An Explanation for his American Rule
[Tosses cellphone across the room, where it lands on the patterned, tufted couch. Stomping toward the Resolute Desk, where scant work has been done for the American people in the last three and a half years, he squeezes into the chair, glances at the corner where his predecessor had once, irreverently and disrespectfully placed his feet.]
You remember 2008? I do. That’s when Cheatin’ Obama got to be president. He wasn’t right for the job. I have my reasons for thinking that. You probably have reasons. Maybe they’re the same, maybe they’re different. But I’ve got mine. I knew from the start that he could never command the respect of this country. He wasn’t what you all said he was: intelligent, eloquent, handsome, monogamous; well, he might have been all that, but there was more to him.
The Cheater was mean. Mean like a hungry dog. That night when he taunted me. Taunted me ruthlessly and bigly at that press thing. You know, I used to be fine in a room surrounded by press people. There are a few good ones out there, I’ll admit, I’ll admit. But, that night, when Cheatin’ started mocking me—and they all laughed—it was in that moment that I knew. I knew in looking at him that anyone could be president. If he could, why not me?
Some of you might know that I did run, for a short time, way back in the day, twenty years ago—you know, between Marla and Melania—now that’s an image, huh?
I’ll admit that I wasn’t really into the Reform Party or kissing babies and running all over the fly-over states. Plus, I was smart. I knew that I needed more people to know Donald J. Trump. Sure, I was very well known in Manhattan real estate, I was like the king of it—still am, but outside of the Big Apple, maybe not quite as popular. So, when NBC came knocking, I used the power of television to my advantage. Thirteen seasons of The Apprentice made me a household name. Who thought that putting an end to the dreams of all those young entrepreneurs with the simple and fatal phrase, “You’re fired” would make me revered and envied for my power to destroy?
But destruction, the very destruction that so many, many of you believe is my only goal in life, was never my intention.
You remember that afternoon, in June, five years ago, when I glided down the escalator to a podium with my last name across the front to tell the world how I could beat China, Japan, ISIS, and Mexico? America was a dumping ground for other countries’ criminals and rapists and other imported problems. A wall would keep out the thugs. And I knew a thing or two about building stuff. A wall would be easy. I told the world how I was tired watching America get beat in war and in trade. The GDP report back then was less than zero. How is that possible?
Americans were out of work but the press said that unemployment was low. That wasn’t accurate. How can you trust numbers that are lies? In my tower’s opulent lobby, I told it like it was: America’s enemies getting stronger and stronger by the day, and Obama did nothing to show our military strength. America was the greatest country for a long, long time. But that had changed.
Too much attention on healthcare. And the fix? Obamacare with all those very, very high deductibles and a terrible website that cost billions. You know what you needed to do to make your Obamacare worthwhile? Get hit by a tractor; that’s the only way to justify the cost. Totally worthless, that Obamacare.
People say to politicians, “I just want a job,” but politicians don’t listen. People knew that I was a job-maker. Thirteen seasons of my show: thirteen great jobs right there. Plus, all my properties and hotels and business ventures. I employ a lot, a lot of people. Politicians want to shut down our great factories and coal mines. Not me. I say open the doors. Let people work. Washington promises change and jobs, but Washington is controlled by lobbyists and special interests.
You needed a leader, a businessman, maybe the someone who wrote The Art of the Deal. Obama couldn’t take the brand of the United States anywhere. America needed someone who could make America great again. My family cautioned me. They were right to do so. You’ve all treated me horribly. The disrespect and constant negativity. Every day. Every. Goddamn. Day. But here we are.
Nobody thought that I was going to win. On the debate stage, holding my huge hands up for all to see, with Low Energy Jeb, Lyin’ Ted, and Liddle Marco, I was performing. That’s what you all wanted: a performance. (I was nominated for an Emmy, you know.) Every criticism about me was about my lack of qualifications to be president. Qualifications? Those didn’t seem to matter to all those people out of work. The uneducated—they love me. They came to my rallies. Lot and lots of people in red hats and waving the Stars and Stripes. They wanted to see me. They wanted to hear me. Trump on stage. Performing. Tremendous.
But when it came to all the things a presidential candidate had to know—even for those debates—I was perturbed. Nobody cares if I knew who the president of some shithole country was. I wasn’t going there. That’s why I’d have the best people working for me. They’d tell me what I needed to know if the American people were up for four—maybe eight—years of entertainment. I focused on the message and belittled my competition.
