Make America Sane Again: How The Trump Stole Christmas

Dear Santa,

I have been a perfect president this year, and I deserve a lot of presents. We can handle it two ways.

You can give me the North Pole, and everything in it, including the elves.

All of the helpers I have on hand have turned against me. They have told lies about me, and keep standing in the way of my decrees. I want them out of my work shop, so to speak.

Are your elves better trained? Do they know when to keep their mouths shut? If I threaten them, or bad mouth them on Twitter, will they have sense enough to apologize profusely and claim I am the smartest, most stable person they've ever met?

If not, you can keep them. I already have enough people telling the world I am incompetent, mean and stupid. They are so low IQ that they are trying to get me out of office. They are traitors, and won't be happy until I start a civil war to get rid of them.

A civil war might have to happen if they rouse my MAGA base. It might be good for gun manufacturers, too.

I might propose a government subsidy for guns. After all, I think everyone should have a gun and join the NRA. I just think the Democrats guns shouldn’t be loaded.

This brings me to my next Christmas demand. I want to be president for life, just like my buddies, Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, Kim Jong-un, Mohammad bin Salman, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Although I've gotten a good start in remaking my United States in my image, I could cause a lot more damage and confusion if I have an extra 4 years to engender world wide chaos. If I have the rest of my life who knows what I'll be able to pass down to Donald, Jr. when he ascends to the throne.

You can keep Mrs. Clause. First of all, I believe in the sanctity of marriage, except, of course, my own.

I would make an exception for her if she was younger, and better looking. However, the Christmas cards I've seen depict her as old and fat. I don't mean to put too fine a point on it, but Melania doesn't have to worry about the competition, at least from that quarter, if you know what I mean.

I know Mrs. Clause will be disappointed that she didn't make the cut. If she loses some of the fat, maybe I'll reconsider next year. I don't want to be insensitive, so to ease her heartbreak, I will send Mrs. Clause her own set of commemorative plates with my picture on them. That should make her happy. I usually don't part with those for anything less than a generous campaign donation.

This brings me back to the elves. If their are any old fat ones, you can keep them. However, a big, fat contribution to my (hee hee) charitable foundation n might win them jobs as, I don't know, kitchen help in the White House, or maybe janitors. The pay is a cool $7.35 per hour, and they would have the privilege of working for the smartest man in the world.

I expect an immediate reply. If I don't get one,I'll ruin your economy.

Donald I, King Of The United States

Dear President Trump

No one owns the North Pole. In fact, it is an imaginary spot in the Arctic Ocean. Russia,Canada Denmark and the United States all make a claim to it, but,happily, there is no oil here, so no one is going to war over it. I hope you don't either,because,as I've said,THERE IS NO OIL ON THE NORTH POLE! The North Pole is all under water.

As for being president for life, your best bet is a mental hospital. Just have your keepers explain that you are president for life, and they'll give you the the treatment you deserve.

Thanks for the plates. Mrs. Clause is an avid skeet shooter, and they will make great targets.

By the way,Mrs. Clause wants to know if you have a big picture of yourself suitable to tack to her dart board.Better yet, if you send us a life size silhouette of yourself for her shooting range,she would be much obliged.

The winters are long and dark up here, and Mrs. Clause gets kind of dangerous when she's bored. The elves get even meaner when there is nothing to do,which is most of the year. Still,their union steward assures me that they would rather slide down a banister lined with razor blades in to a vat of rubbing alcohol than to work for you. So I guess the answer is no.

Finally, your trade wars have already ruined our economy, so there ain't a hell of a lot more you can do to us.

