I had a dog named
Trump; a bastard inbred little poodle,
A smelly, slobbering,
flea-bitten cur, all ponce and shrill flapdoodle.
He ripped up lounges,
barked and howled, bit the postman’s knee, But the crucial time was the day he dined on my book of political history.
Centuries of Western
democracy - gone! shredded on the spot! - From Cromwell through to capitalism, Trump ate the friggin’ lot.
And soon afterward, he
got the runs, and went and laid a cable:
A stinking, steaming,
stultifying turd, right there on the kitchen table But there in that pile of dogshit, was written ‘THE NEW MANIFESTO OF TRUMP’
Not brilliant, to be
sure, but not bad…at least for his first presidential dump.
Well in the days that
followed, the weirdness continued apace; Each turd that Trump deposited contained a comment on the Republican race.
The words were no great
shakes at first, epithets rough and crude, But gradually the lines grew stronger, his doggy rhetoric improved.
He began to dole out
Churchill speeches, in sunny diarrhoea,
Until an ‘I have a
dream, today’ exploded from his rear.
And there was a
Nuremberg speech - admittedly a little unrehearsed - Then one fine day a simmering JFK appeared in a fragrant burst.
One morning he laid
down a Magna Carta, right outside a pet food store, And even as the manager shooed him away, he beamed in transfixed awe.
“Well bugger me
dead!” the manager cried, “He’s a clever little tyke!
I don’t know much about
politics, but I know what I like.
This animal’s a genius!
He expresses himself with such class.
You mark my words:
these are turds from a dog with a golden arse.”
Well word went round
about the hound with the politically-nuanced butt And the pundits flocked from everywhere to pass judgement on this mutt.
Crapping happily for
the cameras, Trump dropped a deuce on ethics And then a twelve-point energy plan that pleased even climate skeptics.
The critics all adored
him, his depth and range were simply wonderful:
pontification to ‘dropping the civil war off at the pool’.
Then one day his arse
dried up, and instead of his usual supreme political wit, Trump laid down what appeared to be just an ordinary knob of shit.
And yet the frenzy did
not abate; all the commentators started raving About how this was simply political truth told best – that dawg ain’t misbehaving.
He’s a stand up guy!
He’s our man! (dog) He’s bravely abandoned his dumpism!
It’s now shit for
shit’s sake! Putrid and pure! The extreme expression of Trumpism!
Hovering over each
fresh deposit, they lauded him to the stars on Twitter “Look! Another brutally honest assessment of Mexico has just popped out his shitter.”
And on one of the
current affairs programs on telly, an analyst of note
Said: “He could
well be our first dog president. Just hold your nose and vote.”
And another opined: “It’s
so brilliant, perfect. A self-encapsulated endgame strategy.”
And I replied: “Mate,
I hate to break the news to you, it just looks like shit to me.”
It soon grew hard to go
walkity-walks, I kept Trump at home behind the fence Ringed by journalists, lobbyists, spin-doctors, the masses, all howling and intense.
Finally I cracked.
“Alright,” I said, “I’ll show you bastards some political art.”
cried. “WE WANT TRUMP!” they swore with hand on heart.
I pointed out one of
Trump’s latest turds, still glistening in the sun, And said: “Watch this policy carefully. I call this ‘hit and run’.”
As they watched with
bated breath, I started up the mower
Pointed it toward the
turd and then ran the damn thing over.
It pureed in a slippery
swirl and splattered all in view.
they bawled. “Barbarian! What philistine are you!
How dare you vandalise
our political future! What gives you the right?!”
Although some of those
present argued long and hard until very late at night That my act was in itself a noteable political statement At least more interesting than Carson, Bush, and agreements on carbon abatement.
And thankfully now
they’re moving on, they found an another flunky:
In a private zoo in
Kathmandu there’s an expressionist painting monkey It was fun a while to have my fur chile become the talk of the nation But it’s anyone’s guess how they’ll resolve the mess in the shit-race for the nomination.
So things are pretty
much normal now; Trump’s still ill-behaved But I bought him a doggy penthouse to live in, with all the dough he made.
He’s free to rip up
statute books, and shit where it comes to pass, And he’s even got his own reality show: The Apprentice With The Golden Arse.
(nod to Tug Tumbly)