Trump decided to attend the NBA Finals Game 3,
James Dolan invited him, so he got in for free.
The cheapest tickets were four grand,
So few regular folks were in the stands,
But Trump said — monarchically — “Let them watch it on TV.”
All the “third-rate artists” bailed, so now it’s all up to Don,
But Trump is a consummate performer who is taking the baton.
He says he’s bigger than Elvis Presley,
So he’ll turn the 250 party into a political rally,
And one thing we know, no matter how lame, the Trump Show MUST go on.
Just a mile from the airport, the FAA’s concerned about its height,
Though the agency has determined that it presents no danger to flights.
The 259-foot Arc du Trump monstrosity —
A monument to his narcissism and pomposity —
Will be even uglier with a set of blinking red aviation obstruction lights.
That disgraced George Santos thinks he’s pretty cagey,
Betting the prediction markets when he’s feeling wagery.
Maybe he will, maybe he won’t,
Maybe he’ll do, maybe he’ll don’t,
So we’ll take an event contract he’ll end up in jail — on Kalshi.
When Peter Thiel and Don Jr. funded the Enhanced Games, they had one hope:
That Olympic-level athletes would perform better when competing on dope.
But world records went unbroken
And Pete and Donnie took a soakin’,
Now they’re stuck, sliding down that slippery, money-losing transhumanism slope.
From Trump’s “stolen election” lies, we can’t get no relief,
He carps on about stolen votes, but he never names the thief.
Somebody needs to tell this guy
Americans aren’t buying his lies,
And that he’s turned us into the United States of Disbelief.
