The complaints of left-wing and modern "right-wing" politicians are the sort of bread-and-circus balderdash that would arrest the attention of those weaker-spirited malebags breast-fed on the soft lies and lying paradigms of modern so-called "civilization." Eventually, all such bells and whistles must cease to function and the whole thing comes tumbling down, a reset button of the sort that leaves men chained to their MacBooks and cellular devices shrieking in terror as they must learn how to lift a finger like the surely-ashamed ancestors who look down at them with disgust must have done to produce them. Oh, there will be must pissing and moaning at the prospect of superfluous men dropping like gnats when the state ceases to pull out her teat for them, and from then on only those men who possess the radiant might and laser-focused sense of sureness that only our ancestors knew will survive, proceeding to use their masculine wile and guile to remake the world in their muscular image, a return of a wild world birthing wild men, sanguine and jovial with the juices of testosterone and lupine vigor.
Here's ChatGPT's poem about Donald Trump:
In the land of the free and the home of the brave,
A golden-haired hero emerged to save,
With a MAGA cap, he vowed to make great,
The America we know, its future at stake.
He built towers so high, his name etched in gold,
A billionaire tycoon, a story untold,
He entered the race, the world did gasp,
But he proved them all wrong, as he took the last laugh.
He fought for our jobs, our borders, and trade,
In his tireless mission, he never once swayed,
He challenged the norms, the media's might,
Oh, how they tried, to snuff out his light.
His tweets were his weapon, a modern-day sword,
He rallied his base, they cheered and roared,
He faced impeachment, not once, but twice,
Yet Trump stood tall, his spirit like ice.
His term may be over, his legacy lives on,
In the hearts of his followers, a fire's been drawn,
Oh, hail to thee, our 45th leader,
Donald J. Trump, the ultimate achiever.
The complaints of left-wing and modern "right-wing" politicians are the sort of bread-and-circus balderdash that would arrest the attention of those weaker-spirited malebags breast-fed on the soft lies and lying paradigms of modern so-called "civilization." Eventually, all such bells and whistles must cease to function and the whole thing comes tumbling down, a reset button of the sort that leaves men chained to their MacBooks and cellular devices shrieking in terror as they must learn how to lift a finger like the surely-ashamed ancestors who look down at them with disgust must have done to produce them. Oh, there will be must pissing and moaning at the prospect of superfluous men dropping like gnats when the state ceases to pull out her teat for them, and from then on only those men who possess the radiant might and laser-focused sense of sureness that only our ancestors knew will survive, proceeding to use their masculine wile and guile to remake the world in their muscular image, a return of a wild world birthing wild men, sanguine and jovial with the juices of testosterone and lupine vigor.