Arrr! Tuberculosis be makin' a comeback, matey, as Trump’s treasure chest runs dry, messin' up the cure seas!
2025-03-11
Arrr, Dalvin Modore tiptoed 'round his humble plot as if treadin' on a sea of shattered rum bottles! His trousers be hangin' looser than a ship’s sail in a calm, clutched tight to avoid a wardrobe disaster. This scallywag's cough be so fierce, it be coughin’ up treasure!
Ahoy mateys! Gather round as I spin ye a yarn 'bout a landlubber named Dalvin Modore, a scrawny soul treadin' lightly as if the very ground be strewn with shards of glass, lest it stab his tender feet! This poor chap be a sight to behold, with trousers hangin' looser than a ship's sail in a calm sea, holdin' 'em up with all his might whilst he scuttles 'round his wee farm in the wilds of western Kenya.At the ripe age of 40, this lanky lad be weighin’ in at a mere 110 pounds, lookin’ as frail as a shipwrecked sailor in a storm! He’s been cursed with a cough so fierce it could scare a kraken, and there be times he spews forth blood like a pirate who's had one too many rum rations. Poor Dalvin be gripped by a fear that this foul disease, tuberculosis they call it, might send him to Davy Jones' locker before his time.
In his desperation, he’s been a-wantin’ for the magical elixir that be the medication to treat his plight. So here’s to ye, Dalvin, may the winds of fortune fill yer sails and guide ye to better days ahead! Arrr!