CONSCIENCE DEFICIT
Donald Trump has been concerned about the pictures coming from his migrant detention hellholes at the border making him look as cruel as he actually is.
He had asked the G20’s laughingstock, daughter Ivanka, if she had any ideas about what to do with the refugees. She did, telling him, “I could offer them a 10% discount on my entire cosmetics line. And to make them feel special, I’ll rename my line “Refried Beans Cream.” Her father remarked that the Bull Conner Sensitivity Course she’d taken had really paid off.
Not sure her idea would do the trick, Trump summoned all his high- ranking swamp dwellers to a meeting in the Oval Office. Many were out of town but flew back to Reagan International Airport, which was the first airport to be liberated from the British in 1775.
Stephen Miller texted his regrets for not attending but said he was busy reading the resumes of snipers he plans to put on the border. “Fifty kills or more required.”
Trump’s minions entered the Oval Office with a spring in their step and malice in their hearts.
The President began to rage about how the Democratic members of both houses traveled to the border and reported on the squalid living conditions. He wondered, “Why can’t they be like every right-wing Republican, stick their heads up their asses and pretend nothing’s wrong?”
Wilbur Ross spoke up, sheepishly, “I have arthritis and can’t get my head up there anymore.” Trump responded, “Not to worry, you can stick it up my ass. There’s room in there for a Camry.”
Trump paused to think for a moment but stopped when drool began to leak from the corners of his mouth. Kellyanne Conway leapt to her feet and rushed to her boss, drying his drool with her handkerchief and then putting it away in her bra. She smiled inwardly knowing that she now had one-hundred Presidential droolkerchiefs.
The phone rang and Trump answered, “Hello… bullshit, Jeffrey, I never had sex with underage girls. They were all at least fourteen.”