And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, "I need a shitposter." So God made a meme farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, make memes, work all day in the salt mines, make memes again, eat supper and then go online and stay past midnight at a meeting of thedonald.win." So God made a meme farmer.

"I need somebody with posts strong enough to rustle a libtard and yet gentle enough to deliver his own pedes. Somebody to call bullshit, tame cantankerous Bernie bros, come home hungry, have to wait for lunch until his wife's done feeding visiting lady pedes and tell the ladies to be sure and come back real soon -- and mean it." So God made a meme farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a popular meme format. And watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say, 'Four more years.' I need somebody who can deliver an ass whooping to Antifags, smash BLM with a hunk of car tire, who can make rioters into cripples, dead pedos and crying soy boys. And who, campaigning time and election season, will finish his forty-hour week by Tuesday noon, then, pain'n from 'dot win,' put in another seventy-two hours." So God made a meme farmer.

God had to have somebody willing to post the memes at double speed to get the salt in ahead of the fake news and yet stop in mid-field and race to upvote when he sees the first smoke from a neighbor's shitposts. So God made a meme farmer.

God said, "I need somebody strong enough to clear riots and fill jails, yet gentle enough to red pill the masses and own libs and taunt the pussy-hat feminists, who will stop his mower for an hour to splint the broken spirit of a doomer. It had to be somebody who'd search deep and wide and not cut corners. Somebody to post, roast, boast, toast and upvote and deport and block and report and tie the Wallace knot and strain the net and replenish the salt mines and finish a hard week's work with a five-mile drive to church.

"Somebody who'd bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of MAGA, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend his life 'doing what dad does.'" So God made a meme farmer.