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FAKE JESUS TRUMP BASTARD
Duration: 0:45
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Submitted: 1 day ago
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APOCALYPSE THREAD: THE SECOND COMING OF THE SWOLLEN TYLENOL BRUISER – DONALD J. “FATCO” TRUMP, THE BLASPHEMING, DIAPER-SHITTING, SENILE OLD BASTARD WHO THINKS HE’S JESUS BUT CAN’T REMEMBER HIS OWN MIDDLE NAME!
And yes MyVideoTime.com parishioners, the human embodiment of a half-eaten Happy Meal left in a hot car has completely fucking lost it! Donald J. “FATCO” Trump – Fat Ass Trump Criminal Oligarch, the swollen Tylenol bruiser, the orange cognitive landfill – isn’t running for president anymore. He’s running for Messiah, baby. This blaspheming, drooling, senile old bastard has decided he’s not just like Jesus… he is Jesus, except the original JC could finish a sentence without wandering off into a story about how windmills are secretly wind-powered brain-eating machines….
Picture it: FATCO waddles onto the stage like a bloated parade float that got rejected from Macy’s for being too embarrassing, arms flung out like he’s nailed to a cross made of Big Mac wrappers and unpaid contractor bills. “I’m being persecuted just like Jesus!” he slurs, while his handlers pray he doesn’t forget where he is mid-rant and start asking the crowd if anyone has seen his favorite sock. Persecuted? The only thing persecuting this senile sack of shit is his own melting brain and the fact that he can’t remember which felony he’s supposed to be whining about today. Jesus got betrayed by Judas. Trump got betrayed by his own teleprompter when it tried to remind him what year it is and he called it “fake news.”
This swollen Tylenol bruiser’s face looks like someone took a honey-baked ham, pumped it full of expired Botox, then let a raccoon use it as a punching bag. Cheeks ballooned out like he’s storing nuts for the cognitive winter, eyes lost in puffy craters so deep they need search parties, and that hair? It’s not hair – it’s a cry for help from a scalp that gave up in 1987. Jesus had a crown of thorns. FATCO has a crown of cognitive decline so severe he once spent ten minutes bragging about “the late, great Hannibal Lecter” like the cannibal was his running mate, then forgot what he was talking about and started ranting about battery-eating sharks instead. The man’s brain is so fried it makes Swiss cheese look like a solid block of granite….
And the body… Of a senile FATCO TYRANT FUCK! This senile old bastard is so fat his belly arrives at the rally five minutes before the rest of him. He waddles around like a constipated walrus in a suit two sizes too small, gut spilling over the belt like it’s trying to secede from the disaster zone attached to it. Jesus walked on water. Trump can barely walk up a ramp without huffing like a broken steam engine and then forgetting why he’s on the ramp in the first place. “Where am I? What am I doing? Who are all these people clapping? Must be the biggest crowd in history… wait, what was I saying?”
The senility is next-level legendary. This drooling blasphemer can’t complete a single thought without his brain taking a hard left into La La Land. One minute he’s claiming he’s the chosen one, the next he’s telling a story about a “very smart” guy he knew in “the 80s or maybe the 70s or was it yesterday?” who had a boat “this big” and then suddenly he’s yelling about how electric boats are going to sink and electrocute you because of sharks with batteries. Sharks. With. Batteries. The only shark this old bastard is fighting is the one circling his last three functioning neurons.
He stands there for hours, repeating the same lie seventeen times like a broken record stuck on “they’re eating the dogs, they’re eating the cats,” then forgets what “they” even refers to and starts bragging about how he won the election in 2020 by “a lot” while the entire audience nods along like they’re watching a grandpa have a stroke in real time. Jesus turned water into wine. FATCO turns every speech into a game of Mad Libs where the blanks are filled with “somebody,” “tremendous,” “the best,” and whatever random 90s celebrity he can still half-remember. “I knew Sinatra… or was it Elvis? Wait, Elvis is dead… or is he? Fake news!”
This blaspheming senile bastard once tweeted he was better than Jesus. Better than the guy who rose from the dead. Trump rises from his afternoon nap with Cheeto dust on his shirt and immediately forgets where the bathroom is, so he just stands there shifting from foot to foot like a toddler who waited too long. He’s out here hawking Trump Bibles with his own mugshot photoshopped onto the cover like he’s the new prophet, but he can’t even remember the Lord’s Prayer without his handlers feeding him the words through an earpiece. “Our Father… who art in… uh… Mar-a-Lago? Wait, no, that’s me, I’m the father now. Tremendous father…. The best father!”
