Four More Years (of What, Exactly?) - A Hudibrastic Satire

For fun, I asked Google Gemini to write a piece satirizing Trump’s second term like Samuel Butler’s Houdibras. Here’s its work finished in a matter of seconds.

Four More Years (of What, Exactly?) - A Hudibrastic Satire

Incipit: A tale of times, not long ago, 

When orange hue did overflow, 

And Capitol, that sturdy dome, 

Became a White House, far from home.

Our hero, Trump, with golden hair, 

(A wig, some said, beyond compare,) 

Did stride again, with mighty boast, 

To lead the electoral host. 

His steed, a golf cart, swift and grand, 

Across the verdant, manicured land.

With trusty Pence, his squire so meek, 

(Whose loyalty, both mild and sleek, 

No shadow of ambition marred, 

But ever to his chief, he starred, 

And nodded, with a constant smile, 

Through every twist and turning mile.) 

They sought to right what they deemed wrong, 

With tweets and rallies, loud and strong.

The Democrats, a motley crew, 

With policies both strange and new, 

Did gnash their teeth, and rend their clothes, 

(A sight that certainly bestows 

A sense of chaos and despair, 

Upon the very atmosphere.) 

Their leader, one with fiery eyes, 

Who promised pies in future skies, 

And spoke of "woke" with fervent tone, 

Declared the White House as their own.

But Trump, with rhetoric so bold, 

A narrative of lies untold, 

Did rally forth his loyal base, 

With claims of fraud, and stolen race. 

"The votes!" he cried, "they disappeared! 

A plot by those I long have feared! 

The Deep State's hand, in shadows cast, 

Has rigged the game, from first to last!"

Then came the lawyers, in their suits, 

With arguments of twisted roots, 

And affidavits, piled up high, 

That stretched the truth, and reached the sky. 

They spoke of Kraken, and of schemes, 

Of ballot boxes, filled with dreams 

(Or nightmares, as it might appear, 

To those who held the process dear).

The courts, with patience wearing thin, 

Did try to make some sense begin, 

Amongst the clamor and the noise, 

Of angry mobs, and shouting boys. 

They weighed the evidence with care, 

And found the claims had little air, 

But still, the faithful did believe, 

The tales their leader did conceive.

And so, the term, it staggered on,

 A circus where the truth was gone. 

Each day a tweet, a fresh outrage, 

A casting of the public stage, 

With villains, heroes, in the plot, 

(Though which was which, was often not 

Entirely clear, to those who sought 

Some clarity, or sober thought.)

The virus raged, a fearsome beast, 

While Trump declared, "It has decreased! 

Just drink some bleach, a magic cure, 

And soon, you'll all be feeling pure!" 

The scientists, with furrowed brow, 

Explained the facts, but little how 

Their words could pierce the wall of pride, 

That did the leader's thoughts preside.

The world looked on, with mixed surprise, 

At this grand show, before their eyes. 

Some shook their heads, in sad dismay, 

While others cheered, in wild array. 

And pondered, with a troubled mind, 

What fate awaited humankind.

Finis: Thus ends the tale, a satire's sting, 

Of power's grasp, and folly's wing. 

A warning bell, for all to hear, 

Of what may come, in future year, 

If wisdom's voice is drowned and lost, 

In echoes of a leader's boast.