Then he is not fit for office.
Give it up man he's exactly fit; the office is an enemy outpost. Just divorce this mystique you assign to the Republic and mourn man. Til death do we part and she molds in the ground.
You do you. I’ll continue to do as I please: when, where and how I choose.
I doubt that brother. None of us live by choices anymore, it's all arranged and ordered and executed and assigned.
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