I’ll start with a poem, which is a complete work of fiction and not based on any real people or actual events. And by the way, what is formatting anyway?
The President’s Difficult Morning
The President had got out of the wrong side of bed. He should have tried the top end instead. He actually headed south to the depths of his covers, And was only rescued by the kindness of others. The maid found him trapped, tangled up in a sheet. She knew he was there because of his feet, Which stuck out the top, one adorned with his wig, While the rest of him thrashed about like a pig Stuck in a barrel and making a sound Like a cross between a seagull and an overexcited bloodhound. When released from his bed he turned on his saviour And said “don’t for a minute think this has earned you a favour. For I am The Donald and the best I can do, Is to send my thoughts and prayers to you”. With that he dismissed her in a manner most rude Not helped by the fact he was entirely nude, Except for the wig which now sat on his head. He had found it as he escaped from his bed And plonked it on with a curse and a grunt But hadn’t yet noticed it was on back to front. At breakfast this mattered not a jot. He only had coffee with cream, just a spot. But at his first meeting he became increasingly certain That someone had erected a blond, horsehair curtain Somewhere between his desk and his eyes Which resulted in him having a terrible surprise. He was scratching his nuts, alone in his chair, When he heard a small cough, there was somebody there! He peered through the thick strands blocking his vision. He could see a blurred figure so he made a decision. “Who is that?” he shouted feeling all harassed. “It’s me” came the reply, clearly embarrassed. While not the quickest, he wasn’t so dense As to not recognise the Secretary for Defence. “What do you want Stan, I’m having a bad day. Can’t you see someone’s hung a curtain in my way?” Stan was perplexed by the sight of The President Looking like an enraged Monkey House resident. “I'm sorry Sir but there’s been a cyber attack. We think it’s the Russians behind the hack.” The Donald turned away revealing the back of his head Which sported a fringe, “errr Mr President” Stan said. “What’s this cyber nonsense you’re rabbiting about?” The President spun round, he’d started to shout. “Those Russians will regret this hack, whack attack. The only thing for it is to hack, whack them back.” “So your orders, Mr President” Stan said to the wig “Will have repercussions, which could be quite big”. “Get on with it man” came the response. “I shouldn’t have to say things any more than once.” Stan looked at the man with his wig over his face, And thought to himself is this the finest member of the human race We could have elected to be Commander in Chief? Who looks like he’d be more comfortable eating a leaf Or a banana, a plum or peach We would have been better with something washed up on a beach. Like a crab or a turd or an old palm tree frond, Or whatever crawled out of the bottom of a pond. He sighed to himself and walked out of the room With his orders provided by a wig wearing buffoon. And The President sat back down and continued to stare Intently into his back to front hair. He was sure the liberal elite were behind this diversion. Then he closed his eyes and slept behind his hair curtain.