Donald Trump is the Most Masculine Man Alive!

 (By Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American)

I've been friends with Donald Trump since 1980, or back when he was paying Polish workers minimum wage to add stories onto Trump Tower. And he just seems to get more and more masculine as time wears on. At his rallies and press gaggles, he shouts and growls and gyrates behind his podiums like a real man. There is nothing even remotely feminine about him.

    Back in the 80s and 90s, both before and during The Apprentice, I'd personally witnessed him dangling passports and visas at young females of varying ages in the doorways of hotel rooms whereupon the women would abruptly disappear and screams of obvious delight would come from behind the door.

     Oh, if only more men in America were as hyper-masculine as Donald Trump! Every war he'd start in violation of every international treaty would be over in a matter of hours. We can only hope SecWar Pete Hegseth can make more headway in that regard, that is, if he can manage more than one pull-up.

     So, of course, liberal pinheads like the proprietor of this left wing sewer of a blog are making merry over the fact that the president openly and repeatedly admires the posterior of Sen. Jon Husted. Husted, a firm and fit 59, is an example of a man who ages gracefully. A former player on the Dayton Flyers during the 80s, the junior senator from Ohio is also a man who believes in staying fit.

    JD Vance's appointed replacement is certainly a sight to behold so it doesn't surprise me that the president, who scrutinizes the body of every person, male or female, that he deems attractive, would notice the senator's rear end. And that just goes to show how macho the president is, that he's secure enough in his masculinity to admire the gluteous maximus of a man nearly in his 60s.

     Now, as campaign manager for the Bovino presidential campaign, I can tell you that Greg Bovino has a tight, well-toned posterior, although I would never think to call attention to it in public. But even though I am a man and proud of it, I'm not quite as secure in my masculinity as my friend Donald. It's that masculine security that allowed him while on the campaign trail to repeatedly call attention to the gigantic genitalia of the late Arnold Palmer. (It was said that his member required so much blood to achieve full tumescence that Palmer would sometimes faint).

     

     Now, my kid brother Cecil, as manly a man as you'll ever meet outside of a junior high playground, is also possessed of security in his masculinity. This is why he has absolutely no problem with admiring the rear ends of other football players, provided they're of the younger persuasion (Say, Pop Warner).

    This, unfortunately, led to a misguided nation-wide Pop Warner ban on my brother after his ceaseless but well-meaning attempts to get himself appointed as a locker room attendant. To this day, he's not allowed within 100 yards of a Pop Warner football field during game days.

    

     Now, that there is the very essence of manliness: A man wearing half a pound of makeup with meticulously well-coiffed hair, canoodling with a bona fide war hero. Could well-oiled Greco-Roman wrestling in the Lincoln Bedroom be far behind?