Imagine the real Jesus returning and seeing this shit. He’d take one look at the golden high-tops, the diaper bulge, the spray-tan disaster, and the senile rambling about how Mexico is paying for the wall while he forgets he already tried that and it didn’t work, and immediately call down the Rapture just to escape. “Father, forgive them… but seriously, what the fuck is this bloated, forgetful, blaspheming clown doing with my brand?”
FATCO the Swollen Tylenol-Popping, Diaper-Shitting, Senile Old Bastard is so cognitively collapsed he thinks his indictments are “crucifixion” while forgetting which court he’s supposed to show up in. He rambles about “the late, great” people who are still very much alive, confuses world leaders with his golf buddies, and once spent an entire press conference talking about how windmills cause cancer because the noise “kills birds and gives you cancer… or was it the birds that give you cancer? Tremendous cancer! The best cancer!”
This is your savior, MAGA? This rambling, drooling, memory-wiped meat puppet who can’t remember if he’s supposed to be president or just really wants another Diet Coke and a Happy Meal? The only miracle happening here is that his cult still pretends this senile, blaspheming, grease-stained disaster is playing 4D chess when he can’t even remember where he left his 4D chessboard…
Keep going, you cognitively comatose con man. Keep pretending you’re the Second Coming while your brain leaks out your ears faster than the Depends leak down your leg. Keep mumbling about sharks, batteries, Hannibal Lecter, and how you “aced” a cognitive test that a golden retriever could pass on its worst day. The rest of us will be over here laughing until we cry at the greatest joke in political history: a swollen, senile, blaspheming old bastard who thinks he’s God’s gift when he’s really just God’s way of testing how much stupidity humanity can endure before we all collectively tap out…
If you’re still simping for this diaper-dependent dementia patient, just know that when the actual Jesus shows up, he’s gonna look at Trump, look at you, and say, “You replaced me with that? The guy who forgets what state he’s in and then claims he won it by landslide anyway?”
FATCO 2028: Because one crucifixion wasn’t enough, and neither is one Depends!
MAGA tears will be collected, bottled, and sold as “Trump Holy Water – Now With Extra Forgetfulness!” Change the diaper, change the channel, and for the love of whatever god isn’t this senile fuck, change your mind!
You’re welcome, America!
Stateless Warrior
And yes MyVideoTime.com parishioners, the human embodiment of a half-eaten Happy Meal left in a hot car has completely fucking lost it! Donald J. “FATCO” Trump – Fat Ass Trump Criminal Oligarch, the swollen Tylenol bruiser, the orange cognitive landfill – isn’t running for president anymore. He’s running for Messiah, baby. This blaspheming, drooling, senile old bastard has decided he’s not just like Jesus… he is Jesus, except the original JC could finish a sentence without wandering off into a story about how windmills are secretly wind-powered brain-eating machines….
Picture it: FATCO waddles onto the stage like a bloated parade float that got rejected from Macy’s for being too embarrassing, arms flung out like he’s nailed to a cross made of Big Mac wrappers and unpaid contractor bills. “I’m being persecuted just like Jesus!” he slurs, while his handlers pray he doesn’t forget where he is mid-rant and start asking the crowd if anyone has seen his favorite sock. Persecuted? The only thing persecuting this senile sack of shit is his own melting brain and the fact that he can’t remember which felony he’s supposed to be whining about today. Jesus got betrayed by Judas. Trump got betrayed by his own teleprompter when it tried to remind him what year it is and he called it “fake news.”
This swollen Tylenol bruiser’s face looks like someone took a honey-baked ham, pumped it full of expired Botox, then let a raccoon use it as a punching bag. Cheeks ballooned out like he’s storing nuts for the cognitive winter, eyes lost in puffy craters so deep they need search parties, and that hair? It’s not hair – it’s a cry for help from a scalp that gave up in 1987. Jesus had a crown of thorns. FATCO has a crown of cognitive decline so severe he once spent ten minutes bragging about “the late, great Hannibal Lecter” like the cannibal was his running mate, then forgot what he was talking about and started ranting about battery-eating sharks instead. The man’s brain is so fried it makes Swiss cheese look like a solid block of granite….
