donald

It’s 2019. Donald Trump is president. Britney Spears is first lady

BY JAMES

“HEY BRITNEY, GET OVER HERE”, the President of the United States yelled into his bedside intercom.

The leader of the free world’s wife, Britney Trump (nee Spears) rolled her eyes at this most inconvenient interruption of her early-morning botox-injection regime.

“What is it, Donald?” she asked impatiently, whilst examining the contours of her freshly pumped-up lips in a handcrafted, diamond-encrusted mirror.

“The UN Secretary-General is on the phone telling me that wall I built in Mexico won’t get past the Security Council. I want to let that cocksucker know how few fucks I give.”

“Honey, I’m getting my injections. Can it wait?”

Then, after giving it some thought:

“Why do I need to be there? Can’t you tell that loser-lover yourself?”

The President had been growing impatient with Britney since the day of their wedding – which was, by no coincidence, also his inauguration day.

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Washington’s streets had been treated to a glitter-covered parade like no other for the occasion. The homeless had been shipped offshore under the pretence of being given an all-inclusive free holiday at “Trumparama” – which turned out to be a newly built wing of the United States’ military prison on Guantanamo Bay.

President Trump had Van Halen perform their newly-commissioned national anthem, America is Awesome, on the steps of the White House while fighter jets soared above the capitol, dropping newly minted hundred dollar bills, featuring the faces of Ronald Reagan and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, over the adoring crowds.

The previous President, Barack Obama, was deported to Kenya as part of the celebrations.

Since that magnificent occasion, however, the First Lady had developed quite the attitude, and the President, who had been fighting a constitutional battle after renaming Seattle “New Trump City” by executive order, had too much on his mind to accommodate her insubordination.

“Just lift your pretty little ass off that 18th Century French day bed and make your way to my bedroom,” POTUS commanded (for he was, after all, the Commander-In-Chief).

“I want to make sure we’re screwing when I take this video call with the UN Secretary General. It’ll show that Third-World loving hippy what my priorities are.”

The First Lady wrinkled her nose in disgust at the suggestion. The couple had rarely made love since the President released their sex-tape at WhiteHouse.Org for the low, low price of $4.99 per download as part of his plan to pay off the national debt. The scheme might have worked if he hadn’t taken the advice of Secretary of State Dennis Rodman and used the money to bribe Kim Jong-Un into giving up his nuclear aspirations.

Of course, Kim just spent the cash on an enormous basketball stadium, bought the fifty best NBA players going around and started up the North Korean Basketball League (NKBL), now the world’s most popular pay-per-view sport.

Lebron James’ Pyongyang Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles are currently dominating the competition.

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“Sorry hon, too busy,” said Britney, promptly shutting off her intercom. Diamond Sparkle, her poodle, jumped merrily up on the First Lady’s lap.

“Who’s a good boy, shnookums? Who’s a beaudiful, beaudiful lil’ boy?”

The pup licked her face joyously.

“You are! Yes, yes you are my little darling!”

The President turned his attention to the television screen in front of his bed, bristling at the sight of UN Secretary General Kevin Rudd’s smirking, self-important face.

“Right. What do you want?” he half asked, half scolded.

“Mr… President, you are no doubt well aware that resolution 1905 strictly forbids the building of that wall of yours. Yet you continue to go ahead with it’s construction.”

The wall Mr Rudd was referring to, known officially as the Ronald Reagan Memorial Mexican Blocker, had been Trump’s first initiative as President, making good on his promise to build an impenetrable barrier from coast to coast on the United States’ southern border with Mexico. Only month’s away from completion, the fortification had caused widespread international condemnation – which the President dismissed by describing the project’s opponents as “possible rapists.”

“Need I remind you, Mr President, that your wall has been roundly condemned by almost every member of the United Nations,” the Secretary General continued.

President Trump minimised the Mr Rudd to the bottom left of his television screen to check the score in the clash between the San Francisco 49ers and the Dallas Cowboys. There was a lot riding on the match, since the President had placed a significant amount of the US Treasury’s gold bullion reserves on its outcome in a bet with Silvio Berlusconi – who had made a recent return to the Italian Prime Ministership.

Thankfully, the Cowboys were well ahead, with a seemingly unassailable lead.

The President allowed himself a moment of joy before turning his attention back to Mr Rudd, who was still banging on about that wall. Various solutions passed through Trump’s mind before he settled on pressing the mute button on the Presidential remote control.

“Jeeves, where’s my croissant?” he bellowed into his intercom.

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