While attempting to help a coworker think of the name for “that tree that starts with the letter ‘M’ and has all those large, twisting roots up near the surface,” I came up with a sure-fire entrepreneurial endeavor involving an adult-themed all-male revue.
Picture, if you will, a murky club filled with twisting tendrils of fog machine smoke, yards of synthetic old man’s beard draped over every nook and cranny, and a center stage reminiscent of Swamp Thing’s lair. Suddenly, the music changes, the verdigris-tinged spotlights swing toward the stage, and a group of scantily clad, faux-camouflaged male dancers ascend on a pneumatic platform as the announcer blares, Ladies and one-in-ten gentlemen, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for, so put away your bug spray and relax your vajayjays as our cast of grotto gods officially welcomes you to…The Man Grove!!!
I bet Trump would get behind it. (As it were.)