I’ve been hearing a lot about the hardships facing civil service employees during this regrettable Democrat-led shutdown of our government, and I understand and empathize with your struggles to pay mortgages, bi-weekly Florida golf outings, and three-square meals a day of McDonald’s and KFC, but are you sure you’ve explored all of your options to successfully weather this stubborn Democrat refusal to allow hard-working federal employees to simply do their jobs? What I mean is, have you considered writing checks to yourself from your own personal foundations?
As someone who has struggled all his life against the liberal elite, and had to start from the bottom with only a small $14 million-dollar loan from his father, I can identify with your situation. Hell, I’m no stranger to financial struggles; I’ve had to file bankruptcy seven times. I know some of you have expressed concerns that you will be unable to pay for potentially-life saving drugs, and I want to say, “I hear you” (and I’m not reading that from crib notes that Stephen Miller prepared, either). As a life-long sufferer of painful bone spurs—a condition so debilitating it had kept me from making the ultimate sacrifice for my country (though I braved a host of venereal diseases on these shores so the courageous men in our armed services wouldn’t have to), I know what it means to live with sickness. But I have to tell you, if I were in your shoes, I’d just go to the ATM and withdraw money from my foundation. Have you thought of that?
When Melania and I need to replace the gold fixtures in our bathroom, afford a new portrait of myself, or upgrade a yacht to keep up with the Bezos—and we find ourselves in a pinch—we just get out the old foundation checkbook and write ourselves a check. Just be sure to put something in the memo like “for retarded kids” or “save the cripples” so it doesn’t get the libtards all riled up or else you’ll have the New York State Attorney General on your ass.
You know, when that old bag, Nancy Pelosi, pulls a stunt like this, it’s the children I really feel for. They’re the ones that are innocent victims in all of this. Many of you know my very extremely beautiful daughter and her Jewish husband are also government employees, and they’re feeling the squeeze, too, with only the income from their rental properties and clothing lines to hold them over until they start earning regular paychecks again. I told them, while this crazy bitch is holding that gavel over her head like it’s Mjölner–the Hammer of Thor (that’s a word from over in those countries where they rake the forests and have zero forest fires, folks), don’t sweat it; just go take some money out of the foundation (say it’s for “Make Midgets Tall Fund” or something) and pay your $100,000 monthly expenses, okay? She was like, “Daddy, the foundation has been dissolved.” Turns out the sons-a-bitches at the New York Attorney General’s Office shut it down! My first thought was not about me, believe me; it was for all of the retards, cripples, and midgets. Who is going to help them now? Sad!
If the New York State Attorney General has conspired with Obama-era judges and your foundation was ordered to be dissolved because of a “a shocking pattern of illegality,” just do what I do: get a loan from Russian oligarchs. They’re like the Russkie version of Phil Rizutto and the Money Store. And with the strength of the US Dollar against the Russian Ruble, it’s essentially like a zero-percent interest loan. Of course, you’ll need to go to Moscow to sign the paperwork and you’ll need to stay in one of their hotels and entertain a pair of incontinent Russian call girls named Olga and Svetlana—but it’s a small price to pay for a loan with great terms. Feel better now? Problem solved. Now go enjoy your life. ISIS has been defeated, North Korea has been disarmed, and the African-Americans all have jobs.
Seriously. What are you doing still hanging around the Beltway in January anyway, when you’ve been handed a free month-long vacation? Why aren’t you at your Florida resort like normal people, playing golf and eating fistfuls of beautiful chocolate cake? Stop worrying. I’ve got a handle on this. I’m here for you. You’re in my thoughts and prayers. As sure as I singlehandedly brought back coal and saved your jobs at the GM plant, I promise you, I’ll have you back to work in no time, within a walled fortress called Amerika. Now go jump on your own jet with your name in bold letters across the side and head south. That’s an order from your emperor—er—president, I mean. Whatever. Bye-bye.
Donald J. Trump