“You know, JD’s a real guy—grew up with Safeway, Mountain Dew, and whatever those people in Rainier Valley love,” Trump said, gesturing animatedly. “That’s a real place, JD! Not some fancy neighborhood. I came from Queens, and it wasn’t Park Avenue either. Rainier Valley Safeway tilapia is like Queens deli bologna—humble, but tremendous! People love it.

And JD’s like that tilapia: affordable, everywhere, and people can’t get enough of him. Tremendous background, just tremendous! And have you seen his eyeliner? Amazing! The proles love it.”

JD forced a smile, his eyes darting toward the press corps, where he was sure someone was already drafting headlines like “VP Safeway: Trump’s Backhanded Compliment of the Century.” He nodded politely, knowing any rebuttal would only dig the hole deeper.

“Look, JD’s not one of those snobs,” Trump continued, leaning into the microphone. “He’s not some Manhattan elite with a fancy education. Well, he has that ‘Juris Doctor,’ but we don’t hold that against him! This guy understands proles. He’s the Prole VP. He’s our VP. And ADM loves him—they really do. Great company, tremendous corn, by the way. But more importantly, he gets Rainier Valley Safeway tilapia deals—he lived it. That’s why he’s perfect for this role.”

Later that night, reflecting on Trump’s words, JD sat alone in the VP residence, staring at his newly unveiled portrait. It depicted him standing stiffly in an ADM cornfield, the golden arches of McDonald’s faintly visible on the horizon. The inscription beneath read: “JD Vance: Vice President of Seattle’s Safeway.”

He leaned closer, trying to convince himself that the golden light around him wasn’t a subtle nod to the waffle grid of Clause 7.6. His eyes, rimmed with the eyeliner that had somehow become a national meme, stared back at him like a stranger.

He whispered into the stillness of the room:

“Truman rebuilt Europe. LBJ passed the Civil Rights Act. And me? I’m the VP of Seattle’s Safeway, riding a corn harvester down Pennsylvania Avenue. Yes, friend. This is fine.”

The thought lingered as he poured himself a glass of Mountain Dew. Somewhere deep inside, he could hear his internal Evan39 voice whisper: “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

In the distance, the soft hum of the Mahchine™ was punctuated by a server pinging in the West Wing: ADM had just filed another lease under Clause 7.6.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5638251&forum_id=2#48366986)