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A day in the life: The Donald chronicles

Dear Diary,

Donald Trump here. How you doing? One of my aides suggested I write some of my thoughts down for history like real American leaders used to do back in the day. She said it’d be a record for when they write the history books, and while that may be true, I also never tell a beautiful woman “no.”

I’m still contemplating whether to call you Diary or Journal in respects to the first sounding kind of fruity, but I think I’ll stick with Diary for now. Anyway, I suppose I’m not really writing this to you, Diary, but to the world. This is my gift to them: my beautiful words.

Speaking of words, I just recently got in a tiff with this talentless broad at The New York Times by the name Gail Collins who wrote some nonsense about how I’m a “birther” for speaking the truth about President Barack Obama’s place of birth (I’ve got people in Hawaii looking into it). So she writes some snarky column and I respond. The editors graciously publish my letter in which I state my respect for Ms. Collins for having survived “so long with so little talent” (zing!). I also let them know that her storytelling ability and word usage are not at a very high level, “coming from me who has written many bestsellers.” And then you know what she went and did? Wrote another column about me! Talk about infatuation. You’d think she’d have some better material than telling me how I’m so wrong about EVERYTHING. Gail Collins, you’re fired!

I usually only read New York’s two biggest tabloids, the New York Post and Daily News, so I’m still trying to figure out how these “real” journalists work. My aides give me print-outs of stories about me, which usually just piss me off. I sent one hatchet job back to Graydon Carter, the editor of Vanity Fair, and wrote on it that he never got “the Trump thing.”

But I digress. After all, I’m doing pretty damn well among real Americans. People like you and me. Most polls have me tied for the Republican nomination and as far as my ability to beat Obama, like I said on the radio last week, “I have a great relationship with the blacks.”

Think about it: President Donald Trump. That’s golden. My hit reality TV show, The Celebrity Apprentice, is still in full swing on NBC, so I can’t make any official announcements. But I’ve been talking to some political people about getting in the game. I’ve got a speech booked at the GOP’s annual Lincoln Day fundraising dinner in June, and I’ve been talking to some evangelical leaders (Republicans love Jesus).

And yet some of these elitist bastards think otherwise. They think I’m a “sideshow.” That little turd Karl Rove, “Bush’s brain” as I’m told he’s called, said I’m a “joke candidate.” Coming from the guy who gave us Bush No. 2? Ha! Kiss my ass, Karl.

Everybody loves to talk about how cool Obama is. Please, you want cool? Does he have his own hit reality TV show? Was he ever roasted by Snoop Dogg and Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino from Jersey Shore? I don’t think so. And by the way, as a published author, I can tell you Obama didn’t write his claim to fame, Dreams of My Father. Bill Ayers, the 1960s radical, wrote it. Like I’ve said before, you can tell Obama didn’t write his first book because his second book reads like it was written by “somebody of average intelligence with a high school education.” Enough said.

Now on to the issue of Obama’s place of birth, which the media continues to ignore. Maybe it’s true that when you request a copy of your birth certificate in Hawaii they give you a certificate of live birth instead. And maybe it’s true that the government accepts certificates of live birth for passports. And maybe it’s true that Obama did that in 2007 and the raised seal on that piece of paper means he is an American. But do I give a damn? Hell no. Barry Obama, you’re fired!

I may have called baby Bush “evil” once, and I may have stated Obama was “amazing” a few years ago. I may have supported gay marriage once and believed in a woman’s right to choose. And maybe I used to think that universal health care should be the right of every American. But hey, times change, people change — and I sure as hell like to win.

Anyway, I gotta bounce — hair appointment in 20.

Till next time,

The Donald

Justin Snow is a senior history major. He can be reached at snow at umdbk dot com.

Originally published in The Diamondback.

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