The prospectus sounds great:
Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries sheBut, huddled masses, please note:
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
- That golden door opens onto a crooked billionaire 's penthouse and is strictly off limit to bums like you.
- Only kidding about the storied pomp - we're totally cool with that stuff.
- Just in case you start getting any ideas, the golden door is guarded by these two characters and they ain't letting nobody in:
Now go back where you came from, losers, we got a wall to build.
Image credit for the image worth crediting.
Image credit for the image worth crediting.
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