Finally Ready for Trump

All figured out.

All figured out.

Because we want a Pulitzer. Which we don’t know exactly how to pronounce. Pullitzer. Or Pewlitzer. But you can see my Albany Law School intellect on display every weeknight on Fox News. I have no cleavage. I must be a fucking genius. Meaning, I am a STAR.

Every night I thank God for invisible desks, Jimmy Choo shoes, incredibly expensive French panties, and a viper tongue I learned from Keats.

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr’d; 50
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
Dissolv’d, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries—
So rainbow-sided, touch’d with miseries,
She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf, 55
Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self.
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne’s tiar:
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
She had a woman’s mouth with all its pearls complete: 60
And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there
But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love’s sake, 65
And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
Like a stoop’d falcon ere he takes his prey.

Until I came into my own. I am Lamia.

And God help you all.

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