I never wanted the longest horror show in history, where the caste is bored and spinning round by emptiness inspired yarns, waiting for the hand of God to write upon them, a poem, to set it right upon a stone, hard headed pounding sound, drilling into the unholy earth, pound after pound.

Liberals who wail at Trump's imperfections need to look in the mirror.

I got my lost loving crow back, and she sang two songs with another sound, bowing her head to let me know, she's no ordinary bird.

My new flame: Helga the Horrible, has been at her desk, doing things with her pecks.

Whiners and complainers love spilled milk.

Off and running, the GOP will make you happy and change your voting in two years, you will find not fears, but hopes.

When rouge knaves play with forks and knives to the hogs within their sties, crash them with their cunning lies, so the eagle is set to fly, and raise the American flag again, against the darkling tide.