And the body… Of a senile FATCO TYRANT FUCK! This senile old bastard is so fat his belly arrives at the rally five minutes before the rest of him. He waddles around like a constipated walrus in a suit two sizes too small, gut spilling over the belt like it’s trying to secede from the disaster zone attached to it. Jesus walked on water. Trump can barely walk up a ramp without huffing like a broken steam engine and then forgetting why he’s on the ramp in the first place. “Where am I? What am I doing? Who are all these people clapping? Must be the biggest crowd in history… wait, what was I saying?”
The senility is next-level legendary. This drooling blasphemer can’t complete a single thought without his brain taking a hard left into La La Land. One minute he’s claiming he’s the chosen one, the next he’s telling a story about a “very smart” guy he knew in “the 80s or maybe the 70s or was it yesterday?” who had a boat “this big” and then suddenly he’s yelling about how electric boats are going to sink and electrocute you because of sharks with batteries. Sharks. With. Batteries. The only shark this old bastard is fighting is the one circling his last three functioning neurons.
He stands there for hours, repeating the same lie seventeen times like a broken record stuck on “they’re eating the dogs, they’re eating the cats,” then forgets what “they” even refers to and starts bragging about how he won the election in 2020 by “a lot” while the entire audience nods along like they’re watching a grandpa have a stroke in real time. Jesus turned water into wine. FATCO turns every speech into a game of Mad Libs where the blanks are filled with “somebody,” “tremendous,” “the best,” and whatever random 90s celebrity he can still half-remember. “I knew Sinatra… or was it Elvis? Wait, Elvis is dead… or is he? Fake news!”
This blaspheming senile bastard once tweeted he was better than Jesus. Better than the guy who rose from the dead. Trump rises from his afternoon nap with Cheeto dust on his shirt and immediately forgets where the bathroom is, so he just stands there shifting from foot to foot like a toddler who waited too long. He’s out here hawking Trump Bibles with his own mugshot photoshopped onto the cover like he’s the new prophet, but he can’t even remember the Lord’s Prayer without his handlers feeding him the words through an earpiece. “Our Father… who art in… uh… Mar-a-Lago? Wait, no, that’s me, I’m the father now. Tremendous father…. The best father!”
Imagine the real Jesus returning and seeing this shit. He’d take one look at the golden high-tops, the diaper bulge, the spray-tan disaster, and the senile rambling about how Mexico is paying for the wall while he forgets he already tried that and it didn’t work, and immediately call down the Rapture just to escape. “Father, forgive them… but seriously, what the fuck is this bloated, forgetful, blaspheming clown doing with my brand?”
FATCO the Swollen Tylenol-Popping, Diaper-Shitting, Senile Old Bastard is so cognitively collapsed he thinks his indictments are “crucifixion” while forgetting which court he’s supposed to show up in. He rambles about “the late, great” people who are still very much alive, confuses world leaders with his golf buddies, and once spent an entire press conference talking about how windmills cause cancer because the noise “kills birds and gives you cancer… or was it the birds that give you cancer? Tremendous cancer! The best cancer!”
This is your savior, MAGA? This rambling, drooling, memory-wiped meat puppet who can’t remember if he’s supposed to be president or just really wants another Diet Coke and a Happy Meal? The only miracle happening here is that his cult still pretends this senile, blaspheming, grease-stained disaster is playing 4D chess when he can’t even remember where he left his 4D chessboard…
Keep going, you cognitively comatose con man. Keep pretending you’re the Second Coming while your brain leaks out your ears faster than the Depends leak down your leg. Keep mumbling about sharks, batteries, Hannibal Lecter, and how you “aced” a cognitive test that a golden retriever could pass on its worst day. The rest of us will be over here laughing until we cry at the greatest joke in political history: a swollen, senile, blaspheming old bastard who thinks he’s God’s gift when he’s really just God’s way of testing how much stupidity humanity can endure before we all collectively tap out…
If you’re still simping for this diaper-dependent dementia patient, just know that when the actual Jesus shows up, he’s gonna look at Trump, look at you, and say, “You replaced me with that? The guy who forgets what state he’s in and then claims he won it by landslide anyway?”
FATCO 2028: Because one crucifixion wasn’t enough, and neither is one Depends!
MAGA tears will be collected, bottled, and sold as “Trump Holy Water – Now With Extra Forgetfulness!” Change the diaper, change the channel, and for the love of whatever god isn’t this senile fuck, change your mind!
You’re welcome, America!
Stateless Warrior
