The Donald: A Dream or nightmare?

Published 5:39 pm Tuesday, July 21, 2015

The voice was clear but I couldn’t imagine whether I was dreaming or what?

“You’re fired!” it said. I thought the voice might have been coming from Donna Sue’s direction and asked, “What have I done now?”

She was asleep, so it wasn’t hers. It continued, though. “You’re fired!”

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I got up and went into the bathroom and there, standing before the mirror was The Donald, as in Trump, practicing his most iconic phrase from “The Apprentice.”

“What are you doing in my bathroom in the middle of the night?” I asked.

He condescendingly answered, “I don’t know. I have closets bigger than this house.”

As it turned out, The Donald was practicing his mantra for his first day in office after he wins the presidency.

“You don’t really think you have a chance, do you?” I posed.

“Sure, I’m the greatest candidate of all time. Did you not read my financials? I’m worth even more than I thought! Even I’m impressed with myself. Well, maybe not; I always have thought a lot of myself.” The Donald could have continued, but I stopped him in mid-praise with a question.

“What’s that on top of your head?”

“Hair, dummy. Haven’t you ever seen a coonskin cap?

“Yeah,” I joked, “but usually it’s dead and I’ve never seen one that was red!”

“You’re just jealous like all the candidates,” he blustered. “I have the most wonderful ‘comb-over’ in the history of men’s hairdos.”

Speaking of candidates, I wanted to ask The Donald how about all the controversies he seems to begin. He’s called practically every one of them losers and I asked him if he ever felt like saying “I’m sorry” or apologizing.

“Never,” he trumped! “If I had anything to apologize for, which I don’t because I never say anything that’s wrong, I might consider it. But I’ve never said ‘I’m sorry.’”

“To anyone?” I asked. “How about your wife?”

“I’m on my third wife and I find that it’s easier to buy them a new condo than it is to say ‘I’m sorry.’ Did I tell you that I’m rich?

No more than a hundred times, I thought.

“But money can’t buy happiness,” I reminded him.

“Whoever told you that, didn’t have as much as I have!”

I was getting sleepy and The Donald’s act was growing old. I asked him why he wanted to be president. Why would anyone want to give up the jet-setting lifestyle of a Donald Trump only to be tied down in one house, even if it is the White House?

“Who said that just because I become president I still can’t travel all over the world and play golf any time I want to?” he challenged. “Why change what the current one does? Besides, I may develop a golf course right in the Rose Garden. You know I have the best golf courses in the world, right? And guess what else I want to do? I think it’s time to change the name of the White House.”

“Any suggestions?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“The Trump House. What else?” I saw that coming.

I finally fell asleep again and the Donald was still at the mirror in my bathroom, but he had stopped saying “You’re Fired!” Instead, I heard his singing voice and it wasn’t too bad. His song went something like this, “O Lord it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way.”