Friends, morans (Hi Jerry!), countrymen (and like none of you 'urban people' ok, I mean, blah), hold my beer!
I come to bury democracy, not to praise it.
The evil that Canada does will live forever, the good that truckers do will be buried with them in a kind of ironic next-next-next-next-gen fossil fuel way which only Xers will get.
So it be with Trudeau. The Noble prizer Trump hath told Justin was lame. An it was a grievous fault, because no Orange rings were kissed. And Trudeau grieviously answered, "You're not my buddy, pal." But the Trumpus was an honorable man or gibbon, since Kelly Conway decided words have no meaning.
Come I to Democracy's funeral. It was my friend, the way Father made his fish stick millions. It was just to me, because I deserved riches for being a Bratus.
I have brought many captives to Fox, but has it brought me, except for the kickbacks from bowtie sellers in the early years? Why can't I ransom, errr, leverage any of this for me? Was I not ambitious enough for a prep-school fourth-rate asshole?
When the poor cry, is it not unfair I can't put the boot in? My own $500 boot in their offending mouths?
I, Bratus, am ambitious because I deserve it.
I, Bratus, am an honorable man. Unlike Canadians, liberals, blah and browhs and - it goes without saying - womens, gays and so on.
You all saw me on the Vulperian.
I thrice presentented myself the kingly crown and I thrice refused it for the ratings.
But, sure, I Bratus was ambitious. As if. I could scarcely have been a lazier sod; expectation of privilege is not ambition. And, sure, whatever, I was an honorable man or something. Supposably.
Finally, blah blah blah blahbitty blah, whatever I like is good for otherwise one must trust logic and not me.