Santa

Dear Santa,

The reason you won't grant my modest Christmas requests is because you are a friend of Barak Obama's. All you have to do is convince a couple of stupid women to sell me Greenland, and I would have a base to defend the North Pole from the Canadians. If you were the least bit smart, you would have figured this out for yourself, and made a deal with Mette Frederickson and Queen Whats-her-name by now.
I sent the posters and the silhouette you requested before I read your last letter. Please send them back, or face the consequences. Would you show such disrespect to the Bible? Would you burn a cross? That last would be okay if you were trying to discourage the wrong kind of neighbors. Just to give you a taste of what could happen, does open season on reindeer give you an idea of what comes next?
If it wasn't for Barak Obama, Hillary Clinton, the low IQ fake news media, those idiots in the Congress, the public and other world leaders, my reputation would be beyond dispute. Now, thanks to these witch hunters, I have no privacy, and everybody picks on me. I'll bet Abe Lincoln and Dwite Eisenhower never had this problem.
Making me president for life shouldn't be rocket science, either. Just ask my good friend Vlad to arrange for someone to drop a bomb on Washington. Better yet, ask my pal, Kim. He's been wanting to test his noocks out of someone without starting a war with the United States for a long time. I can reply with some masterful Tweets, and the whole country will fall at my feet and beg me to take over. Boy, you think I'm rich now!
All you would have to do is give me enough warning to get out of there myself. I'll probably go to one of my golf courses with a select few of my friends.
Let's see - I need a foursome - Ivanca, definitely - Rudy - no, his bmouth is almost as big as mine. Lindsay Graham is a possibility. He's not a good golfer, so he wouldn't make me look bad, and I will need a caddie. Mitch and Bill will cover up anything I want covered up, but I only need a foursome. I'll get back to you on my alibi.
There are a few more people I would like you to spare. I'll have to look at my campaign donor list to tell you who that might be. I can't take them all golfing. That would be too suspicious. I could invite them to a blow out at Mar A Lago. Let me check my campaign donor list and get back to you. I wish Jeff Epstein was still around. He really knew how to throw a party!
Once I become president for life, I want you to build a wall around the united states, including alaska and Hawaii. Then, I'll be able to keep out foreigners from Mexico, Puerto Rico and Guam. As I said, make me president for life, first, and there won't be a government to shut down. Be careful not to hit the Pentagon. I'll need its soldiers, even if I don't want its advice.
Yes, bombing Washington would solve a lot of problems for me. I'm so sick of hearing about the stupid Ukraine. Vlad warned me they were a pain in the ass. He said he would be happy to take them over. Good old Vlad! He is always willing to help out a friend! After all, he had my back in 2016.
Well, wouldn't you know it. The bleeding heart libs in Congress felt we should protect the Ukrainians from Vlad of all people! He has already taken Seria off my hands. I don't think those Democrats know what's good for them. It's like people keep forgetting whose in charge now.
Now, I have a bone to pick with you. Last year, those fried chicken coupons were welcome. After all, I was already president, and I didn't think there was anything more the Colonel could do to me.
Now that he has decided to run against me in 2020, I want to take my business to Popeye's. I'll miss Berny's chicken, but I refuse to do business with anyone who questions me, let alone is trying to take my job.
It was sneaky of him to say he was from Kentucky when we all know he is from Vermont, but be warned! Colonel Berny Sanders, I'm on to you! It takes more than a bucket of chicken to win my business! By the way, Santa, don't forget the fries this time.

Donald J. Trump, Supreme Fearless Leader Of The United States

PS: By the way, while you're negotiating with Denmark, ask Queenie to send me some of their famous breakfast rolls. I just love Danish!

Dear President Trump,

Here are the Popeye's coupons you wanted for Christmas. I can't take credit for them. "Colonel Berny Sanders" thought you should have them. Ronald McDonald sends his regards, and The Burger King wants me to assure you he isn't planning a coux against you. As far as the Danish, I'm sorry to report they are out of season.
I told you how to become president for life. In fact, my guess is that Melania is already making the appropriate arrangements. You've always wanted to make friends with Napoleon, haven't you? Well, now's your chance. We may even be able to find you a room next door to him.
You obviously don't realize that Guam and Puerto Rico are, unlike the North Pole, already owned by the United States. I suppose you want walls around them, too. Why don't you discuss your plans with Napoleon when you become president for life? Send me your blue prints, and I'll see what I can do.
Now, I have a bone to pick with you. In your previous letter, you said some unkind things about my wife. I can accept your rudeness, mainly because Mrs. Clause can take care of herself, especially since I bought her her own stealth bomber for Christmas last year.
What I found offensive is your threat against my reindeer. For your information, they are all armed and dangerous. Rudolf has a small nuclear plant in his nose, and if you mess with him, his nose won't be the only thing that glows.
Your Rudolf's nose is also red and glowing, but it ain't for the same reason. You may think the alcohol he has consumed over the years will protect him, but it won't. You just have to accept that my Rudolf is better than yours, and a heck of a lot smarter. If you don't believe me, ask your old pal, Vlad.

Very Truly Yours,

Santa

PS: If it’s any comfort to you, your reputation is beyond dispute. Everybody who knows you knows what a jerk you are.

