Bleary-eyed, I scraped some of the burnt crumbs off my toast this morning, then slapped on a dab of peanut butter and, lo and behold . . . a Christmas Miracle!
Is it the Virgin Mary? Jesus himself? Scraps of bread and gnarly root vegetables bearing holy images go for big bucks on eBay, and who can’t use some extra cash around the holidays?
No. It was none other than Donald Trump, and the message was clear . . . .
Trump is toast. Merry Christmas.