UR A MEEN OINE EMOTrump

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fangz ta SybilFoxx fur fixxing my spelling grammer ... and fur weiting purty much da entir chappper
PREPZ STUP FLAMING ON MY MES SAGE BOAD AND PMING MEH! q q
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Trump sat awkwardly on his throne (which was located at the entrance floor of Trump Tower), making immature jokes at each passerby. Melancholy (Trump changd his wife's nam t0 Melancholy becuz it sunded mor EMO), stood next to him, glaring. Under her husband's direction, she had taken to dying her hair a new depressing shade of black or blue each day - as well as wearing tights qnd black corsets. Truly, Melancholy hated her marital enslavement to America's greatest psychopath, but, in the end, it was all worth the money and power.

"Can I go upstairs and troll people with your twitter account now? I'm sick of seeing this commoner filth," Melancholy growled, gesturing to a senator in a tuxedo who was clearly a peasant.

Trump squished his lips together and gave her a whiny, "No."

Suddenly who burst through the doors, but the infamous loser, Hillary Clinton!
A bright smile came upon Trump's orange, glowing face.

"Why, If it isn't Hillary Clinton?" taunted Trump, grinning like a elementary school bully while making L's with his hands.

Hillary walked ashamedly towards the throne with her head down.

"Whay do ya want from me, Secretary of Losers?" asked the Trump, giggling at his own clever wordplay.

"A job," she sighed, completely humiliated.

Trump burst into hysterical laughter. "OF COURSE you can have a job ... as a kitchen maid!" Once again, Trump had a fit of childish laughter. "Oh, yes, the position will suit you fine, women belong in the kitchen after all."

It took a lot of grit for Hillary to let that sexist comment slide.

"My deprezzing sucidal hatred," Melancholy addressed her husband, "I want this women as my personal slave!"

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