There was no stopping my campaign. People didn’t care what I knew or what I didn’t know. They just wanted me. They couldn’t take their eyes off of me. It was like a highway crash, where all the lanes drop to one and you have to drive by real slow. Who doesn’t like to feel superior to those idiots who should have done a better job at driving? You just have to look. Then the other sixteen candidates started dropping out. One by one. That left me, Donald J. Trump with a very vague yet easy to understand plan: “Make America Great Again.” (I’ll let you in on a little secret: Reagan used the same slogan in 1980. But I reinvigorated it, made the slogan great again by attaching my name to it. He was an entertainer, and it worked for him. I’m better than Reagan. I made MAGA a brand.)
Thankfully, there was Hillary. You know, she and I were friends once, well sort of more acquaintances. She and Bill were at my (third) wedding to Melania. Back in those days, Hillary needed money for her senate campaign. I had money. I’ve always had money. Don’t let anyone tell you that I am not rich. I am. Very rich. People like the rich. They wish they could be like us. They can’t, but that doesn’t stop them from thinking that it’s possible. Really, anything is possible. These last three and a half years prove that.
But back to Hillary, Crooked Hillary, as I call her. Every poll said she’d win. I had a twenty—maybe thirty—percent chance of winning. Everyone said she had it in the bag. But I thought that thirty—maybe twenty—percent is still a fighting chance. So, I tried to help myself out. Literally out.
Remember my John McCain comment, you know the one about liking people who aren’t captured? Or maybe what I said about getting along with Putin? Or what about the time I pointed out the blood coming out of Megan Kelly’s wherever? Or my bragging about grabbing women by their wherevers? Or the time that I mocked a reporter who had some disability? Or that whole Gold Star family thing? I offended the military, the intelligence community, people who menstruate, people with whatevers, people who love people with whatevers, people with disabilities, people whose children died for America, and there were others, other “special interest” groups.
None of this seemed to matter to any of you. My words were on the news and in newspapers. Every day, I tried to outdo myself, and I think I was pretty good at it. But somehow, the more insulting and outrageous I acted, the more attention and loyalty I got. Hillary with her plans and bullet points and experience and know-how. Boring! Sad!
They say that of all the people in the history of America to get to run for president that she was the most qualified. I was counting on the American people to do their homework and understand what was at stake: many-time-over-bankrupted reality TV star versus the most qualified person to ever run. And who did you pick? Well, by the numbers, you picked her, but the goddamn Electoral College gave me the job. To this day, I don’t get how that works.
I would say that I was the most surprised out of everyone that I won, but Melania she would say that shewas the most surprised. Remember how beautiful, and how very, very sad, she looked in that blue suit on Inauguration Day? She just wanted to be rich and beautiful, but my thirty—maybe twenty—percent chance at winning made her sad. So that’s the memory of my first day as president: a sad, but beautiful wife.
But I didn’t want to fail. I’ve a few businesses leave a sour taste in my mouth. My goal was to get this job right. But let’s be honest, I don’t really do what’s asked of me. But who could? There are so many things—too many things—that I’m just supposed to know. Did you know that The Constitution has thousands of words? And, old fashioned ones like “shall” is everywhere. And words like “emoluments,” which sounds like a type of dish soap, and “aid and comfort,” which sounds like an ad for a deep-tissue massage, but in this hard-to-read document, “aid and comfort” are bad. How can aid and comfort be bad? Very confusing.
I took a lot of heat for not knowing all the bits and pieces of this really old rulebook. But that’s why presidents get cabinets and senior advisors. The people I picked were the ones responsible for knowing the tiny details, reading the fine print. And look how that worked out? Lots of them resigned. Just up and quit. Any many who stayed I fired. That’s how you know that learning everything that you need to know is tough. It’s not just me, folks, those people couldn’t handle all there was to know either. Maybe they’re not as smart as me, but they were smarter than most.
And, in case you haven’t noticed, being president eats up a lot of time. I’m in demand. All the time. I do find time to tweet though. That’s been great. So easy for me to speak to uneducated and fearful people in tweets. Some have called this tweet or that one “dog whistling.” I hate dogs, so that’s not possible. You know, when I found out that every, little thing I say out loud or tweet would be forever recorded, I was shocked. Believe me, I like spotlights. But microscopes? Not a fan, not a fan.
[Leaning back in his chair and smoothing his thinning hair down, his gaze settles on his impotent cellphone, and an urge to check the power of his latest tweet goads him into standing, slowly. Plucking his cellphone off the couch, he taps and scrolls and frowns.]
So many nasty people out there, griping and complaining. They’ve got it all wrong. But my base knows how I’m treated unfairly. All the time. There’s nothing better than a good, solid argument from a supporter proving my wisdom to some lame, liberal traitor who dares to judge and discredit me. As one of the most successful businessmen the world has ever seen, I’ve had to deal with detractors and critics, but it was private. I had privacy back then. I miss it. I miss being able to do as I like, when I like, with people I like.
