Mayday!

D trump stood on the platform,

Dressed only in his shorts.

“That D.O.D. is just a bunch

Of cheapskate spoilsports!

 

My party’s ruined if there’s only

One small motorcade.

As Vlad has said, it’s nothing much

Without a big parade.

 

Imagine this: I’m standing there

In furry hat and boots

And up come fifty generals

Who give me smart salutes.

 

And then come fifty admirals

While sailors fire a gun

From each of fifty battleships

Moored right off Washington.

 

And then come guys in fuzzy hats

Who march in endless files

Whose route begins in Baltimore

And stretches fifty miles

 

While right behind them roll along

The vehicles in ranks—

The Humvees and the APCs and

Endless lines of tanks

 

While overhead the bombers roar

And jets dart here and there

While fifty marching bands in red

Make music fill the air

 

And then I climb aboard a jeep—

No—Vlad said I’d look stauncher

Like him, if fact, if I drove by

On my own missile launcher

 

And then a submarine—no, two!—

Would surface in the street

And then the nukes—and then the nukes—

Not one or two, but all the fleet!

 

But then his voice grew louder yet

And soon was almost screaming

When suddenly he felt a slap

And Melania said, “You’re dreaming!”

 

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