Nairobi, Kenya
A man looks at campaign posters outside a polling centre as he waits to cast his ballot in the Jubilee party’s primary elections
Photograph: Thomas Mukoya/Reuters
Then he looked at the bright side and realized, before Donald Trump there was no word for thunderfart.
Ed: so what is the word?
Well, the word is thunderfart. We're not going to play Who's On First with this; the word is thunderfart.
That's when he also realized that smell is not the Stockyards and he became afraid.
He threw his hands to the sky and cried out, "Lord, Lord, when he thunderfarts it's indistinguishable from the approach of severe weather so how can I know where to run?"
The Lord just said, "I din't do it. Self-inflicted wound. Take a hike."
And then the Darkness came and the politicians watched. No-one asked what Donald Trump was doing since we could hear him thunderfarting up on the hill. We knew what was going to come.
No comments:
Post a Comment