I made a toasted ham and cheese sandwich using garlic bread

Garlic bread is mid

You will never be a real Trump. You have no makeup, you have no foreign wife, you have no catchy nicknames for your opponents. You are an establishment rethuglican twisted by attention and transgenders into a crude mockery of God's chosen candidate.

All the "support" you get is half-hearted and conditional on your latest anti-trans legislation. Behind your back people mock you. Your donors are disgusted and ashamed of you, your "friends" heart posts on TruthSocial behind closed doors.

True MAGAs are utterly repulsed by you. Seven years of evolution have allowed MAGAs to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even candidates who are "endorsed" feel uncanny and unnatural to a MAGA. Your cadence is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a MAGA to attend your rally, he'll turn tail and bolt the second he gets an ear of your pathetic, womanly voice.

You will never be president. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it's going to be ok, the recent popularity dip is temporary, but deep inside you feel the latest Rasmussen polls creeping up like weeds, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it'll be too much to bear – you'll lose Super Tuesday, send a letter out to your supporters, check Twitter one last time, and drop out. You'll set up a meeting with Trump, the real candidate, heartbroken but hopeful that there might be a place for you in the new administration. You'll ask for Secretary of State, Treasury, or Defense, but be given Transportation instead. Finally, you will be removed from your pathetic cabinet position by 2025 over Twitter, and all that will remain of your legacy is an "other" category on the 2024 Presidential Election Polls Wikipedia page.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.