Friday Fictioneers: Trump’s Footwell

Rochelle it’s been a while, the craziness globally has thrown me off kilter to a certain extent and every day seems to bring more random insanity and certain words like Tariffs coming into the lexicon with increasing regularity. I’m hoping it stops soon but I’m sure Vlad isn’t. But on to today’s FF, it’s a messy picture which may stand as a metaphor to Global Politics as we stand. So thinking caps on and thanks to Rochelle for her own photo. Lets get on it.

On My Marks…

Get Set…

GO!!!

In the Queue at the drive-through listening to YMCA, he finished the Diet-Coke and slung the empty vessel into the footwell.

“Tates? Let them in; their girls are beautiful, very beautiful; I’ll grab em by the pussy.”

“What the fuck’s Myanmar?”

“Vladimir; strong and rides bare-chested horses; the right stuff; he’d do a deal. A beautiful deal”

Can I take your order please?”

“Diet-Coke…Cheeseburger… Are you Mexican?”

“Next window please”

At the window a scolding hot gherkin pierced his eye spreading vitreous humour over his orange cheeks leaving a tasty relish death mask.

There we are; 100 words about what the shittiest president in the world is really thinking, and what I’d like to happen.

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