You’re Fired


Excuse me Mr. Trump, sorry to interrupt your golf game but by the way, you’re fired. Don’t be mad, you brought it upon yourself. Dig deep for a shred of decency, for once in your life take the high road, concede defeat. No sir, you weren’t robbed, nothing was stolen. What can’t you understand? Yes sir, I realize how hard you tried to stop Democrats from voting, bent over backwards to handicap the postal service, assumed lies enough to sway public opinion.

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Do you understand Mr. Trump? It’s over, the people have spoken. You’re fired. Don’t despair, your run at re-election prompted the highest voter turn out of any presidential election in U.S. history since 1900. Close to 67% of eligible voters spoke their mind during a global pandemic. Excuse me sir, are you listening? Pardon me, recount you say? To what end, at what cost? Not over until you say so? Please sir, clean out your desk. Leave with dignity, spare the embarrassment of calling security to show you the door.