The profuse heat forced sweat from the spray tanned forehead of the suit-clad man. He didn’t fit in, but man, did he draw a crowd. And not entirely a good one at that. The “Fake Media” made fun of his dancing the night before, but he knew he still had it. Who could possibly dislike the Don?
(https://tenor.com/view/trump-sword-dance-saudi-arabia-gif-8675901)
I finally woke up in bed at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. The Saudi air was foreign to me, but the luxury was reassuring. Of course, not as luxurious as the Trump Towers chain. Best. Ever. As I sat up on the bedside, I felt the sore pain of my hip singe from the dancing I had done the night before. I was the greatest there, no doubt about it, but damn does being great all of the time hurt. I stood up wondering where the menservants were, as I needed my silk bathrobe, lest I go greet my Secret Service naked. They would be impressed by my Trump Tower anyway, believe me. I meandered to the washroom and splashed my beautiful face with the cold water. As I drew my hands across my face, I gazed into the mirror to find that my totally real tan was fading. Sad! Fortunately, some of Melania’s makeup was still around, so I just slathered it on. It worked perfectly, because it’s me.
I missed the United States dearly while I stayed in this distant land. I just could not get used to the heat and the desert and the way of life. Very different. They pray for Muhammad, I pray for a wall. I just felt like everyone was staring at me all of the time, but I couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps my charming good looks? Whatever it was, I knew the ladies loved me, and the men envied me. However, if there was one thing I missed the most, it was my television. Unfortunately, I couldn’t watch my favorite show, “Fox and Friends,” while I was away. Therefore, I could not trust any other news sources. Believe me, only losers watch CNN. Okay? And I am not one of those.
I was dressed by the time morning came, and I finished my meeting with the King of Saudi later that same day. I’m not sure what we agreed upon, because I was busy checking my Twitter to see if I could say something to get shown on the news again. Also, Vlad wouldn’t stop messaging me. Great guy, believe me. Though I’m not sure why he sends the eggplant emoji so much. Anyway, by the end of the meeting, Saudi Arabia had $15 billion worth of missiles from yours truly. I co-wrote The Art of the Deal after all.
My to-do list for the day was almost done and it was only noon; all that was left was to tweet something. Melania and I got back to the hotel, but before I could tweet, she grabbed the phone from my truly large, manly hands. In the blink of an eye, she erased my tweet about Mexico, and changed it to a thank you note for the King. Never have I ever been so wronged in my life, truly. It was tough enough living with a small loan of a million dollars in my youth, but now this? She threw my phone back at me, and left me in the fetal position. After she left the room, I was sad, bigly. I spent the evening trying to cheer myself up, believe me, but nothing worked. I Facetimed Putin, but he only made me feel lonelier. I then prank called the Mexican President:
“Hey Enrique, is your fridge running?”
“I know it’s you Donald, I have caller ID.”
“Yeah? Well, you and your bad hombres are paying for that wall, believe me. That way I can keep party-poopers like you out.”
I hung up. Hopefully he didn’t hear me tearing up. Nothing was making me feel better, and there was still time in the day, so I decided I was going to go for a drive by myself.
END PART 1