Getting Donald Home

It was a very snowy day, depressing and bleak, when we had our first fateful encounter. His name was Jacob, and he wore a long, black coat which contrasted strikingly against the otherwise white world around us. I asked him what he was doing out in such a terrible storm.

"Adding some balance, I guess, since I'm certainly not blending in," he smiled. He pulled a rope ladder out from the depths of his coat. "Wanna climb a ladder?"

I thought to myself: “I’d rather climb you”, then bit the inside of my cheek. This adventure wasn’t going to start itself. “Sure, I’ll go first, if you can get it up there”. I smirked at him, those cannons of his could toss that rope a long way I guessed.

Just as we hit the summit the clouds gave way to what was to be the most beautiful burst of colors I'd ever seen as the sun set. I took a deep breath in, held it, breathed out and breathed in again. With each breath I felt a release of euphoria of accomplishment.

And then I realized we were on top of Mt. Trashmore.

Upon realizing this, I said to former President Trump, "We did it! We finally got you home safe and sound!", and the world could rest easily again.