Whatever you may have heard about me from the disgusting media, Donald is not me-less. I exist. And I am better than everyone else’s. You wouldn’t believe how much better.
Let me tell you how much: Most are pear-shaped organs about 4 inches across, but I am more like a wadded-up piece of chewing gum — sugarless. If surgeons should ever have to replace me, they could just stick me under a chair and call it a day.
When Donald thinks of me at all it’s as a useless object taking up prime real estate in his massive, manly chest-scape, space that could be rented out to more worthwhile tenants, such as extra digestive organs. You know, like a cow has. Because the way to his me is through his stomach.
But I am very essential, especially now that I beat inside the bronzed torso of the leader of the formerly free world. And I work twice as hard as most people’s, because I am so small, yet I am still responsible for a huge amount of blood that must be pumped to supply the greatest ego that ever stalked the earth. Bless his little me.