Trump National Cemetery | Sheneman

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It’s a sunny Saturday in late July. You stroll through the bucolic splendor of central Jersey’s finest fascist-owned golf course in anticipation of watching golfers you’ve never heard of, and Phil Mickelson, smash monster records while bass remixes heavy pops blare from the ubiquitous speaker towers. In your hand is an overpriced hot dog and a lukewarm Budweiser as you watch the world’s 260th-ranked player sink his tee shot forty yards deep in the woods of Bedminster. Climate change has pushed the heat index to one hundred and ten degrees, but your blood-red MAGA cap shields your forehead from the scorching sun. You paid two dollars on Stubhub to get in. America is really great again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an unassuming, recently plowed patch of land adorned with a modest slate-black marker. It’s a tombstone. It reads: “Ivana Trump, February 20, 1949 – July 14, 2022”. Atop the grave is a white bouquet that appears to have been purchased on clearance at Michael’s Art and Craft. You suddenly realize that this is the final resting place of Donald Trump’s first wife, the aforementioned Ivana. A red-winged blackbird chirps in the hickories, in the distance Marjorie Taylor Green laughs.

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