President Trump’s latest book is not about the Art of the Deal, or any business deals for that matter. Instead, one might call it the Art of the Poetic Transcendentalist Wannabe meets Popeye The Sailor. Only, Popeye would have the better rhymes for “spinach”.

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Yes, this book is that bad.

Trump starts off the book with a clearly well-intentioned but disastrous introduction:


I have been misunderstood my entire life.
Beyond this heroic persona, this chisel-
chested warrior, this high IQ’d genius,
there is a tiny voice yearning to be heard,
like that of a pretty pink ballerina on
stage, facing the audience for that first time.
This is a voice of uncertainty, of doubt,
of introspection. And it only shows in my
beautiful poems, which are now on sale at
Trump Tower, for $49.99, or 2 for $100, phone
1-888-121-4121 during next 10 minutes for
20% Off!


Certainly, this admission by President Trump that he has feelings of doubt and uncertainty are touching and give the reader a clear description of what might be coming. However, the rest of the book falls embarrassingly short.


The very first poem out of the gate, “One Big Hoax”, sounds disturbingly familiar.

Now the world don’t move
to the beat of just one Trump
What might be right for you,
May not be right for some.
A brilliant man is born,
He’s a man of means.
Then along comes the Feds,
they got nothing on me…
It’s all just.. One Big Hoax,
It takes… One Big Hoax,
It’s all… One Big Hoax To Hurt The World…


On Trump’s fear of the public, and his known germaphobia, he allows us inside briefly, to share the moment, in “Fears”.

Making your way to the Presidency today
Takes everything you got
Taking a break from the Fake News Media,
Sure would help a lot.
Why won’t CNN go away?
Sometimes I want to go
Where libtards just don’t know my name,
And Hillary’s emails are all to blame…


It gets worse, if that’s possible at this point. In “Frenemies”, Trump tries to distinguish between his loyal inside-circle, and everybody else.

So no one told me the Presidency was gonna be this way
My job numbers are no joke, nobody’s broke,
My love life is “Stormy”, they say…
It’s like I’m always adjusting my goldenesque hair,
Because the media claims it’s orange, or Cheeto-ish,
Or even a comb over there, but…

I’ll be there for you, USA
(When the wall needs it’s first brick)
I’ll be there for you, USA
(When Rocket Man needs a kick)
I’ll be there for you, USA
(As soon as the Feds get outta’ my way)


Several poems were briefly read, and summarily skipped after several sentences, because they were simply horrendous.


Example/Snippet #1:  “Rocket Man 2018”

…And I think it’s gonna be a long long time
‘Till Kim Jong Un sits his fatty ass down next to mine…


Example/Snippet #2:  “Mexican Rhapsody”

Mama, an illegal just killed a man
Put a gun against his head
Had no Green Card, now he’s dead…

…I see a fatty silhouetto of a woman
Rosie O, Rosie O, will you do the fandago…


Example/Snippet #3: “Limerick Time”

There once was a crooked Hillary from Nantucket…


From this point in the book, there’s no place to go but down, and “Another Brick In The Wall ” exemplifies that literally, and painfully.

We don’t need no common core,
We don’t need Obama the bore
No dark sarcasm in our Congress
Democrats, leave the GOP alone
Hey! Dems! Leave the GOP alone!
All in all, we’re gonna build us a wall.


…to be followed by a sour dish of eye candy in “The Final Countdown”:

We are heading to prison ( prison )…
and still I stand tall,
Cause maybe they’ve seen us, ( seen us )
While we bought them votes
With so many strippers to boink,
and deals to be done ( to be doneee )
I am sure Putin will miss me sooooo….
It is the final countdown!


Given the number of “poetic covers” President Trump seems to enjoy, we thought it would be a refreshing change of pace to read “An Original Poem By Donald Trump:  Hair Peace”:

Hillary will run the USA like Scrooge.
But me? It will be yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge.
Hillary will run the USA by sinning.
But me? It will be non-stop winning.
Hillary will make it all a mess, just wait!
Not me! My IQ is 168.


Donald Trump’s “Making Poetry Great Again” did have one amazing thing going for it. It managed to neatly, and swiftly, kill a fly that was buzzing too closely in our office. A job well done!

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