Politics - News Analysis

Trump Becomes a Laughing Stock as He Shows Up in Giant Untailored Suit: ‘He Has to Hide the Diaper Outline’

We've long suspected, but now it seems others are catching on too.

Donald Trump has long been a master of hiding his flaws. Not well, of course — that’s why this is being written.

Sure, there have been plenty of faked pictures: Him crapping his pants at the golf course, him with a pile of boxes of speed behind him in the Oval Office. But this one looks pretty real, to be honest.

It’s pictures and footage of him at an event where he’s wearing a suit so big, it looks like he’s hiding something.

Whether it’s drugs, or his weight, or an actual load of doody, we may never know. But it was the latter that people seemed to be focused on. Specifically, that he was hiding a diaper under his clothes.

“He has to hide the diaper outline,” said one, while another said “Dude just walks around in some flowing curtains.”

Really, that’s no surprise, honestly. His vanity gets the best of him, but he sure leaves here in style.

One said, “I’ve never seen someone with money wear such c* wrinkly unkempt clothing. That particular shade of blue is rather horrid as well.” “I’ve decided he only owns that one suit and I don’t want to think about what it must smell like at this point #TrumpIsAFelon,” said another.

Still others thought that perhaps Trump had actually sh*t himself:

One person wrote, “There’s something going on with that right leg. He had to pull himself up and then push off to swing it around. Oh and yes, terrible tailoring.” Another said, “He either has a Stiff Leg Syndrome, or he soiled himself and it’s running down his leg. Probably both.”

Honestly, my guess is that he’s simply an awkward dude, who has never had to interact with other humans in any meaningful way.

That’ll wreck you for a good long time, if you’re not careful. After all, we all need to be reminded of our humanity once in a while. Except for Donald John Trump. He’s royalty, after all. Can you not see the big “T” on his cape?

If not for the unhinged sh*tshow supervisor, we’d have no spectacle.

Social media had a field day:

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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