The Secret Diary of Donald J Trump, aged 71 ¾
Stormy Weather for the Hope-Less
29 March 2018
Since this whole Stormy thing broke, they toled me not to Tweet a word and I thought that meant no dairy either! It took me nairly three weeks to figure out they don’t know about my secret dairy! I can writhe here anytime I want! That’s how good I keep a secret. I’m the BEST secretor in the world. Nobody secretes like me! I keep things even secrete from me! But I always find out my secretes BECAUSE I’M SMART. I’m the smartest guy in the room EVEN WHEN NO ONE ELSE IS IN THE ROOM. Or even if there is, like, that British guy in the wheelchair who died the other day. He wasn’t as smart as me. No one is. And he was an ugly fuck, too; better he died. Stupid computer voice, too. If I lost my voice, I would get a computer voice like James Earl Jones, except a white actor. Here’s how smart I am: I NEVER MET STORMY DANIELS. As long as I say that, they can’t prove a thing. And, also, it was me who spanked her! And she LOVED it! She kept saying, “Who’s your Daddy?” No, wait; that was me. She reminds me so much of Ivanka. Same taste in thongs. Except I never met her. I REMEMBER. NO TWEETING. Things very sadly around the Oval Orifice. My little Hope has gone. Everyone keeps saying, “Oh, the President is so hopeless!” Brings a tear to my eye, almost, except it’s cheeseburger time again. Yay!!!