Wharton Finally Released Trump’s Grades: F’s In Business, A’s In Poetry

(Picture courtesy of Gage Skidmore.)

Philadelphia, PA

After several years of opaqueness, the Wharton School of the University of Philadelphia has finally released President Donald Trump’s academic records.

Mr. Trump graduated from the university’s business school, and has long boasted of his grades in campaign events and casual conversations.

However, the publishing of his transcript reveals he was last in class in virtually every course he took, except, surprisingly, one poetry class.

“Donald Trump was a real dumbf***,” explained one of Trump’s Business professors, Dr. Walt Winters, 91. “I remember him vividly all these years later. His written essays about economics always clearly exhibited his not knowing anything. A real dunce. The chapter in the book about tariffs and trade wars he obviously didn’t understand. When I assigned the class a paper on what business they dreamed of starting, he wrote about how he’d start a beauty pageant to sneak in on the changing rooms. He actually wrote that in his paper. But I guess, to his credit, he did make that dream come true. But his test scores were always single digits. He could not retain any facts. One time I remember very clearly he turned in an exam with a bunch of different doodles of breasts in the margins and half the answers empty. But other times he’d turn in failing exams with strangely articulate poems on the back of pages that just made no sense juxtaposed with his otherwise clear lack of intellectual curiosity about anything covered in class.”

Trump’s poetry professor, Stephen Jacobs, 94, remembers Trump being surprisingly philosophical in his poetic submissions to Wharton’s annual english department poetry contest.

“I actually kept one of his poems all these years,” Jacobs said. “And boy does it sound weird today knowing how Donald Trump ran for president pandering to Christians. But prepare yourself, because I think it reveals facets of Donald Trump you would not expect. It’s got all kinds of nuances and subtleties, nothing like how he communicates today. It’s like he’s some kind of idiot savant when it comes to poetic journaling. He should have stuck with literature instead of business. And certainly not gone into politics, for America’s sake. Here, I’ll show you. I swear to God this is Donald Trump’s poem.”

The following Donald Trump wrote when he was 22-years-old:

The Thing About Jesus

by Donald J. Trump, 1968

the thing about jesus

is that he’s billed as the savior of all mankind

because he died on a cross as if it were some ultimate death

in sacrifice for our sins

but let’s be honest—

being crucified

as far as punishments go

isn’t really that bad—

like for sure it sucks

but

there are much worse ways to die than being nailed to a cross.

like prometheus of another mythology

who is chained to a mountain and every single day an eagle comes

and tears out his organs with its beak

and it’s been happening for thousands of years

and it happened today and yesterday

and all throughout the 50s

and is going to happen tomorrow

and the day after.

and so on forever.

in fact

to hype up jesus’ torture and then stick with a measly cross

is merely unimaginative

and his suffering only lasted several hours

though as far as historical crucifixions go

that’s nothing

for plenty of condemned roman victim sufferers.

beyond wood beams humans have invented worse

like cooking each other in bronze bulls

where the metal burns you

and adds insult to injury

while the sound of your screams makes music from a horn

so your death is entertaining for your torturers

as they sip their digestifs in the banquet room.

being strangled is another crazy way to go out

maybe it’s shorter

but talk about an aggressive way for jesus to die

rolling on the ground being strangled by judas for twenty-six minutes

until he passes out and then maybe gets his face and skull

stomped on for several minutes like the mob does.

being drawn and quartered maybe sounds worse

torn to pieces for offense against the crown

it wasn’t a very jesusy kind of thing for medieval christians to do.

or wasting away through months of nazi auschwitz medical torture

and losing your mind waiting to die on wooden planks

with a bit of water and black bread until you waste away.

or growing weak from cancer denied a health insurance claim

for your chemo dying for being poor

or drafting into a pointless and unwinnable war

in a country whose independence your occupation efforts are betraying

or getting captured and beheaded on live television

for committing crimes of journalism

or being chased through swampy woods for a week

somewhere deep in louisiana

and beat and lynched for talking to a white woman.

what if jesus had died of starvation slowly on the cold street

in a town whose charitable impulses

were banned with civic laws criminalizing feeding the homeless?

I guess I don’t know what I’m trying to get at

but perhaps we fetishize the suffering of our prophets

to ignore the suffering of the living.

* * *

“Aren’t you surprised?” asked Jacobs. “It truly blew my mind. I showed it to Trump’s business professors when he turned it in, and it floored them, too.”

Jacobs showed the poem to Professor Winters, who kept a copy as well.

“I wouldn’t have believed it, except I could see it was in Donald Trump’s distinctive handwriting,” Winters said. “Even back then he wrote everything with a sharpie, and, instead of taking notes during lectures, he would practice signing his signatures, which really distracted the class because he scribbled it over and over quick and loudly, and every time he finished a notebook page full of signatures he’d tear it out, hold it up, and then circle his favorite ones. I was always having to tell him to pay attention, but he’d whine in front of the whole class that I was treating him very unfairly by not giving him A’s, and that the school’s faculty was rigged against him. Like I said earlier, a total dumbf***.”

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