The inflammation infected all the way into the White House, where the piss stained prick could only admit to his very incompetence and get the load of his very own words he so very often outed. Ousted he submitted to his master. The virus.
Not only...
It isn't the finagling and fingering, nor the amount of pages; the word count from reports, redacted or unredacted; nor is it the phone conversation, his perfect call, called again, and again, from his throat.
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Now the true Bear roars, no, not the Russian one; who has been playing chess with marked poker cards. It is the Bear he fears most, the one which is crowned. He will now have to bend his knees. Kneel for the flag, and the nation, both of whom he left in abandon of his very own sheer incompetence.
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No word of sincerity can come over his lips, because his throat has lied too many times. This illness is what's going around, while he's worried about the numbers, his voice cannot speak of true empathy and compassion; one always hears the being inconvenienced. "Well, well," said the virus to the apprentice inside the White House; "stable genius, hey." The bone spurred rookie tenderfoot looked at the pathogen in utter fear, as the spike protein attached and said to its host "you're fired."
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