Donald Trump

I’d intended to write a lengthy hategasm here but, pictures being worth a thousand words and all, I thought, “fuck it.”  This will either make instant sense or it won’t and, honestly, words won’t help in either case:

Okay, seriously though, why does he always look like he has to take a shit?


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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