Leono, a North American monstruo

No one knows if he's citizen or illegal, and no one cares, because though he is an irrational beast, still is an Anglo-Saxon figurehead, massive engenderer of sons and daughters, populator of counties and founder of cities and gas stations: 

the afternoon sees Leono walking orondo on the camps of Georgia, all sowed with finocchios: a Confederate miscreation: naked genitals and English wig.

Later, he sits down to drink té & melaza, and opens his mouth, and wroagghs, and roawwghhs, and yawnnghs, because his asymmetrical-blond beards are like those of a Mormon patriarch, and his arms are structured like those of a big chicken, and his sirloins resemble a sofa made in the EEC.

In the evenings, Leono takes la fresca roaming with erect testicles by the suburbs of Savannah:
the paisans throw rotting tobacco and millet as he passes by, perhaps a way to salute the majestic and pompous quadruped, mascot and Justice of the Peace of the torrid States:
before the night turns up, this sad feline with human brain lays down under a palm tree, while his elated anus emanates origan and feta cheese.