Donald Trump, who has never been able to sustain a relationship with reality, agreed to talk with us here at The Left Wing Gazette. He’s comfortable with us because, like his humanity, we don’t exist either.
When we first sat down, the truth bit Trump on the ass, but he didn’t know what it was.
We wondered about last week. “Mr. Trump, you couldn’t get along with anyone from the West on your European trip, but you were happy to see Vladimir Putin and even smiled at him like he was a Big Mac.”
Trump: Love the “V” Man.
Us: He also seemed happy to see you.”
Trump: He loves me. After we exchanged the secret dictator’s handshake, he told me if I brought along more of our military secrets to give him, that he wouldn’t publish his book.
Trump: Yes, “Donald Trump: The Urine Chronicles.”
Us: Uh-huh… When we got here just before, we saw many White House staffers wearing knee-high boots.
Trump: That’s to protect their clothes because they’ll be stepping in so much blood in a few days they won’t know what hit them.
Us: Is your hit list almost done?
Trump: Mine is and I just got Melania’s. Did you know that “pufa na prasica’s gurlo” is Slovenian for “Cut the bitch’s throat?”
Us: Didn’t know that… To get serious for a moment, you know about the fires we’ve had in California, right?
Trump: Serves you right.
Us: Now we know you don’t care about those of us who live in Southern California because we mostly vote blue. But did you know that Paradise, California, where fifty-four people have died and as many six-hundred are missing, is a Republican stronghold that voted overwhelmingly for you?
Trump: What? “Dead?” “Missing?” So, I’m losing votes?… God Dammit, why does everything happen to me?