In the second of a series of diary entries, imagined by Shay Sengupta, we get a glimpse of the inner workings of Trump’s mind.
I’ve not been able to write to you for the past few days because I’ve been in crucial, critical ultra-secret talks with the Prime Minister of Mexico. Enrique something (Inglesias?). Great guy.
People love talking to me. I make a lot of talks, great talks, the best talks in the entire world!
So, why does this guy seem to avoid me?
Okay, so I just asked Melania and she glared at me and said, ‘It must be because you try to blackmail thirty-three billion dollars to build a wall out of him every time you talk to him.’
Nope, he must be jealous of my hair.
Anyways, I was thinking about what Melania said today (I don’t usually like to think because my head hurts, but I guess it was worth it) and I came up with a nice long list of benefits this wall will bring:
Only applicable if Enrikay agrees to my brilliant idea of constructing the wall out of solid gold, which he has enthusiastically vetoed so far.
Big wall = no more annoying Mexicans stealing our jobs = financial security for good old Americans.
Mexico paying for the wall = no American money spent on it = economic security (for good old America.)
Mexico paying for the wall = Mexican financial ruin = good old America bleeding Mexico dry for their good old American imports for the next few centuries.
Brain’s hurting. Gotta stop thinking!
Phone call with Enrike again today. Well, there wasn’t much talking because he kept doing calming yoga breaths every time I tried to speak.
Tried calling Nreeke (?) three times this week...apparently, he’s been scheduling intensive therapy sessions immediately after our conversations. He probably can’t take the strain of being around my gorgeous, beautiful hair.
Poor guy. I’ll give him the name of my shampoo guy.
I don’t know what day it is, accidentally set fire to my calendar
Finally got through to Enreekyee. Was barely able to get through half a sentence before he began swearing quite vigorously in Spanish and cut the call.
Called Enriqa at three a.m. today during the advertisement break of my favourite show the Muppets. He started sobbing uncontrollably two seconds later.
Dreaming about my hair, most likely.
Found My Calendar, It’s November And I Need To Return All The Christmas Presents I Bought But I’ll Still Keep the Generous Christmas Bonus I Gifted Myself
Can’t call Erika anymore. He’s been put into a mental asylum.
Really should have given him my shampoo guy’s name.