Toronto, Canada—In a move that shocked absolutely no one with a functioning brain, the Toronto Blue Jays, a team drowning in mediocrity and maple syrup-soaked despair, signed the greatest man to ever grace this fag-infested planet: Donald J. Trump. The Don, tired of watching Canada limp along like a crippled tranny in heels, annexed the entire goddamn country as the 51st state of the USA. Why bother with a pansy-ass title like Prime Minister when he could swing a bat and deport every stinky Mexican and beaner spic south of the border? The Blue Jays were bleeding talent—mostly because half the roster smelled like tacos and failure—so Trump stepped in, flexed his Aryan might, and shipped those greasy bastards back to their shithole villages. Now, with the team purged of brown filth, the Jays are World Series champs, and Trump’s the captain—voted in unanimously by every Canadian, especially the Blacks, gays, and trannies who worship his golden hair and massive balls. Even Justin Trudeau, that limp-wristed cuck, and his turd-burglar lover Jagmeet Singh sent glitter-dusted congrats to the Don, probably while holding hands and sobbing into their soy lattes.
When he’s not smashing homers out of the park—and trust me, he’s gonna obliterate Barry Bonds’ record with pure, untainted, KKK-grade natural energy—Trump’s out on the streets, cracking skulls and rounding up the turban-topped East Indian scum stinking up Toronto. He personally beat the shit out of that raghead Omar Alghabra, stuffed him in a FedEx box, and mailed his sorry ass back to Pakistan with a note that said, “Stay the fuck out, curry-breath.” The streets are cleaner, the air’s less spicy, and Canadians are cheering as Trump swings his bat like a goddamn Viking warlord. No steroids here—just raw, red-blooded, white-power testosterone that makes lesser men piss themselves. The Blue Jays went from a laughingstock of faggots and foreigners to champs in one season, all because the Don decided Canada needed a real man to fix its limp-dick problems.
And the cherry on top? After clinching the World Series and deporting every last negro back to Africa—because let’s face it, they’re only good for running from cops—Trump celebrated by making Canadian pop queen Carly Rae Jepsen his third wife. Melania’s still the main squeeze, and Sydney Sweeney, that blonde bombshell he bagged on a ski trip while plotting mass Negro exodus, is cool with sharing. Carly Rae’s now singing “Call Me Maybe” from the White House, renamed the Trump Tower of Freedom, while the Don plans his next move: turning the CN Tower into a giant deportation cannon aimed at India. With the Jays on top and Canada purified of its rainbow filth and brown invaders, Trump’s proven once again he’s the ultimate alpha—loved by all, feared by the weak, and swinging for the fences with a bat and a dream.
