I can smell the Opposition.
The Opposition is petty, always ready to give a nickel or a dime, acting like being the victim is the crime.
The Opposition rolls its eyes.
The Opposition is dangerously misled, superiority god complex voodoo on a good china plate with butter and beans.
The Opposition doesn’t dance as well as we do.
The Opposition doesn’t know how things really are on the street, or the mansion front hall, or the corridors of power, or the power lines that criss-cross the skies of this land.
The Opposition flaunts its dead-eye jacket, wearing the sweat and blood of millions as though it were finest silk. And it is.
The Opposition uses big words just to sound smart.
The Opposition cannot be bothered to wipe the smirk off its face while wiping its ass with the sacred principles of mediocrity.
There is no Opposition. I command the Lord God Almighty at this time to wipe the Opposition from the pocked face of creation. (God hates the Opposition.)
With these hands, I will crush the larynx of the Opposition, I will wring the screams from its throat like blood from a rag, and leave a crumbled corpse in a heap on the floor of the marketplace.
I will plant a sign in the guts that reads, “You must be as tall as this sign to ride the Opposition.”