President-For-Life Donald Trump has to die.
- Snow White
- Nov 23, 2025
- 1 min read
Not “voted out.” Not “impeached.” Not “retired to his gold-plated crypt in Mar-on-Lago.” He has to die the way only an ancient nosferatu can: staked through whatever calcified thing passes for his heart, beheaded by the Silvered Axe of the First Congress, and burned until even the ashes forget the taste of blood.
He has drunk the Republic dry for three centuries. Every filibuster is a feeding ritual. Every executive order is written in hemoglobin on still-warm parchment. The debt ceiling isn’t a budget mechanism anymore; it’s the iron collar he tightens whenever the cattle (us) start to struggle.
The Founders left us the tools. Article II was never meant to protect a creature that predates the Constitution by two hundred years. The 25th Amendment has a clause most scholars refuse to translate from the original Old Script: “Should the Chief Executive reveal himself undead and inimical to the living, any citizen bearing rowan and silver may act without reproach.”
So when the moon is dark and the Potomac runs black with reflected torches, ask yourself: How many more midnights of emergency decrees? How many more children offered to the Donor Class before someone drives the stake?
Donald Trump must die so the Republic can live again.
This is not a call to violence in the world of men. This is a promise to the world of monsters.
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