All those foreign leaders looking at me with doubt and contempt, they were no fun to be around. What a bunch of negative, nasty people who are stuck in their jealous-of-America, loser countries. But I showed them, pulled them right over with my handshakes. My strength, my own personal physical strength—I’m very healthy, very, very healthy—that alone proved to all how America is the strongest and best country on the face of the earth.
But back to my time as president. I did a lot of really outrageous things. Kept ratcheting up the level of “he really didn’t do that?” and “he really didn’t say that?” Yes, I did, and yes, I did. My picks of conservative judges and my move to lift so many regulations got a lot of people mad. Moving Israel’s capital, calling neo-Nazis “good people,” leaving the Paris climate thing, all these things I said and did created such an uproar. But nothing was enough to get anyone to do anything. All that whining was met with my simple reply that I was doing what the American people elected me to do.
Who cares if these choices result in restrictions on civil rights or unbreathable air or polluted water ways? Who cares about any of these fringe ideas? I did what the American people—really the owners of American corporations—wanted. We all know that it’s all about the almighty American dollar, and I know millions and billions about dollars.
Despite what would appear as giving up on the little guy, the little guy keeps his TRUMP sign on his lawn, his MAGA hat on his head, and his TRUMP flag on his pickup truck, so I’m good.
Now, I will admit that my behavior led many people to ask about the 25th Amendment. Truth be told, until it trended on Twitter, I didn’t even know that we had so many Amendments. For those of you who don’t know, that Amendment is all about removing a president from office.
[Tapping on the face of his cellphone, he squints a bit and continues.]
The 25th says you can get rid of a president if he is, and I quote, “unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office.” First, they’d have to prove that I know what I’m supposed to do and, second, that I’m not doing it right. Again, my cabinet and senior advisors are the ones who are supposed to cover those bases. It’s on them if I don’t understand this or that or if I don’t do what I’m supposed to. And the whole thing is pretty vague. The whole Constitution is hard to read. Makes you wonder if anyone has ever even read it. Based on these last few years, it looks like saying and doing things that offend our allies and comfort our enemies isn’t enough to get the right people talking about #25 because they haven’t done anything about it.
You know, I tried. You people let me run wild. For three and a half exhausting years. I’m sick of the complaining. And the complaining has been tremendous all year. Who can tolerate all the complaining? When I said that I don’t take responsibility, I meant it. I didn’t invent the Covid in a lab. I didn’t ask for it to come here from China. So much blame pointed at me. Not fair.
Yu know, I’m ready to be done with all of it. Some say one-term presidents are failures. I don’t think so. One-term presidents that offended everyone in every little way but have not been removed from office are smart to not stick around.
You had your chance. I was impeached. Big deal. Nothing but a big nothing-burger with no ketchup if you don’t convict. Good ol’ Moscow Mitch convincing all his Republican pals in the Senate to vote “not guilty.” Only Secret Asset Man Romney voted the other way. A secret democrat in republican clothes. Once again, fear and loyalty won out.
So, I’m going to be clear with you. I don’t like being president. Oh sure, seeing my name all over the place was great, for a long time. Still is some days. But for the most part, I think you don’t like me, and it’s getting more difficult by the day to convince you that you’re wrong. People dying from the Kung Flu, people in the streets recording stuff on their cellphones, the press, the Do-Nothings, the presidential briefs about Russian hits on our soldiers, the “tell-all” books filled with lies. The list goes on and will continue to go on. It’s terrible not being liked. And I’ve got better things to do with my time.
Some say that the country was in great shape when I took over. Again, matter of opinion, but all signs point to the country being a mess right now. Cleaning it up is going to be a big job. And I’m sick of trying to do what I don’t understand for a country full of ungrateful, unloyal complainers.
Let me go back to golfing. Fulltime. It’s cost you taxpayers—I don’t pay taxes, because I’m smart—over $136 million dollars for me to golf. So far. If I’m re-elected, I’m going all in on golfing. “Lame duck” season will begin in November of this year and go on for four long, long years.
What are you going to do about it? Impeach me? Been there, done that. I kept upping the ante, but no one plays their cards like they should. Sad.
[Hold cellphone up and reads.]
Says here, “I am hard-pressed to identify any significant Trump decision during my White House tenure that wasn’t driven by reelection calculations.” That Wacko John Bolton makes it sound like I destroyed a country out of selfishness, like I only think about me, me, me.
Well, if that’s the case, then here’s what I want: I want my life back. I’m old, I’m tired, I’m done. No more calling me“Agolf Twitler.” Give me my freedom, America. Say those sacred words of mine: “You’re fired.” It’ll be the best for us all. Believe me.
[Looks at cellphone, shakes head, and without more, up and leaves the room.]