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| The Bigly Apple | Started by: DonaldTrump on Aug 01, '17 10:09 |
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People, people, settle down! What a group today, huh? This crowd is insatiable! I thought I’d seen it all – from Newark to San Diego – but you people are something else, believe me. I think I know why, too. We’re not just anywhere today, folks, we’re not just in any old place. No run-down, junkie-littered, Podunk town. This isn’t Gary, Indiana. This isn’t Joe, Montana. This town’s got more than one horse – this town’s got horses up the wazoo! You’ve never seen so many horses! We’re talking about New York, people. The greatest city on earth, and I’ve seen ‘em all! There isn’t anywhere better, I’ve asked everybody there is to ask; geographers, astronomers, cartographers, the foremost experts of natural curiosities and they all agree, they all tell me, ‘Donald, that city of yours is just unbelievable, a wonder of the world!’. They can’t stop themselves, they just keep talking. Do you know how many times I’ve had to yawn to end a conversation with a guy who draws maps for a living? Socially-starved, those people. Personae non gratae, if you know what I’m saying. But at least you can end it; at least you can walk away. Get an astronomer started on true meridian, and it’s like hibernating through a conversational winter. I wanted to blow my freakin’ brains out. Blow it out like freakin’ New York, baby! We do it as bigly as we can. I’ve got a pants guy who tailors the waist on my khakis so high, I could hold ‘em up with my chin if I took my belt off. He’ll kick you back out on the curb if you wanted it any lower. That’s New York! You ever worn a belt around your chest? Most people don’t know where my legs end and my body starts. It’s a mystery; nobody gets a read on old Donny boy. That’s one of my secrets, you know? One of the keys to my horrific success. Somebody told me once, I’m more of an open letter than a closed book. I’m pretty sure it was a compliment; I only ever get compliments. And who doesn’t love letters? I get so many, I’ve got my Left Hand reading them to my Right Hand, who reads them to me in words I understand. I like to listen to the common man, the common tongue; the coal-country slang, the blue-collar twang. The streets of Manhattan are filled with the common man. My streets. My people. That’s New York for you. Our casinos are run by Turkish men in kitchen cellars, not lit up in neon on the Strip in Vegas. Our pizza is flat and cheesy, not like Chicago, where the deep dish resembles the texture of my thighs. And Philly might have cheesesteaks, but we’ve got pastrami on rye, so who’s missing out? There isn’t an unbigly thing about New York city and I dare anyone to name one place biglier. |
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