Yessir! Trump's Putting People Back to Work

Marco stepped out of the humid Florida air and ducked into a pastel stucco building one March evening. Brushing down his jacket, he entered a large room with glistening portraits, corinthian pillars, and gilded walls. A stacked bar stood at the far corner and from above an ornate fireplace, a ruddy thirty-year-old Donald Trump scowled down at him—as if to enquire: "What the heck are you doing in here, PUNK?"

Senator Marco Rubio was at the Mar-a-Lago. 

Meanwhile, the real Mr Trump had been expecting him. He breezed in from the side door, his face composing itself into that scowling smile:

"Welcome to MAR-a-Lago!" he thundered expansively. "What'dya think, Lil Marco?" he said, waving his arm in a wide arc as he vainly surveyed the room. "That stuff's all gold... real gold, Marco!—24 carats."

Rubio nodded abstractly, looking down with new fangled interest at that old stain blemishing his shiny left shoe.

"Glad you could make it, Marco!" Trump continued. "I have some positions in mind for you. We need to talk. It's gonna be great! But first, let's get you a drink."

"Bartender!" he snapped, as he turned around. "Bring this man a big one, okay... get him that vodka Ambassador Kisylak brought over yesterday... 
Marco! You listen ta-me... I'll be at the restaurant. Come find me when you're finished... you gonna have meatloaf for dinner."

Trump clatters out. Seconds later, a glass smacks the counter with a dull plonk!... followed by the crisp sound of a drink, rapidly filling up. The bartender comes around briskly, places a shimmering vodka-tonic demurely on the table and steps back into the shadows.

"JEB? Jeb Ellis Bush! Son of a... What are YOU doing here?" Marco managed to stutter.

"Good to see ya Marco. It's been a while. A crazy, crazy year. Things haven't gone too good for the family. Pops is in a wheelchair. Most days he sits out, catches some rays... sleeps... asks if we got Saddam yet...

George? He's a recluse now. Guess he never got over the war. Locks himself up in his studio... paints all day... he's done Arafat, Putin, Tony Blair. Dudes, not nudes, hehehe..." he tittered.

"Whoa Jeb!" muttered Rubio, pressing his temple between his thumb and forefinger. "Hold on a minute. I'm still getting my head around all of this. YOU were MY mentor. Too bad we had to run against each other, Gov... but I would have at least made you Secretary of State, had I won... you're now pouring drinks?"

"Marco, Marco, slow down... take a swig... that whole campaign thing was the biggest goddamn sham. And we both knew it. That race was all over the day the Don got into it. I'd been out of work for over a decade, as you know... trying to reel something back in. And then I go.. for President... no less! Who was I shittin''? And you Marco?... you played that hustlin' sorryass Cuban bootstrap refugee card... all over again. Hell! Even your ol' man called shit on that one, Marco. He voted Trump...

Look, Marco! I'm thankful now that the Don took me in and set me up over here. The family's taken care of and I'm in the same room now with the Japanese Prime Minister and the Russians... just not maybe the way I'd imagined," he added wistfully.

"The Don's even agreed to be godfather to my youngest grandson."

"Jeb," Rubio exhaled. "I'm happy for you. But I got to go see Donald now. He's had a rocky start and we're talking about my coming in to straighten out this listing boat." 

Rubio retreated towards the door, moving like he was putting distance from a crime scene.

"Good luck... with that one!" Jeb shouted after him, his teeth breaking into a smile. "And by the way... say hi to Rudy Giuliani on your way out."

"Rudy?" blurted Rubio, turning back. "Is the President talking jobs with him too? Rudy's visiting today?"

"Let's just say he visits everyday," smirked Bush, and went on. 

"Rudy... he always thought the hell of himself. He came in here couple months ago puffin' like a freight train, demanding he gets Attorney General.
The Don however had different ideas for him. He set him up good... right here.

Rudy runs the security detail at Mar-a-Lago now. You'll see him on your way out. When he's not working the booth with the CCTV cameras, he's tossin' raw meat at the German shepherds. 

...luck with your interview, Marco! Figure I'll be seein' you in here... SOON."

What Trump Really Said to Merkel

[An unmuted microphone picked up this chatter at the press conference last week with President Trump and German Chancellor Angela Merkel.]

"...and yes, we have a huge trade imbalance with Germany that we need to even out. You keep manipulating your own currency and making us do BAD BAD deals..."

"...Mr Trump, you surely know that we have a single currency now—the euro. And you also MUST know that we don't negotiate any trade deals directly. The EU does this..."

