Donald Trump called into Fox News today to share a wild story in which he claims he was visited by three Christmas ghosts last night:
Last night the strangest thing happened to me, and it totally changed how I want to spend the rest of my life! It started yesterday morning as I was busy doing my “Executive Hours” at Mar-a-Lago, and Eric was complaining how I was making him work on Christmas Eve, and how he was freezing because I wouldn’t turn up the heat, and how he wasn’t comfortable signing all the financial disclosures that the Trump Organization was submitting to the IRS solely by himself.
So I started yelling at him about how easy he has it in life, and how my dad was way tougher on me than I’ve ever been on Eric. He started tearing up a little so I told him I was docking his paycheck $100 for being a pussy.
Then my son-in-law Jared Kushner came into my office and invited me to a Hanukkah dinner. I have always worshipped my daughter Ivanka, and of course her body full of sexy, dominant Trump genetics, but Jared has been real stingy with the $2 billion he got from the Saudis that I deserve a cut of because he got the deal while working in my administration. It was only because of me letting him use government-owned airplanes that he got to go to Saudi Arabia so many times for free throughout my presidency. But he’s hogging all the money, and it’s not like I can sue him because then everyone would find out the details of the deals we made with Mohammed bin Salman that were maybe not as squeaky clean as we’ve claimed.
So I screamed at him to get out of my office, and never invite me to a “globalist” party ever again because it makes me look bad in front of my most committed supporters like Kanye West and Nick Fuentes. I can’t afford to lose the support of America’s Nazis by breaking bread with a bunch of Jews, even if one of them is my incredibly smoking hot daughter Ivanka! I need to keep my Nazi fans’ enthusiasm high because I may just need them to try another coup if the midterms don’t go my way!
Finally I went home and got into bed, cracked open a Diet Coke, and fell asleep to the soft, relaxing sound of Newsmax hosts calling for all my political enemies to be tried for treason. But then I was suddenly awakened by the sound of chains dragging around on the floor, and discovered it was my father, Fred Trump, somehow back from the dead!
At first I assumed I was imagining him, perhaps because of some indigestion from eating too much fried chicken at lunch, or maybe the late-afternoon snack of two Big Macs and two Filets-o-Fish had upset my stomach. But he shook my bed, slapped my face, and called me a loser in the same way I had called Eric a loser earlier that day. He then told me the chains he was wearing were forged throughout his lifetime of sociopathic greed and selfishness, and he warned me the chains I was currently forging were much longer and heavier than his own. He warned me that I would be visited by three ghosts throughout the night, and that, if I didn’t learn the lessons they’d offer, I was doomed to wander forever carrying chains in the afterlife like him. He then vanished, and I passed out onto my pillows from the fright!
The first Ghost to wake me was the Ghost of Christmas Past, and he took me to a Christmas morning many years ago. It was when Don Jr., Ivanka, and Eric were all little, and I was still married to Ivana. We were all playing games, and laughing with joy.
I sat there with Ivanka sitting on my lap, smiling the biggest smile as she told me she wanted to someday marry someone just like me, and Don Jr. was showing me the D.A.R.E. pledge he signed at school vowing he’d never do drugs, and Eric was sitting on the floor precociously playing with a science experiment kit involving thermometers and various elemental substances I had picked out for him because all the teachers at his school agreed he was the smartest student in all of his classes. It was the best Christmas of my life because it was before Ivanka started puberty and became interested in boys other than me, before Don Jr. stopped “giving the cold shoulder” to drugs, and before Eric put one of those thermometers in his mouth, accidentally broke it, and then swallowed all the mercury forever poisoning his brilliantly developing, gifted brain.
Then the Ghost of Christmas Past snapped his fingers, and took me to a different place, an apartment where I was having an affair behind Ivana’s back. It was the first sexual liaison me and this woman had that didn’t take place in the dark of night with the lights off, and she shrieked when she saw me naked in the light of day. She screamed, “Ew, get that mushroom thing away from me! Is that some kind of freaky STD? Aw, Jesus! Have you infected me with it?” Then the Ghost kept rewinding and replaying her screaming at me over and over, at least fifteen times, until I yelled out for him to take me back home! In a deep, haunted voice, the Ghost reminded me, from that night on, I never had sex again without having to pay for it in cash upfront to get the woman to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement.
After that, I was returned to my bed, and I passed out from exhaustion. I don’t know how long I slept, but I was awakened again, this time by the Ghost of Christmas Present, who took me to Jared and Ivanka’s Hanukkah party to which I had declined the invitation. They were with their friends, and everyone was having a great time eating and laughing, and they began playing a game of “Twenty Questions.” I got really into it, and shouted out questions and guesses — though no one could hear me — until it slowly dawned on me that the answer to the round of the game was me! Once they figured out the subject was a politician, they started asking questions like, “Is he racist and divisive,” “Did he lose reelection?” and, “Are his hands the size of a toddler’s?”
