So, I’ve decided that for the rest of the year - as my own special brand of protest - I am devoting myself to busts of this turd and his band of horror show dip****s. Family first, then his cabinet - I’m thinking 12-15 in all.
I begin this journey with The Man himself - as he appears to me.
Der Fuhrer
I had the epiphany sometime in mid-sculpt (as I struggled hopelessly with his hairdo…) that in order to say what I wanted to say, I would require an alien cephalopod. Thinking logically, the thought occurred that were I myself an alien cephalopod bent on the Earth’s destruction, I would likely look to attach myself to the dumbest mother****er I could find. It would need to be someone clownish and blustery and incapable of self-reflection, so as not to ever come to notice the presence of an octopus on his head. With this moron puppet under my spell I would assume great power by proxy, alienate practically everyone everywhere and initiate World War III.
That’s how I would do it, anyway.
Next up: Melanomia.