JULY 13TH: Donny Jr’s in the woodshed, for spilling the emails about meeting with the Russians. The Boss ordered that Junior’s collection of preserved animal heads be tossed off the top floor of Trump Tower. Jared the Jew is in trouble too, even though he claimed he stumbled into the meeting “accidentally” when he had really just left his office to grab an Orange Julius. Prebunk was found in a closet he had locked from the inside. Turned out he had been there three days, licking the polish off his shoes for nourishment.
JULY 21ST: The Mooch is coming! The Boss says he wants someone who looks good on TV to be his communications director. Was that a personal shot at me? Sean Spicer has already left the building—he’s never forgiven Scaramucci for that time the Mooch got wasted on ‘ludes and tried out his moves on Mrs. Spicer. I gave the Mooch a “welcome” present of half an ounce of Peruvian snow and a bottle of Fireball, and told him a friend of mine at the New Yorker would love to have a phone chat with him. After he railed out most of the bag on my desk and snorted it, he took a couple swigs of Fireball and wrote down the number. Doubt he’ll last a week.
JULY 25TH: The Boss left his Twitter phone on my desk, so I banned transgendered troops. He’ll never notice.
JULY 26TH: Suck my own WHAT? If I could do that, I probably wouldn’t have had time to invent the alt-right.
JULY 27TH: Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Rinse has gone down the drain. I just wish he could take McConnell and McCain with him. The new Chief of Staff is John Kelly. First thing he did was shitcan the Mooch. The Boss let him get away with it, although he confided to me that he liked having the Mooch around because he was a “bigger public embarrassment than almost anybody.” I think he meant himself. Tried to show him how to work spellcheck on Twitter again, but he lost interest when Hope Hicks came in wearing nothing but heels and holding a folder marked “Top Secret” over her hoochie.
I can handle this guy Kelly. Screw his years of service, his air of command, and the fact he always talks in complete sentences. I’m Steve Bannon. The Boss wouldn’t have won the election without me. And don’t mention the Russians or Comey. They wouldn’t have made any difference if I hadn’t masterminded my way into the scared hearts of white America. It was my special genius that made me realize they were just like me--they don’t like colored people.
AUGUST 7TH: The Boss bravely sticks up for my storm troopers in Charlotte. It took guts for him to equate Nazis and Klansmen with the counter protesters. Guts, and perhaps the realization that 100% of the tiki-torch crowd had voted for him, while 100% of the femmies and gays on the other side hadn’t. It’s my political acumen that’s made me indispensable. Kelly’s just fantasizing when he points his finger at me and makes that “pew-pew-pew” sound. Just to piss him off, I made Fridays Baggy Shorts and Mismatched Hawaiian Shirt Day for my crew. Maybe Kelly will at least unbutton his jacket.
AUGUST 10TH: War with Venezuela? Me likee. Let’s face it, where are we standing in our wars against Asians? I think it’s one win, one loss, and one tie. Contrast that to our uninterrupted record of military glory against Spanish-speaking nations. And it would distract people from The Boss thanking the Russians for 86-ing all our diplomats. Of course he was joking! Can’t people tell when he’s making a funny? Al Franken called over here, offering to give The Boss sarcasm lessons. I think he was being sarcastic.
AUGUST 17TH: It’s come to this. Everybody is bailing on The Boss, including all his country-club pals on his advisory boards, so why fire me? I’ve always been willing to stick around. I won’t say comparing Robert E. Lee to George Washington was my idea, because it wasn’t. I suggested that The Boss tweet something like “What would make those femgays happy? Tearing down every statue of a white man in this country, including Jesus?”
It’s Kelly, of course. Well, not everybody can have a perfect complexion, or a spotless war record, asshole. I’m going back to my perch at Breitbart, loosen my belt, maybe smoke a sherm, and get to work making sure you don’t last until the end of the year. Got a couple pics of your uniformed ass with Clinton and Obama right here in the old file drawer.
What comes around, goes around.