They all laughed at me, even Ivanka, who raised her glass for a toast and announced they should drink in my honor for being such a cartoon of a human. It made me a little sad to see my beloved daughter didn’t respect me, or think of me as the paragon of patriarchal authority anymore like she did when she was young.
Then the Ghost of Christmas Present took me to Eric’s house, where his family was eating a meager meal because I dock his pay every time he acts like a loser, which is about every forty-five seconds. Eric was telling his kids one at a time how much he loved them all, and how he wanted to break his family’s generational cycle of paternal abuse. Then his kids started asking lots of questions about why Grandpa was so mean to him all the time.
One asked, “What’s an abortion, and why did Grandpa tell you you should have been one?”
Then another asked, “Why does Grandpa always put blue candy sugar in his nose and snort it? I’ve heard of a sweet tooth, but not a sweet nostril!”
Then one more said, “When Grandpa took me golfing, I saw him kick his golf ball into the pond when no one was looking, pull a new ball out of his pocket, and toss it much closer to the hole than where the first ball had landed!”
The first one asked, “Grandpa’s hands sure are small for a grown man, aren’t they?”
The second asked, “How come we never see Grandpa and Grandma Melania in the same room together?”
The third said, “Grandpa has had three wives, and I’ve heard him say bad things about all of them!”
And the first said, “I’m not going to fetch Grandpa any more Diet Cokes until he pays me. He says he’ll give me a dollar for each can that I go get for him, but he never pays! He just says a check will come in the mail in two weeks. But a check never comes!”
Eric told his kids that Grandpa had been abused emotionally as a child by his dad, and that’s why he can’t help himself but be a mean jerk to everyone in the same way. “It’s all he knows how to do, unfortunately,” Eric said. He explained that it wasn’t Grandpa’s fault that he didn’t get enough love as a kid, but the lack of parental affection did leave him unable to empathize with others or feel love like a normal, emotionally stable, and psychologically healthy person. Then Eric opened up his arms to hug all his kids, and told them he’d always love them no matter what, and he’d never be mean to them like Grandpa is to him, no matter how much the mercury in his bloodstream fogs up his brain.
I was silent while watching, and sniffed a little, at which point the Ghost of Christmas Present asked me what was wrong. I told the Ghost it was nothing, but that maybe, possibly, I had been a little cruel to Eric earlier in the day. The Ghost began to laugh at me with a low rumbling chuckle, and I commanded him to stop, but he wouldn’t for quite a while.
The Ghost then removed me from Eric’s house, and I found myself in a cold, dark alley. In front of me in the shadows I heard some footsteps getting closer, and discovered two emaciated children creepily shuffling toward me. The Ghost told me their names were Treason and Insurrection, and I should beware them. The children were growling terrible, guttural sounds, and I tried to run away, but the alleyway led to a bricked dead-end. I turned around to see the children sprinting toward me like crazed zombies, and, right as the children nearly got to me, I blacked out and woke up back in my bed.
My nerves were still rattled, so I got up to grab my bedside can of Diet Coke to calm myself and wait for the third specter. I tried to turn on Fox News to cheer myself up, but the TV’s power went out immediately! Finally the Ghost of Christmas Future arrived. His face was obscured in his great, big, black cloak, and he didn’t say a word to me. I shouted out for him to show his face, but he just raised his gaunt skeleton hand and pointed at me. I demanded again he show himself, and asked if he was Stephen Miller playing one of his famous “I’m-a-serial-killer-and-I’m-gonna-murder-you” pranks on me, but he walked toward me with his bony fingers raised until he touched my forehead.
Suddenly I found myself at Mar-a-Lago, but the resort was abandoned, empty, and in an alarming state of disrepair with dust everywhere. I asked the Ghost to explain what happened to all of my belongings, but he just pointed again, this time down the main staircase to the lobby where I discovered Melania and all my kids talking together.
“It’s too bad he never actually was a real billionaire, and all the ritz and golden gilding everywhere was cheap, gaudy, and fake,” said Ivanka.
Then Don Jr. said, “After the estate pays off all his debts, sells off the money-losing properties, and makes all the back payments due from decades of tax fraud, we won’t even inherit enough to buy a single dime bag of coke!”
Melania spoke next, and said, “You think you’re disappointed, I spent two miserable decades married to that disgusting, orange slob waiting for him to die and leave me my share, but clearly that money never existed. I wasted my best years pretending it didn’t fill me with revulsion and fury every time he tried to hold my hand in public.”
“Oh, everyone could tell,” said Tiffany.
Then Ted Cruz and Steve Bannon walked into the lobby, and Ted explained that I had made him do “some Sodom and Gomorrah stuff” in exchange for me endorsing him in his next election, and that he was hoping they all would honor his humiliations by giving him the family’s endorsement. They refused.
