By the time they realized the wrong choice had been made, it was too late. The fear of putting eggs in a true basket had led to the rise of a false façade. A cardboard cutout. It was becoming damp and flimsy. I decided to prop it up by offering myself as a buttress. I am grossly overqualified to be a buttress, we all know. First, we will prop him up. Second, we will elect him. Third, I will pave the avenue for the slow-moving bus of his demise. The true leader, she will emerge, finally.
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"Classic"
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