I have it on good authority that Donald Trump’s father, Fred Trump, died in New York, not in Germany as the president often states: “He died in a nice little town in Germany. Everyone knows that.”
And pretty much everyone knows dementia when they see it. Not that anything will be done about it, just as nothing was done about Ronald Regan’s suspected Alzheimer’s while still in office. Regan famously said, “I don’t know” or “I can’t recall” 88 times during his eight-hour grilling before Congress in 1990 on the Iran-Contra fiasco. (“Reagan Hazy on Iran-Contra,” Chicago Tribune, Feb. 23, 1990.) Perhaps that’s a hallmark of a good GOP candidate—one who displays the CRS (Can’t Remember Sh*t) Syndrome.
And now we have Trump commenting during a recent interview, “No, I never said ‘oranges.’ What do you take me for? An idiot? I know what an orange is.” Trump reaches for a peach from the fruit basket on his desk, stands up and, striding forward, shoves it in the cameraman’s face.
“See? This is an orange, dummy.” He sits back down and carefully places the peach back in the basket.
The cameraman, knowing he’s on thin ice, proceeds anyway, “How do you spell orange?”
Trump grabs a pear from the basket and says, “Now this is an orange, you idiot. It means the beginning of something, as in the oranges of the Mueller report. You all tried to fool me and make me look stupid, but I know an orange from an orange.” He tosses the pear in the cameraman’s direction.
The cameraman ducks and says, “Don’t you mean an origin from an orange?”
“There you go again, you and your fake news, trying to underplum me by apple picking my misnomers, which in fact, they aren’t mistakes, they’re colorful the way a New Yorker born in Germany like me means.”
The Secret Serviceperson in attendance hustles the cameraman out of the Oval Office as Mick Mulvaney ushers in several Congress people for a bill signing, the president’s declaration of a 300% tariff on bananas coming from Honduras. They quietly line up behind the president who is sitting at his huge desk.
Trump swivels around and nods at the crowd standing behind him and says, “Welcome to the best bill signing ever in the history of the world! You’re gonna love this one. Those damned Hondurans should make their own people stay home and not come over our borders to perpetrate the hoax. Amnesty, my ass.”
Trump takes off his shoe and attempts to use it to write his signature. Soft murmurs are heard from the puzzled crowd standing behind him.
“But, sir,” says Mitch McConnell, rushing forward.
Trump is furiously scribbling, but nothing’s happening. He shakes the shoe, tries again.
“No ink!” he screams. “I’m out of ink. Who is the stupid fool forgot to put ink in this grape. You’re fired, whoever you are, you kumquat.”
“Here you go, Mr. President,” says Mitch McConnell, handing Trump a real pen and taking the shoe.
“Finally, someone with some guavas.” Trump signs the bill, the minions clap and leave the room.
“OK, what’s next?” Trump asks of Mick Mulvaney.
“President Duterte is waitng to see you, Sir.”
“Great. Now there’s a real man who knows how to rule his country. Bring him in.”
“Welcome, my little pineapple,” Trump say as he stands to greet President Duterte. Duterte hesitates, but finally puts out his hand and says, “Thank you, uh, thank you, Mr. President. For having me at such late notice.”
“So, what’s up Mr. D?” says Trump, shaking Duterte’s hand. Trump then reaches for his desk, grabs something. “Here, have a blueberry,” he says as he hands him a croissant.
Stunned, Duterte says, “Uh, thanks, Mr. President.”
“How about them croissants?” Trump says, shoving a raspberry into this mouth. Aren’t these the best damn croissants in all of Christendom? Bar none, I tell you. We hire only the best chefs here at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, DC 20500. Not even the French can bake this good.
“But, now, tell me Little D, what can we do to help your little raisin campaign—you still killing all those deplorables over there in your sh*thole country?”
“Uh, yes, Sir, yes, we are.”
“Good. Good,” the President says and takes a bite out of his necktie.
“Yum. Cherry,” he says and lets it fall back to his chest.
Duterte grabs a peach and slowly backs out of the room.
Rosie Sorenson is a humor writer in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can contact her at: RosieSorenson29@yahoo.com
From The Progressive Populist, May 15, 2019
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