Steve Bannon announced he had only come by to grab the signed-by-Hitler copy of Mein Kampf he had let Trump borrow. Bannon then warned them that he had used the toilet, but had managed to both miss a little and clog it.
Then the Ghost snapped his bony fingers again, and transported me to an unkempt gravesite. It was foggy, but, as I walked closer to inspect the gravestone, I was horrified to find my name etched into the stone. It said “HERE LIES DONALD TRUMP, 1946–2026, WHO EVERYONE LAUGHED AT DURING HIS FUNERAL!”
I let out a scream, and grabbed the Ghost’s cloak. “Tell me it isn’t true!” I demanded. “Ghost, tell me I’m not a joke! A loser! Tell me the elections were rigged, and I was cheated! And the low approval ratings were fake news! Tell me I’m a winner!”
The Ghost said nothing at first, but then began to laugh the most terrifying cackle I’ve ever heard, worse than all the other ghosts. He roared with a howl that shook my bones, and bellowed out in a cavernous voice the word “loser” over and over until I cupped my ears with my hands to stop hearing it. It wouldn’t end, and I began to sob. I collapsed to the ground, and rolled around in the mud begging to go back home and have a chance to change things. I yelled out to the Ghost that I would change, and, in between sobs, I pledged to become a different man. If only I could be allowed to prevent the prophecies I had seen!
At last, I woke up in my Mar-a-Lago bed, and was relieved to discover it had all been a dream. My beloved Mar-a-Lago wasn’t dusty and empty. But how vividly the dream remained in my mind! Then I remembered Christmas. I wasn’t sure what day it was. Had I missed Christmas? I jumped out of bed, and ran downstairs to the breakfast buffet where I found an oddly youthful servant I hadn’t remembered ever hiring.
I said, “Boy! You, boy there! What day is it? Tell me at once!”
The boy said, “Dad, it’s Christmas morning,” and I giggled like a child. So I hadn’t missed Christmas!
“There’s still time!” I shouted.
The boy said, “Dad, are you okay?” and I reprimanded the servant for calling me “Dad.” I told him he was fired, and demanded to know who had hired such a young child for my house staff.
He yelled out, “Mom, I think Dad did too much Adderall this morning, or huffed too many Sharpie markers!”
But I was too filled with relief that I hadn’t missed Christmas to further admonish this disobedient, suspiciously juvenile waiter. There was so much I had to do to make good on my promise to the Ghost of Christmas Future!
So I picked up my phone and made several calls to ensure the vision of the unkempt gravestone recording for all of history that I was a loser would never, ever come true.
I called Don Jr. and told him I was suing him for $5 billion for damages to my brand tarnishing my name with his drug habits.
I called Ivanka and told her that because she was now over 40 and was Jewish, my new favorite daughter was Stephanie, or Bethany, or whatever her name is.
I called Eric and told him to stop being so soft and loving with his kids because he was going to turn them into even bigger failures in life than he was.
I called Melania and told her I was divorcing her because she was over 50, and that, while I had thought for a while the plastic surgery was making her hotter, I could now see she had done too many operations, and was getting a creepy alien look in her eyes that made me worry Alex Jones was right when he once whispered in my ear that she might be a reptilian shapeshifter.
I called Ted Cruz and told him that, even though he had done so many disgusting, violating, and criminal things for my endorsement, I was still never going to give it to him because his desperate attempts to curry favor with me were the most pathetic displays of self-emasculation I’ve ever seen, and made me respect him even less. Then I reminded him that his wife was ugly.
And, finally, I called Steve Bannon and told him that, as long as he promised to bathe at least once a week, I was ready to agree to his plan to publicly deputize all the Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, 3 Percenters, and QAnon conspiracists as “MAGA Knights” and “Trumpler Youth” to fight against the US military and make me Dictator of America at any pyrrhic cost, even if I have to go into exile and hide underground in a hole for years like Saddam Hussein.
So thanks to all the Christmas Ghosts last night for showing me the horrible future that could have awaited me in 2025 and beyond had I not changed my ways, and committed myself to making sure no one will laugh at my funeral for failing to overthrow America’s democracy and make myself a dictator. They will one day fear my name after I achieve my vengeance upon everyone who ever laughed at me, or called me a small, little man, or shouted out loud when they got close to me that I smell like shit, or screamed when they saw me naked, or won a sexual assault lawsuit against me, or didn’t vote for me. All of America will pay!
Because Donald J. Trump is a winner! The Christmas Ghosts showed me that throughout my life I’ve been far too soft, generous, humble, charitable, kind, and obedient to the law, and I very nearly was going to go to my grave letting such magnanimity ruin my legacy!
So I vow now to do whatever it takes to make myself Dictator of America, and etch “WINNER” myself on my future gravestone with a pressure washer using as much blood of this nation as it takes!
With the Ghosts of Christmas as my witnesses, I will destroy all my enemies!
God damn them, every one!
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