Politics - News Analysis

MAGAs Are Saying That Barron Trump Is the Second Coming of Caesar or Alexander the Great and It’s Really Weird

This is a weird one.

With everything going on in their dear leader Donald’s life, Trumpers are desperate for a distraction, I guess. It must be hard to see your cult leader about to be convicted on dozens and dozens of felony charges, especially after having seen him already found liable for fraud, rape, and defamation just in the last few months.

So what’s a ragtag group of misfit MAGAs to do? Well, perhaps they’re looking to the future, because they have taken up a very weird hobby.

They’re comparing pictures side by side and even superimposed of Trump’s youngest child, Barron, to ancient world leaders. They’ve gone in with Alexander the Great, Caesar, and “faces on Roman coins” that they insist he looks identical to.

Strange, right? First of all, looking like someone is in no way similar to being like that person, so the whole thing seems like a fruitless exercise.

But secondly, literally no one knows anything about him except what he looks like and that he is the progeny of Donald Trump.

If heredity is any indicator, he’s more likely to be bound for prison like his dad than to become a world-conquering mastermind.

Nevertheless, here they are:

But what? WHAT is there to think about? The earliest Barron Trump could run for president is 20 years from now, and with any luck, by then the name Trump will be a stain on the underpants of history.

Besides, it’s hard to believe that his mother would ever let him be groomed for a life of politics, after what she’s been through with her husband. For all her faults, she knows that Donald is a twit and never had any business being the leader of the free world.

It’s unimaginable that she would allow their only child together to go through the same thing, or even remotely be happy if Barron actually turned out anything like her husband, who we just can’t understand why she hasn’t left yet.

meet the author

Andrew is a dark blue speck in deep red Central Washington, writing with the conviction of 18 years at the keyboard and too much politics to even stand. When not furiously stabbing the keys on breaking news stories, he writes poetry, prose, essays, haiku, lectures, stories for grief therapy, wedding ceremonies, detailed instructions on making doughnuts from canned biscuit dough (more sugar than cinnamon — duh), and equations to determine the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow. A girlfriend, a dog, two cats, and two birds round out the equation, and in his spare time, Drewbear likes to imagine what it must be like to have spare time.

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