An unauthorized parody of Trump's Mar-a-Lago rant against his 34-count indictment by New York grand jury
Laughter and alarm warranted
Myrmidons, thugs, and co-conspirators, lend my your ears without interest.
Barbarism is a wonderful calling or profession. It has been given a bad name by my enemies. The sacking of Rome by Atilla the Hun should be celebrated, not denounced. Any textbook that insinuates otherwise should be removed from public libraries and schools.
That’s the true meaning of constitutionally protected free speech, i.e., speech that I agree with but not a syllable more. Anyone who disputes Donald Trump’s infallibility should be executed for blasphemy. Everyone knows that the First Commandment on the tablets Moses brought down from Mount Sinai reads, “Thou shalt venerate, exalt, and salute Donald Trump, especially when he is doing wrong. He doesn’t need your help if he is doing the right thing.”
Every sapient being and even rocks and stones know I could not by guilty of the 34 felonies charged by the New York grand jury and orchestrated by Manhattan DA Alvin Bragg with the virtuosity of Toscanini. Everyone knows from my spartan, ascetic lifestyle that I am a virgin. I did not have sex with Stormy Daniels. I did not have sex with Karen McDougal. I did not have sex with my wife or former wives. All my children were born via immaculate conception like Jesus. My good friend Sir Thomas Aquinas, who I hear is doing well these days, can vouch for it.
I am the author of The Art of the Deal. I sit at the summit of business savvy. In the 2016 presidential election, my cult following would have burst with a crescendo of cheers if Daniels and McDougal and other prostitutes-pornography stars had volunteered our trysts. My political popularity would have soared for being a ladies man. No voter believed I was a choir boy running for President in 2016. Moral depravity was my signature. To plagiarize from Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself: “Do I contradict myself?/Very well then, I contradict myself./I am large, I contain multitudes.”
Further, everyone including God knows I am a pauper—more impecunious than St. Francis of Assisi (who I also understand is flourishing these days). I wouldn’t have had a dime to spare on Daniels or McDougal. I don’t even pay my own lawyers. When I was not craving wealth and indulging financial chicanery to enjoy all the creature comforts known to man, I was religiously reciting in my dreams each night Matthew 19: 23-26, “I say to you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eyes of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”
But when I awaken from my slumber, I think heaven really isn’t for me. I take comfort in Ralph Waldo Emerson, another giant whose comet is rising anew according my my mendacious sources, “ A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.”
Every legal, religious, philosophical giant, including the likes of Genghis Khan, Joseph Stalin, Kim Jung Un, and Mao Zedong, will testify to my flawless character incapable of diverging even an inch from my notorious narcissism.
We need to make the country great again by abandoning the wimpy Constitution and embracing Kingship by crowning me King for Life.
I would like to renounce the devil, but now is no time for making new enemies.
God bless the serpent in the Garden of Eden.