Domald Tromp Pounded In The Butt By The Handsome Russian T-Rex Who Also Peed On His Butt And Then Blackmailed Him With A Video Of His Butt Getting Peed On by Tingle Chuck

Author:Tingle, Chuck
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

That night in Iowa, the crowd is absolutely buzzing with excitement. Around me is a fairly broad collection of people, but not a single unicorn, bigfoot or dinosaur.

We are in an old airplane hanger, a stage erected at one end of the vast space while giant American flag banners hang throughout. The stage lights are dim, ready and waiting for the master of ceremonies to appear and give this crowd want they want, a way to vent their overwhelming anger towards the current political climate. There is a lot of rage in this room tonight, but it shows itself in many different ways.

I did a few interviews with Tromp supporters on the way in and learned a lot about the thinking that goes into someone’s desire to vote for this madman. As I said before, these people are angry with the way the country is going, and rightfully so, but they are also afraid. With the economy in the state that it’s in there is nothing more terrifying for these folks than losing their jobs, and with more and more dinosaurs crossing over the border every day, that type of blue collar security is getting harder and harder to come by.

Suddenly, the crowd around me erupts in a raucous cheer as the man himself, Domald Tromps, walks out onto the stage. Once more, I find there to be something incredibly strange about his walk, a sort of hop that just doesn’t quite match with the rest of his billionaire demeanor.

“Thank you, Iowa!” shouts Tromp into the microphone before him. “It’s great to be here!”

That’s all it takes for the presidential hopeful to receive a second burst of wild applause, the crowd’s roar growing to an absolutely deafening volume around me.

Eventually, Domald raises his hand and then lowers it slowly, signaling the group that he is read to speak once more. I immediately pull out my notepad and start writing down ideas for the article, completely inspired by the way that Tromp has is audience completely enraptured with him. It’s incredible, like some kind of strange religious experience.

I notice now that many of the people around me have started to cry, their eyes running over with salty streams of tears and makeup that streak haphazardly down their cheeks. This is not just a case of the sniffles; these people are full-on bawling their eyes out in the presence of Mr. Tromp.

“I look around and all I see are winners here tonight,” Tromp says. “When I become president, you would not believe how much winning there is going to be. We are going to win on the economy, we are going to win on freedom, we are going to win on immigration.”

From out of the loudspeaker’s positioned around the room there is suddenly an eruption of sound, a bald eagle screeching followed closely by a short but, admittedly, ripping guitar solo.

The audience loses it in the same way that I’ve now come to expect, and through the chaos I begin to now hear the a handful of words.

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