From day one, my ballroom, MY ballroom. A petulant child crying for his ballroom. Almost a month later the child coyly admits to the underground complex the shed is covering. All paid for with donations straight from somebody’s pocket, probably tucked into that additional 1.5 trillion dollar defense budget, because the underground playground is his bunker. His refuge in time of war. His hidden military complex, hospital, and I am sure gilded and lavish living quarters.
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