Trump, The Dickensian

Such an odious little man. 

I say little, he is actually quite a large fellow. Ungainly, as though Orwell’s Napoleon cast off his coat of crackling and walked amongst us on hind legs. A prize fighter’s demeanour on prima ballerina points.

But his mind is small, his warped sense of greatness conversely diminishing his cognitive capacity to a raisin of hate; a tic-tac of terror.

There you have it. He is a tic-tac tycoon for the Twitter Age. 

Should you have the perverse desire to picture him, place French fries atop a bottle of Sunny Delight melted in the oven on a low heat for an hour. Et voila!

Obsequious. Malodorous. 

How can I insult thee? Let me count the ways. 

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