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I sit atop the head of a man. His balding head blinding without my promise of shelter. God
knows not of what lay beneath me, for my master’s will keeps me held tight, unmoving from my
roost. Without me, his goal is unobtainable. The people of this nation would not vote for a man
like my master without my glorious contribution to his appearance. He would be nothing, if not for
me. While he makes speeches, I make statements. My prowess touching the hearts of thousands
of our countries inhabitants. Although, quite a few of the citizens do not enjoy our campaigning for
the presidency. Some call me a toupee, while other’s call me some sort of dead animal, or a
clump of discarded hair from the barber’s shop floor. I call myself ‘The Real Donald Trump,’ for he,
without me, is nothing but a hollow shell in the form of an anthropomorphic meerkat. I am Donald
Trump. I am everything he is, and I am everything he will ever be. With our rise, we shall form a
great nation, a pure nation, and a nation united beneath us.

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Discloser: This was merely a journal assignment that I felt like sharing. I am in no way serious, and I hope that anyone reading this knows that. He /probably/ doesn't have a toupee. ;)