For your Monday-morning amusement I present my breakfast impression of the smirking xenophobic white-nationalist Orange House Chief of Staph, He Who Squats Beside the Throne, Sniffer of the Imperial Farts.
To create the work, I used a tortilla and honey, both from New Mexico; butter from Ireland; cinnamon from Vietnam; and prunes from Dog only knows where. I sourced them from the bulk bin at Sprouts Farmers Market, headquartered in Arizona.
I call it “D Composition.”
Note the pale complexion, predatory beak, and dead black eyes, twin portals to Hell, where his true Master eagerly awaits his arrival.
“Hell isn’t half full,” said the Father of Lies. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a bitch to manage. I could use a deputy who knows how to make the trains run on time while standing on his head in a flaming sewage lagoon.”
“Coffee break is over. Back on your heads.”