Well boys and girls, it looks like ol' Sean RomaVicta must respond to his president's call. When POTUS personally fingers grabs chooses you, it's plain unAmerican to turn him down.
Make room GR and Johnny Sack, I'm back in Bunker Bitch's favor. My president needs me! To wit:
To me!
That's a big deal. Donald was icing his thumbs between tweets and looked to Jared, his top man for reaching out to special patriots like me.
"Jared, what's it like to rest your cheek between those beautiful mounds of--"
"Mr. President, sir, Dad--"
"Never call me, Dad, jewboy."
"Yes sir, we agreed we'd wouldn't ask that question anymore."
"Fake news. But I know the answer already. It's Sean RomaVicta I'm really concerned about. A man came up to me. Muscular...hairy arms. Muscles. Beautiful muscles. I was whistling Zipadee Doo Dah, but I stopped because this manly character had tears all over his face. He said, Sir, I'm Johnny Sack. You're doing a great job. But there's a patriot we need to communicate with. I stopped rocking back and forth on my heels and leaned at a 35 degree angle to listen more closely."
"How do you know it was 35 degrees, Dad, er sir?"
"My uncle taught degrees at MIT. I know more than most of the Degreeologists. That's what the D in PhD stands for. Most people don't know that. What's it like to---"
"Mr. President."
"Okay, Judas"
"Wrong Jew. I'm Jared. I married your daughter, Ivanka."
"Don't rub it in. Anyway, Johnny is crying. He's a good man. Loyal as a...as a-"
"Dog, sir?"
"No, something else. More like a South Carolina senator. Anyway, we need this Sean RomaVicta guy. He's one of my favorites. Contact him. Get back to me. I'll be in the bunker. Inspecting the bunker."
"Yessir!"
How can I say no?