you swallow, you feel empty inside. Because each day you’re force fed thousands of greasy empty calories to the exclusion of any real food. And then, on a full, bloated stomach, you slowly starve.
Please stop.

If you enjoyed this partisan cheese trying to pass for poetry, you may also like reading I Am Donald’s Thin Skin

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S.J. Newman is a freelance Creative Director. Please like, comment, share. American Perp Walk™ is under construction, please wear a hard hat and watch your step.