In what can only be described as a shocking turn of events, Republican Presidential candidate Donald J. Trump has endorsed small crappy website and production company Bootu Inc. The news broke early Monday morning when Trump himself called a rally to announce it.
As journalists and supporters from around the globe filed into Trump Compound, The Donald was spotted entertaining foreign dignitaries from places as far away as Texas. The mood was cautious, yet optimistic that a landmark endorsement would be heard on this now historic day.
“Do you think he finally endorses Bootu Inc.?” One disturbed, clueless individual was overheard saying. “Or do you think he puts his money on patimex.com?”
As the moment approached, a procession of highly trained warrior owls formed a hexagonal barrier around a pile of elephant bones, their hooting eerily reminiscent of Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” The crisp spring air began to smell of burned hair and waffles that were cooked just a bit too long. Despite it’s ascension just moments before, the sun disappeared into the horizon like a terrified Christmas Island Shrew scurrying into the wild bush. Suddenly, as the taste of regurgitated oatmeal filled the mouths of those present, He appeared.
“I know all you faggots are wondering why I asked you here today.” The crowd cheered with excitement, lapping up his every word as gospel from a prophet. “The truth is, I just like hearing myself talk. My voice is good. The sentences I come up with are good too. Everything about me is good.” A man without a thesaurus, his words echoed off the granite and steel below him.
“The point of my good words today,” Trump continued. “is to endorse a fellow that one can only describe as “good.”” The soulless followers grew excited. Their savior was speaking, and no matter what was said, they were prepared to devour the words as they knew Trump would want them. “Anyway, this kid is a real piece of work. There is some sort of sheep involved, and he likes fart noises, which is OK by me. In fact, it’s better than just OK, it’s Trump-tastic.”
At the drop of the T-word, the crowd grew into a frenzy of uneducated factory workers and elderly white people. Trump’s staff released a terrified goat into the angry mob. As quickly as it began, the last exhausted goat screams were drowned out by shouts of “MORE BLOOD!” and “THE MASTER HONORS US!” Once the excitement began to wane the restless and viscera covered group began to chant “USA! USA! USA!”
A smug-faced Trump waved for their attention. “Listen up you shit-fucks. I don’t have all day. I have to get back to thinking about fucking my own hot, sultry daughter. I also enjoy placing animals up my ass. I mostly stick to gerbils and hamsters, wait… is there even a difference? Ah, fuck. Well, there’s no difference when they are eight inches up my rectal cavity. I have been getting adventurous lately. I tried something called a vole. What the shit is a vole? Next I plan on using something aquatic maybe. Something like a tadpole or a beaver. How big are beavers? I’m going to stop myself from making an adult joke here, because I am a classy man!” Trump said, stifling a grin.
It was clear by this point that his supporters were going to absorb his words in much the same way that Birdman used the sun’s rays to power his abilities. They fed off of them. It was as if his mouth emitted the very food and water that a real human needs to survive. It certainly did not matter what the words were, only that they were spat forth.
Trump then spent the next 10 minutes discussing how authentic Italian food is best prepared by Americans, how much money he has, and that he could kill everyone there and no one would even dare question him about it. His phone rang and he said “all you pieces of hot garbage just wait a goddamn minute.” His supporters used this time to bash heads together as a sign of respect to one another.
Finally, after the completion of the phone call, he addressed the crowd one last time.
“You worthless piles of excrement need to gather up the energy it takes to shuffle your poor, worn down, leathery bodies to your tiny houses, I’m fucking done with you.” A visibly irritated orange-faced Trump exclaimed while waving them away. “And go check out that idiot’s website. Or don’t. Nothing you morons do matters.”
As the warrior owl bodyguards dissipated into his nest-like hair, the crowd of people began to sing Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA.”
When asked how he felt about this endorsement, Bootu Inc. founder Van Lee shrugged and said “Sure, whatever.”
-Sergio Montlebon III