The Trump Tapes

〉By Ava Penner | GUEST CONTRIBUTOR and Nate Odenkirk | STAFF CONTRIBUTOR

Donald looked down at his shoes, newly polished, sleek like the hair of his first unrequited love. He breathed in the sultry Texas air.

He was here to give a speech about why he cared about the illegal children on the border (or something). Something that would help him seem like a better person. But this morning felt off… why wasn’t Melania standing behind him? She’d stepped out of the jet in front of him today, and while her ass did look fantastic in that skirt, he didn’t feel the need to grab her. Instead, he felt insulted, heated, wronged. No, none of these were the right word but he couldn’t quite think of how he felt right then.

The pensive Donald stepped from his plane and walked down onto the sweltering tarmac, his baggy pant cuffs caressing the heels of his shoes.  Don’t mess with Texas, don’t mess with Texas, don’t mess with Texas. You are going to say ‘Don’t mess with Texas.’ Don laughed to himself, proud he could think of something people said in reference to the state, but mostly just proud of himself. Donald knew what made him laugh, and he loved to laugh.

donald-trump

Donald sat back in his SUV and checked his Twitter. One headline read:

“War has broken out in Sudan, hundreds of protesters raped and murdered…Women, whose bodies have been taken for sport, have their underwear placed high in the streets, as if the evil act should be celebrated.”

Who would do such a thing? So much horrible pain in this world, he mused. I am truly the luckiest man in the world, leading a life of such wealth. Wealth as in business success, of course, but also to be surrounded by friends and family that loved him so dearly. At least it’s just happening in Africa.

Donald was lost in thought. Finally he decided to draft something himself… he felt superior that day. By now, the buzz from the Diet Coke had made him forget his wife jilting him earlier. And he’d just had his orange skin re-painted; his hair was soft and yellow like a field of daisies or a can of gently used Crisco.

Donald tweets,

“In the ultimate act of moral cowardice, not one Democrat Candidate for president – not a single one – has stood up to defend the incredible men and women of ICE and Border Patrol. They don’t have the character, the virtue, or the spine! #Trump2020!!”

And then,

“Don’t mess with TEXAS!!”

 There, that was nice. A valiant effort to make the world a bit, just a bit better.

What can I do? I am but one man! Donald said out loud. A god-fearing gentleman, he was humbled daily by both the monumental challenges ahead of him, but also for the faith his supporters had placed in him two short years ago. He crumpled an empty Diet Coke can in his hands.

His eyes flicked up Melania’s legs, long and Slovenian. She was ignoring him as usual. Donald knew that the longer they didn’t speak, the nicer Melania would act in public. That’s what they had agreed to on their wedding day, and it proved to be steadfast.

It had been a week since they’d made eye contact, so if his calculations were right, which they often were, if he ignored her for another two weeks she would potentially let him hold her hand briefly in front of cameras.

I just want my dear Melania to be happy. Trump frowned as he harkened back to the days before his presidency, when he and Melania tried their very best to be model parents for their sweet boy, Baron T. Those were simpler times.

Don’s eyes soon glazed over and he lost himself to the thought of a time when he could dance in front of a mirror naked to Rachmonninov’s Suite no. 3 for Clarinet and not have to shield himself from his own eyes in a stance like the Birth of Venus. He had almost drifted off when the car stopped suddenly. They were there.

All 50,000 seats in the area had sold out months before. The people were excited to hear from the dear leader—what vision will he have for the future? How can he lead such a massive, divided nation? The Don, of course, had answers to all of these questions, and he was very excited to tell his supporters his vision of hope and unity. He approached the lectern, aware of his fragility, aware of his shortcomings. Donald adjusted his mic as he beamed at his cheering fans. He began—

We aren’t going to be messing around –completely—with Texas, right folks!?!

The crowd roared. They love me! ♦