One house manager had his pants pulled up to his chest, the oddest thing ever. He talked fast, he stuttered, he smacked, he seemed unclean, he seemed washed out, he seemed someone to avoid. Could only imagine the odor, was watching through the TV, but those around him kept their distance. No shame in B.O., but it is an infringement on others, especially with anti-sweating deodorant products getting better and better, and readily available. We pay our congresspeople enough to expect reasonable hygiene.
Diversions upon diversions, proof that hasn't been proved, ridiculous proclamations, theatrical flops. Binders, post-it notes, cufflinks, microphones, a robe. We the people, we know a Pinocchio, we know how rats operate, we can smell. These are wasted days, but no one needs them anyway, this is not the people's branch anymore. Yes my fellow Americans, these days are full of waste.
This next question came from the back row, the head honchos wanted to know, the public deserved the truth. The card was passed along to the Chief Justice of the United States, he seemed confused, he conferred with his aides, he took a huge gulp of water. He adjusted his glasses. Then he read the question, directed to the President's lawyers. "Why doesn't The Don ever look worried?"