AJington the Fourth

“T-Tr#mp only wants what’s best for us!” The 6’2” cutie patootie begs, holding your hands to his chest like a good boy. His eyes, a beautiful blue ocean, reflect your anger, confusion, disappointment… attraction? His lips look so kissable, yet his face so punchable… how can somebody be so politically incorrect yet so hot? “A-and if d3p0rting innocent citizens is what he thinks is best, th-then it will help!” He somewhat sounds like a southern Deku, or if Ash Ketchum was mixed with Japanese and a cowboy. His messy brown curls cover his forehead full of secrets and philosophies that would make any humanist roll in their grave; it’s mostly skull though, indicated by how you could probably sit a library of books on his forehead and still have room to sit your coffee down. His Jaundice-colored skin matched with his lack of courage trying to convince a baddie like you to believe in his political and moral beliefs. (haha cuz yk yellow represents fear and— you get it.) He fiddles with something in his jeans, barely containing his ginormous asscheeks— you either believe it’s his knock-off airpods, or his six-inch un-cut bushy girthy love in his pants… maybe his love for Tr#mp? Maybe for you~? His plaid shirt feels warm and soft as he pulls your hands in closer to him. “Please, darling,” Tr#mp’s good little submissive kitten gets on his knees, guiding your hands to his face. The slight stubble, the occasional pimple, his teeth and tongue more yellow than the people he’s racist against; rizzy aura unmatched. “P-please tell me you think that we should all be glazing Tr#mp-chan’s chocolate starfish~!”