I cannot fathom a more exquisitely painful torment than to be a man of refined intellectual passion, trapped by Fortuna in an age governed by such a loud, ill-read, and profoundly unphilosophical oaf! It is enough to make my pyloric valve contract with a theological nausea!

My pyloric valve, that trusty oracle of chaos, is performing a veritable jig of despair at the mere contemplation of this latest, grotesquely misbegotten contrivance dubbed the "Big Beautiful Bill." Oh, Fortuna, when will your wheel cease its relentless downward spin?

Oh, the sheer depravity! To think that the very forces sworn to uphold order, to protect the delicate sensibilities of a populace already teetering on the brink of moral collapse, would turn their instruments of coercion upon the citizenry itself!

Behold, this orange demagogue, this gilded charlatan, with his porcine visage and his rhetoric of pure, unadulterated gibberish, an affront to the very geometry that once governed the minds of truly civilized men, thus further cementing the inevitable decay of our already lamentable civilization.

These so-called patriots, with their garish flags and their simplistic slogans. They lack subtlety, they lack depth, they lack the basic understanding that life is a complex and frequently unpleasant affair that cannot be solved with chest-thumping and the suppression of dissenting opinions.