Little Baby Man Has Lost His Mojo!

Little Baby Man, he's not sleeping well, he hasn't slept well in a long time. He never exercises, he eats fast-food, processed crap, his body is big, bloated, unwieldy, unhealthy, a seething, ugly gas-bag. He wakes up with a start, an uneasy nap interrupted by a deep, unholy snore, snoring like a diseased, asthmatic pig. He stumbles over to the mirror. He has transformed. He squints and sees Harvey Weinstein. No, that can't be right. He looks closer. No. Not Weinstein, still just Little Baby Man. But something is different. Little Baby Man has entered a new phase of life. He is a toxic plague, a noxious-cloud of poison, he is radioactive, human paraquat, a bulbous bag of jet-trash. All his hate, vulgarity, ignorance, racism, grandiosity, all his lies have backed up and turned inward. Little Baby Man has lost his Mojo. He is having a bad hair decade. His hair is a live, ugly animal. His hair is viscious, always angry too. Little Baby Man is actually bald on top, just like his father, but his hideous comb-over owns his fat-boy ass, he is a slave to his comb-over. What of today? Little Baby Man has to get ready for another day. Days of hate. He knows, deep in his fat, bulging, diseased heart that everyone really hates him, just as he hates them. It is a love-fest of hate. Tillerson. The son of Tiller. What did he say, "Fucking Moron?" You couldn't actually have that carved on a headstone, could you?