2016 will be the Year of Reckonings. A great schism in the nation opens, a herald rises, and battle fronts coalesce. As a soldier of furrows, it’s time to take up the banner and the hammer of The Trumpening and do your part for the revolution:
The Pump and Trump.
The next time you have your woman post-coitally wrapped in the shelter of your shitlord’s uncucked embrace, gaze contentedly at the ceiling and slowly announce, in a gravelly nut-busted voice, “That was almost as good as making America great again.”
If it’s just after the election when Trump is anointed Supreme Galactic Overlord, say “That was almost as good as voting for Trump”.
The purpose of the Pump and Trump is two-fold: one, any shrieky silly SJW/SWPL feminist freaks with nonetheless fuckable figures (rare, I know) will be sufficiently offended by your declaration that they will self-remove from your life, post-pump. A no muss, no fuss gruffly stuffed muff buff.
Two, you will know love if she reacts with peals of delight, or even an amused exasperation. This woman is a keeper, and she will stand by your side whispering words of encouragement as you prepare to crest the paradigm shift to victory and glory with the Trumpentroops.
The Pump and Trump: Make American Women Sated Again.
This might be a strange claim to make but hear me out. Separate the political views of both men and just think about their media personality styles.
Before Ali came along in the boxing world, champions were expected to behave a certain way-- humble, polite, low key.
Then Ali came along and changed the whole game. He was a braggart and enjoyed taunting his opponents for publicity. Establishment and media figures to ask why he was so full of himself. Ali then teased the reporters and did it all with a twinkle in his eye. No one was sure, but generally people suspected his act was tongue-in-cheek. He won a lot of people over in part because he was so entertaining to watch both in and out of the ring.
Old school boxing fans hated Ali, asking why he couldn't just behave like other boxing champions.
Now he's a legend.
This clip at 4:36 sparked this realization in me. Trump calls Jeb a "sad case" and has everyone cracking up. Look at Trump's eyes and you can see the twinkle.
(02-18-2016 08:22 PM)Neo Wrote: An attempt on his life is something I've been seriously worrying about since Trump has made this run for president. He is under SS protection now, and when I read that I thought about time.
I'm not talking about anyone the SS would protect him against. You know who else had SS-protection? JFK.
"I'm such a nice guy, vote for me I don't attack or put any effort into anything I'm just peace and love dude, no confrontation, doesn't matter if we lose I'm just happy to be here haha."
I know one shouldn’t kick a man when he’s but I wasn’t able to resist. Please excuse any typos or errors; it was written very quickly. Background Music
Papa, just killed my plan,
Put my guac against it’s head
Pulled my trigger now it’s ¡Yeb!
Papa, the race had just begun,
But now I've gone and thrown it all away.
Papa, ooo,
Didn’t mean to make you cry.
If I’m not cucked again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.
Too late, our time is done,
He sends shivers down my spine
Media's buzzing all the time
Goodbye, everybody.
I’ve got to go,
But I'll leave behind my famous guac.
Mama, ooo (anyway the Don goes),
I don't like the Don
I sometimes wish he’d never run at all.
I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Daddy Bush, Daddy Bush, will you do the fandango?
Gunshot or cyanide,
Very, very frightening me!
Gallileo, Gallileo,
Gallileo, Gallileo,
Gallileo Figaro―magnifico.
I'm just a rich boy and nobody loves me
(he's just a rich boy from a rich family)
Spare him his life from this low energy.
Easy Don, easy bro.
Will you let me go?
Low energy, no! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)
Low energy, no! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)
We will not let you go. (Let me go!)
[...]
So you think you can stop me and spit in my guac?
So you think you can bully me and leave me to die?
Oh, Donald, can't do this to me, Donald.
Just gotta get out
Just gotta get right outta here.
Nothing really matters
Anyone can see
Nothing really matters
Nothing really matters to me.
I know one shouldn’t kick a man when he’s but I wasn’t able to resist. Please excuse any typos or errors; it was written very quickly. Background Music
Papa, just killed my plan,
Put my guac against it’s head
Pulled my trigger now it’s ¡Yeb!
Papa, the race had just begun,
But now I've gone and thrown it all away.
Papa, ooo,
Didn’t mean to make you cry.
If I’m not cucked again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.
Too late, our time is done,
He sends shivers down my spine
Media's buzzing all the time
Goodbye, everybody.
I’ve got to go,
But I'll leave behind my famous guac.
Mama, ooo (anyway the Don goes),
I don't like the Don
I sometimes wish he’d never run at all.
I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Daddy Bush, Daddy Bush, will you do the fandango?
Gunshot or cyanide,
Very, very frightening me!
Gallileo, Gallileo,
Gallileo, Gallileo,
Gallileo Figaro―magnifico.
I'm just a rich boy and nobody loves me
(he's just a rich boy from a rich family)
Spare him his life from this low energy.
Easy Don, easy bro.
Will you let me go?
Low energy, no! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)
Low energy, no! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)
We will not let you go. (Let me go!)
[...]
So you think you can stop me and spit in my guac?
So you think you can bully me and leave me to die?
Oh, Donald, can't do this to me, Donald.
Just gotta get out
Just gotta get right outta here.
Nothing really matters
Anyone can see
Nothing really matters
Nothing really matters to me.