Know, O voter, that between the years when the oceans drank New Orleans
and the gleaming suburbs, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Bush,
there was an Age undreamed of, when shining electorates lay spread across
the world like blue mantles beneath the stars.
Hither came Trump the New Yorker, golden-haired, kindly-eyed, pledge to support the eventual nominee in hand, an outsider, a reaver, a slayer of sacred cows, with gigantic trolling and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Establishment under his sandalled feet.
Greatest of the kingdoms was America, reigning supreme in the dreaming west, and one day it would be his…