Dear Santa,

I don't know who you think you're dealing with. Two of My best friends, Mitch and Bill read your last letter, and agree that you were insulting my intelligence.
According to Sean Hannity, you don't even exist! Sean promised me that yours and my correspondence will remain under wraps. Because of this, I feel free to write you one more letter.
Your crack about Napoleon was in bad taste. In fact, it was anti-Semitic, at least I think so. Turns out this Napoleon guy has been dead for years. Ha! Ha! Very funny you big fat, red coated bastard.
Rudy didn't appreciate your snotty comment about his nose. Wait until I tell him what Sean said about you! Boy, is he going to be steamed!
My Rudy will challenge your Rudy to any contest, and he will win. Don't hesitate to pick something hard. My Rudy is up to anything! Just remember, he can out drink, out eat and out talk anyone else I've ever met. I'll bet your stupid reindeer can't say that.
My friend, Devin, said that you were implying that Melania was trying to get me committed. I asked her about it, and although I didn't understand her answer, I think she is still as committed to me as she was on our wedding day. When you look like me, you don't have to worry about attracting the opposite sex.
The only thing you said to me in your last letter that was true was that the Popeye's coupons were from Colonel Sanders. I know that because Mitch read the return address to me and they were from the DNC.
By the way, most of them were expired, at least that's what Mitch said. He also said he would throw them out for me. Should I be suspicious? After all, Popeye's chicken is hard to resist.
Anyway, this is the last letter I'll ever send to you. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. As anyone who has ever done business with me can tell you, I have no shame.

Donald I, King Of The United States of America

Dear President Trump,

Your friends have given you some wise advice. Don't contact me again, and I won't sue you for violating the restraining order.
I'm sure that's best for both of us. I'm sure everyone on the North Pole will sleep better tonight knowing we have negotiated settlement. I can't speak for Washington and the rest of the United States, but the more of your melt downs we avoid, the better for everybody.
I have given some thought to the best contest between our Rudies. How about a foot race? We'll start in New York and run all the way to D.C. The first who makes it to the White House will choose our next president. The loser will end his days on a barbecue spit. And yes, Agent Orange, you can watch on your own TV! Talk about a reality show!
Anyway, Donald, I can keep this crap up as long as you can. I'm sick and tired of your bullying tactics, and the sooner I divorce you the better. There isn't anyone in the United States who is looking more forward to January 21, 2021 than I am. Santa Clause, indeed.

Melania

Dear Melania,

You mean, there really isn't oil on the North Pole?
King Donald I

The seen is a bunker somewhere in Russia. Don't ask where in Russia. If you do I'll have to kill you. In fact, the location is so secret that if you know where it is, you may have to kill me.
Three people are sitting at a large conference table. They are Boris, Natasha and Vlad. they are looking at a smart phone. They are monitoring the tweets of a certain person code named Agent Orange.
Boris: "But Fearless Leader, isn't Agent Orange the herbicide they used in Vietnam."
Vlad: "Yes. I chose that name because it captured the malignity of the person it refers to."
Natasha: "But, Fearless Leader, I thought you were happy when President Tru - I mean Agent Orange took office."
Vlad: "Oh, he's just what we need. He is stupid and gullible, and he represents the best chance Russia has to get whatever it wants on the world stage. That doesn't mean I have to like him"
Boris: "So, what do you want us to do?"
Vlad: "I want you to give him the right to drill in the North Pole for oil."
Boris: "But there's no oil in the North Pole, is there?"
Vlad: "He also wants us to dig up dirt on someone important."
Natasha: "Joe Biden?"
Vlad: "No, he is already paying the Ukrainians to do that. This is someone even more important."
Boris: "The Pope?"
Vlad: "Even more important."
Natasha: "I give up. Who is that idiot after now?"
Vlad: "Someone every child in America idolizes."
Boris: "You mean Barney?"
Vlad: "Someone even bigger."
Natasha: "Come on Fearless Leader. I can't stand the suspense."
Vlad: "I'll give you one hint. he lives at the North Pole and his best friend has a red nose."

Natasha: "Oh, is that the guy with the nuclear reindeer?"
Vlad: "Yes. It seems that Mr. Trump has a squabble with this Santa Clause person, and he wants us to ruin his economy."
Boris: "But hasn't his trade war with china already done that?"
Vlad: "No. Santa Clause is make believe. He doesn't have an economy to ruin. His two greatest assets are a stealth bomber and a radio active reindeer. At least that's what Agent Orange's Rudolf the red nosed former mayor of New York told him, and now he wants us to investigate."
Natasha: "Yes, but how are we supposed to investigate someone who doesn't exist."
Vlad: "That's the beauty of it. We can say we investigated and give him a fake report. Then, we'll tell him that Santa is sorry he was so hasty in disregarding Agent Orange's Christmas list, but Santa will give him all the oil on the North Pole in exchange for California."
Boris: "Yeah, that will work. Agent Orange hates California almost as much as the rest of the United States hate him. He'll probably tell the rest of the country that he got the better deal."
Vlad: "So will California."
Boris: "Are we going to give him anything else?"
"Yes, I have some old Popeye's coupons. That will make him happy, especially if we remember fries. We'll even thrown in a year's supply of Coke."