Friends, voters, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I, Trump, come to bury Sleepy Joe, not to praise him.
The words that men say live after them;
Their deeds are oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Crazy Joe. The noble Kamala
Fears this low-IQ individual is ambitious:
If so, then it is a grievous fault,
And grievously will Slow Joe answer for it.
He will answer to me. I will bury him in ballots.
Here, under leave of Kamala and the rest–
For Kamala is an honourable person;
So are they all, all honourable people–
Come I to speak about Joe’s silence.
He does not say whether he will run again:
And noble Kamala would like to run herself.
I am here to speak what I do know.
I, Donald Trump, will run again for president.
In many ways, I am doing so now.
You all did love me once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, from loving me now?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And people have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is already in the campaign.
And I cannot pause till it come back to me.
– The Trumper (Act 3, Scene 2, lines 73–108)
The Last Laugh:
“Shakespeare was, like, the ultimate rapper.”
– The Onion