It's late, and Trump is on the dunny. Trying to squeeze out the week's worth of burgers he's been eating. Thumbing his phone, reading the latest idiocy from his lickspittle followers. Listening to the Goldie Oldie hits on DC radio. Then he has a flash of inspiration...
I have heard that we are all just made up of the turgid miasma of existence. Small little things, bundled together in a wave-particle extravaganza. Which always make me wonder...