18 February 2017
There’s this small little pothole right in front of my Mar-a-Lago resort that needs to be filled. Like A.S.A.P. Sometimes when the armored Cadillac I’m sitting in the back of hits the pothole, the resulting jolt is so violent I accidentally drop the interior design catalogue I’m sifting through. Then I have to spend the next five or six minutes looking for the pages with the designer curtains. It’s incredibly inconvenient. I don’t understand how we let the road get like this. Wait. What’s a bag of cement cost? Like, $20? Scratch that original price, then. I’ll just have Spicer fill it in. Don’t worry, he’ll cover the expense.
I don’t know how to say that number. We’ll call it a Trumpillion. It’s mostly a metaphor, anyway, for how I want to spend pretty much all the government’s money on the military. There are terrorists running rampant all over the world, and only a robust American military can stop them. Right now our military isn’t all that robust. It’s like in the movie “Aliens,” where the space marines storm that compound on LV-426? And it’s full of aliens? And just about all the marines get horribly and violently slaughtered? That’s what fighting terrorists is like for us right now. Now that I think about it, better increase the military spending by another trillion non-metaphorical dollars. I hear the terrorist have acid for blood, and we need to protect ourselves accordingly.
I know, I know. I’d said I wouldn’t touch Medicare spending. But, look. Paul Ryan said Medicare actually works better if you’re not basically shoveling piles of money into it nonstop. He showed me the numbers and everything. O.K., so I didn’t really understand the numbers. But he promised me that he understood the numbers, and that he’s not just making them up so he can look like the next Reagan. And to be honest, I’m inclined to trust him, even though he was super jelly of me when I won the Republican nomination last year. Like, so jelly. So jelly he wouldn’t even endorse me right away. Also he said I was basically a racist. And but then he backed me as president? I’m suddenly confused. Does he like me or doesn’t he? What am I even doing here? It’s like in the movie “Aliens,” when Ellen Ripley wakes up in that space hospital? And she’s told she’d been asleep for like 57 years, and that her daughter is dead? That’s the kind of confusion I’m experiencing right now. With Paul Ryan being my metaphorical daughter. Note: I’m starting to find out I’m really good with metaphors.
Everything that doesn’t go to the military goes to The Wall.
So, maybe I’m not so good with metaphors. Originally, I’d meant to actually build this wall, but then the press just lambasted me for it, saying it’d cost too much, and that it’d really upset Mexico if we went ahead with it. So then I said it was just a harmless metaphor for how I was going to step up border security. And that went over just fine for a while. But then my people started talking about how they really wanted the wall, so now I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, with the metaphorical hard place possibly being a literal wall. Hmm. But that saying is a metaphor, right? So is the wall I’m stuck next to a metaphor, too? Or is it — whoa. I’m getting dizzy. I need to lie down for a minute.
National Endowment for the Arts and Humanities
What do we even need the arts for, anyway? I wrote the second-greatest book of all time, behind the bible, and I never got a government subsidy for it. (Right now I’m having people look into whether the guy who wrote the bible had government help.) Sure, maybe I was “funded” by a shit-ton of inheritance money; and, sure, “The Art of the Deal” was ghostwritten by a guy who later turned out to say that I’m basically a narcissistic man with a child’s mind. So shoot me. Sorry I’m not perfect. Even though, yes, I am pretty much perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I didn’t need money from the government to write a perfect book. You think James Cameron took money from the government to make “Aliens”? Get real. I think if James and I can teach you anything, it’s that we can always rely on the mega rich to create perfectly sufficient art.
Bump it up another trillion
I’m told these terrorists also have razor-sharp tails that whip around all over the place and can slice through pretty much anything. We saw this put to terrifying effect in “Alien vs. Predator.” So we need armor that’s both acid-proof and sharp-tail-thing proof.
If burning through three wives has taught me anything, it’s that parenthood can’t be planned out. You think I planned on having four children with three different women? I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m just saying: When it comes to having unexpected children, divorces, and marriages, I’m sort of an expert. Wait, I’m being told I have at least five children. See what I mean? They just come out of nowhere! You think Ripley planned on adopting a weird, grungy, mute girl when she went back to LV-426? I don’t think so! You think she planned in the third movie on harboring an alien queen embryo right there inside her chest cavity? And furthermore that she’d have to swan dive into a burning furnace to keep the alien queen from bursting out of her chest and planning her own murderous alien family? I’m pretty sure the whole “Alien” franchise is a metaphor for the evils of Planned Parenthood and abortion and all that. Let’s not even get into what that creepy alien hybrid in “Alien: Resurrection” is a metaphor for. Did you see the way Ripley killed it even though it thought she was its mother? The series is just rife with abortion metaphors like that. ZERO DOLLARS!
Another trillion, please
All this talk about the “Alien” movies has me really concerned about what these terrorists are capable of. I mean, if it turns out they’re at all funded by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation, it’s game over, man, game over.