I was heading to the community center to get a computer to view this site, and also write an article. To get there I walked down a swanky street where all matters of surgeons practiced. My, there would not be an organ in the human sausage skin that could not be removed by these cutters. Bad ball? Whip it out. Rotten ovaries? Don’t worry, she’ll be right mate.
Then, suddenly, mysteriously, my path was blocked by a new Rolls Royce. Actually, it was a surgeon rolling up to cut ‘n’ dice. He had parked on the footpath drive way because the gate of the surgery was shut. As he got out to open the gate I said, admiring the car “It is a beautiful car.” “Thank you” he said. He stood by me, in his fancy suit and we both admired the car.
Now for the action. Out from the passenger seat sprang his wife, old, nasty, serpent-like. “You don’t have time to admire this car,” she hissed. “There is work to do.” He instantly sprang into action and opened the gate. I walked off without any further ado.
We were both prisoners, but his prison had gold bars, while mine were rusty iron, laced with shit and stained with blood: slaves ‘r’ us.
Trumpapocalypse Now: The Advent of an American Usurper at the fall of Western Civilization
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