>>190710160Picture this:
Dawn breaks. You awaken to the sound of a trumpeter dressed like an 18th century freedom fighter bugling the National Anthem. You stretch in bed, letting out a yawn, only to realize Donald J. Trump is sitting next to your bed, cigar in hand, and beaming a billion dollar smile that has "God bless America" written all over it. The smell of bacon, eggs, waffles, and coffee drift into the room, but before you can even ask the door opens and a triplet of busty vixens walk in - blonde, black, and brunette; standard varietals - carrying robe, slippers, and food to start your day. They shower you with affection before returning to their duties, and just as the sounds of the bugle die down, you hear an engine revving. Yes. It is a near-monster size truck - your truck - being driven by your redneck contractor-servant in his signature 1776 baseball cap, worn ragged with the years. He's doing donuts in the front yard of your property - which is acres of near-wild country. He's hollering with delight and begging you to join in the fun. A sudden barrage of gunshots from the rear of the property reminds you that today your friends are training for a shooting competition. You take a deep breath and get up, eager to join. Staring at your Kate Upton pinup poster, you dream for a second about sharing a perfect burger, fries, and a milkshake with her - a centering meditation, before Donald brings you back to reality with a firm slap on the back and a clever witticism. Shouts from the living room signal a touchdown in a football game on TV - everyone must be watching. An alert on your phone tells you the S&P has just risen 0.4% - you've just made $20,000. You shake your head with a laugh. "God bless America; it's going to be a good day."
