The following internal communication was leaked from the Trump campaign to this reporter. It is reprinted here, unedited, in its entirety.
Memo to The Boss:
THE NEXT STEPS
We need to make the rallies even more off the hook. From now on, after the applause lines, start grabbing your crotch like Michael Jackson. You can moonwalk, too, but only if the Secret Service will moonwalk with you, for security reasons.
“Crooked Hillary” is wearing thin. Emphasize that her husband cheated on her, and rhetorically ask “Why?” Then you start calling her “Bad Lay Hillary.”
You know Steven Hawking dissed you the other day, right? Time to start mocking that gimp. Hold your hand up under your chin and pretend it’s trembling while you talk in a funny machine voice and call him out for being “disgusting.” “Diseased” and “dying” work, too. This will solidify our support among voters who would cover their children’s eyes from any mathematical genius in a wheelchair, a key constituency for us.
We picked up Putin’s endorsement, so he gets that weekend with Melania he’s been begging for. Kim Jong Un is on board, too, but he’s easy—he’ll work for food. We open that make-your-own nachos buffet in Pyongyang.
We got Paul Ryan’s support, finally, so we have to re-open Trump University and make him the President of it if he loses the Speakership of the House.
You always brag that you could buy and sell Mitt Romney. Well, just do it. Buy out Mitt Romney. Make him change his name to Mitt Trump. Sell all Ann’s horses and replace them with goats. Sell all his houses and replace them with Trump Miniature Golf Courses. Make his nine or so kids start waiting tables at Mar-a-Lago.
It’s not enough just to crap on Hispanic people. Go after Mexican beer, too. Bankrupt Dos Equis by suing them for claiming some second-rate actor was The Most Interesting Man in the World, when it was you all along.
Vice-Presidential Short List: Male—Hulk Hogan, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Female—Marco Rubio, Chris Christie, Ben Carson. Just kidding, Boss—I know they’re guys too. At least they used to be, before you sliced off their "huevos" in the primaries.
Don’t worry about that abortion clinic on Long Island you used to have on retainer in the 70’s and 80’s—it was burned to the ground by “religious zealots,” okay? And the former director died of old age when he was sleeping around. With the fishes, if you know what I mean.
An answer for America’s opioid addiction epidemic, which nobody cared about when America’s opioid addicts were 90% black people. Let's make it that way again by sending all your junkie supporters to max out their credit cards at Trump Rehab!
You just threatened to dismember the PGA for moving a golf tournament to Mexico. It’s time to put the other major sports on notice, too. Baseball—anybody with a Latin surname only gets two strikes. That ought to thin out their ranks. Basketball and hockey are okay the way they are, and so is football, mostly, but no Super Bowl halftime shows by Mexicans, or Mexican-like people. Jennifer Lopez, Christina Aguilera and Shakira can all watch it at home like everybody else in the barrio.
Or, you could start talking about problems that aren’t imaginary or come up with a serious plan for anything. Ha! Just checking if you were still reading this, Mr. Trump, sir.
Ok, I know, I’m fired.
Memo to The Boss:
THE NEXT STEPS
We need to make the rallies even more off the hook. From now on, after the applause lines, start grabbing your crotch like Michael Jackson. You can moonwalk, too, but only if the Secret Service will moonwalk with you, for security reasons.
“Crooked Hillary” is wearing thin. Emphasize that her husband cheated on her, and rhetorically ask “Why?” Then you start calling her “Bad Lay Hillary.”
You know Steven Hawking dissed you the other day, right? Time to start mocking that gimp. Hold your hand up under your chin and pretend it’s trembling while you talk in a funny machine voice and call him out for being “disgusting.” “Diseased” and “dying” work, too. This will solidify our support among voters who would cover their children’s eyes from any mathematical genius in a wheelchair, a key constituency for us.
We picked up Putin’s endorsement, so he gets that weekend with Melania he’s been begging for. Kim Jong Un is on board, too, but he’s easy—he’ll work for food. We open that make-your-own nachos buffet in Pyongyang.
We got Paul Ryan’s support, finally, so we have to re-open Trump University and make him the President of it if he loses the Speakership of the House.
You always brag that you could buy and sell Mitt Romney. Well, just do it. Buy out Mitt Romney. Make him change his name to Mitt Trump. Sell all Ann’s horses and replace them with goats. Sell all his houses and replace them with Trump Miniature Golf Courses. Make his nine or so kids start waiting tables at Mar-a-Lago.
It’s not enough just to crap on Hispanic people. Go after Mexican beer, too. Bankrupt Dos Equis by suing them for claiming some second-rate actor was The Most Interesting Man in the World, when it was you all along.
Vice-Presidential Short List: Male—Hulk Hogan, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Female—Marco Rubio, Chris Christie, Ben Carson. Just kidding, Boss—I know they’re guys too. At least they used to be, before you sliced off their "huevos" in the primaries.
Don’t worry about that abortion clinic on Long Island you used to have on retainer in the 70’s and 80’s—it was burned to the ground by “religious zealots,” okay? And the former director died of old age when he was sleeping around. With the fishes, if you know what I mean.
An answer for America’s opioid addiction epidemic, which nobody cared about when America’s opioid addicts were 90% black people. Let's make it that way again by sending all your junkie supporters to max out their credit cards at Trump Rehab!
You just threatened to dismember the PGA for moving a golf tournament to Mexico. It’s time to put the other major sports on notice, too. Baseball—anybody with a Latin surname only gets two strikes. That ought to thin out their ranks. Basketball and hockey are okay the way they are, and so is football, mostly, but no Super Bowl halftime shows by Mexicans, or Mexican-like people. Jennifer Lopez, Christina Aguilera and Shakira can all watch it at home like everybody else in the barrio.
Or, you could start talking about problems that aren’t imaginary or come up with a serious plan for anything. Ha! Just checking if you were still reading this, Mr. Trump, sir.
Ok, I know, I’m fired.
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