Is it a coincidence that "Chump" and "Trump" rhyme? No. Of course it's not, dear readers, of course it's not. And since we're being honest here, let's also be clear... We, unlike Donald, harbor no illusions of grandeur; we know you don't need little old AH HOLE to cast it's dim spotlight and rail its paltry jabs at this mogul of moguls to get that Trump's a chump. To put this in perspective: consider the booming industry based in jokes about the infamous head-piece alone. Yep, you see, the tragedy of the matter is that giving you-know-who any attention at all only perpetuates his inane celebrity. Such is the absurdity of the marketplace, of the world today, such is the essence of the True Chump.
But to temper our pangs of despair, let us consider what our chump might be doing right now, at this very moment. It is morning, the start of a new day--Maybe he's stepping into one of his tubs, the daily ablutions. Perhaps (well does it hurt to dream?) the slightest residue of massage oil (the rich man's banana peel) has been left unscrubbed by the lackadaisical Jamaican maid and as his scaly foot happens to make contact... WHAM!
And now, New Yorkers throng in a stunned Mass for their red-headed emperor. The Trump Towers around the city open their bars to the public in honor of a life well spent. Money, real money, is tossed in the streets like so much confetti.