"Whatever... so, here's my deal:

We want you to reduce your shipments of luxury cars to the US—you know, the Beemers and Mercs, Audis—by ten thousand every month. Porsches are OK, we'll take 'em—my cabinet members like to buy one every year. Instead, WE will send you... every month... twenty thousand full-size Silverado and Ford F150 pickup trucks. Here's what you need to do...

Put them on your autobaan. Take lots of pictures. Email them to Breitbart."

"Mr Trump, surely you're not serious. Americans desire our cars. You even pay a hefty premium for them. For over a century, our solid German engineering has outclassed anything..."

"Shhhh...shh  okay, lemme change things up a bit. You take only five thousand trucks a month from us... okay... but but you will put in a monthly order for a thousand of Ivanka's latest handbags... BeLEEve ME! It'll look a lot better than that rag you're carrying..."

[deep exhalation sound]

"Mr Trump, this is not how we Germans do business. In any case, I would need to take any deal to the Bundestag, then Brussels, because in Germany we don't..."

"Angela, Angela, stop... you don't need permission! You're the Kaiser, RIGHT?"

"It's Chancellor... Mr Trump."

"By the way, did you see the crowds at my inauguration? They were much larger than Hitler's at Nuremberg... I saw the old photos myself."

"Mr Trump, the conference's starting... what are we going to say? I will have to ask you about your commitment to NATO."

"Oh, Angela... Bannon wants to learn the Gestapo salute. He's a YUGE fan... he's been out practicing in front of a mirror ten minutes every day. Think you can fix up someone to help him?"

[mild retching sound]

"Heads-up Angela! We're getting started... now get this... when the cameras start rolling, you need to ask me for a handshake okay, so we get off on a real friendly note... you got that?"

[whirring of cameras]

North Korean Leader Kim Jong-un Admits "Wiretapping"

In a stunning press conference today where he invited western reporters, North Korean strongman Kim Jong-un admitted that he has been "wiretapping" Trump since the election campaign last year.

"You stupid Americans are constantly snooping on us, spending billions of dollars on satellite surveillance and joint military exercises with our idiot cousins from the south. Yet you are unable to predict the launch of any of our missile tests. We, on the other hand, know exactly what your President is going to do—before he does it. We have five Twitter accounts in our country now—two more than our intercontinental missiles."

"We have also developed a method that is simple and far more effective. We have special chemical nerve agents that make people do exactly what we want," he emphasized—pointing four stubby fingers back at himself.

"You saw us demonstrate the VX agent on my ungrateful brother last month in Malaysia," he bragged.

"We have also developed a TX and an LX. The first one makes a person wake up early in the morning and rush to Twitter. The second makes it impossible for him not to tell Lies. Our new version—as you Americans name these things—two-point-ohh, doesn't even worry about facts."

"Oh, I almost forgot the OX," he sniggered. "That makes a person blame Obama for everything. You may call this our new chemical warfare."

"One big issue was how to deliver it. We got the big idea after that video of Mr. Trump last November," he added. "We now have very beautiful British agents who carry soaked handkerchiefs with them."

"Hidden well—in the right places," he smirked, as he arced around the room.

"You may now understand the air quotes around 'wiretapping'! Hehe! Maybe they should have called it 'underwiretapping'," he grinned.

"We continue to expand our program and remain optimistic that this will work very well with most of your politicians."

"Are there any politicians that you would exempt?" CNN's Wolf Blitzer posed meekly.

"Yes, Sean Spicer. He does not need this," he retorted. "Oh, and before I forget—Chris Christie!"

"None of the girls will go near that guy!"

Russian Connection Grossly Misunderstood, says Sessions

In a brief news conference in Washington on Friday, a bemused Jeff Sessions took the issue of the Russian connection head on.

The press is making up this whole brouhaha about my phone calls with Ambassador Kisylak, he said. Of course, I talked with him. There is nothing to hide here. 

Let me spell this out for you. Like Michael Corleone, President Trump keeps his friends close... but his enemies closer. Kisylak has been having dinner with President Trump every Friday evening at Mar-a-Lago for the last several months. In fact, they now ride together on Air Force One. He's a charmer... he even signs autographs for all the stewards.

We've been working on a deal with them for a while and here it is.

The Russians have offered to pay for the wall, after months of hardball negotiations. The wall will use American labor and steel and the Russians have agreed to throw in top-notch surveillance equipment and install a control center in the While House basement. For free. 

This whole thing cost US taxpayers nothing, since we got the Canadians to step up and pay Mar-a-Lago for the rooms and vodka. That's it.

Like I said, we have nothing to hide here. This is how we should be doing all our deals.