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I happened to be visiting Trump Tower the other night, and was just leaving when who should enter the building but Donald Trump himself. Not one to miss a chance for a story, I immediately approached him. Here is the complete account of our exclusive interview, edited only for coherency and the removal of expletives.
“Mr. Trump!” I called out. “Mr. Trump! What are you doing here in New York? I thought you were campaigning in Indiana.”
“What does it look like I’m here for?” he replied. “I’m here to get some sleep. What, do you expect a class guy like me to spend the night in some fleabag Hoosier Radisson? Give me a break.”
I decided to switch to something more important. “Well, did you hear the latest news? North Korea now says it has nuclear missiles that could hit the United States. What should we do about it?”
Trump shrugged. “Just let me handle things.”
This took me aback. “What? How?”
The billionaire looked me in the eyes and pointed his finger at my nose. “Listen, kid. Success in life is about knowing people. If you want to be the top guy, you got to know the top people. I know the top guy over there. So everybody should just stop acting like a bunch of [expletive, plural] and relax. I got it covered.”
Now I was really amazed. “You know the top guy in North Korea?” I stammered. “You know Kim Jong-un?”
“Yeah, sure, I know Kim.” Trump smiled. “I built him a grand casino and strip joint in Pyongyang. He’s a swell guy, top drawer. Whenever we had a problem, he’d take care of it, so quick, you wouldn’t believe it. A bunch of squatters wouldn’t get out of their lousy little shacks so we could build a parking lot; bang, squash, pave, and in 24 hours flat, you’ve got the most beautiful parking lot you ever saw. When I’m President, that’s how we are going to do things here. No more of this go-to-court crap.”
I hadn’t realized that there was a Trump grand casino and strip club in Pyongyang, and wanted to know more. “What’s the casino like?”
“It’s wonderful, it’s magnificent, it’s yuge!” said Trump, spreading his arms expansively.“The carpets are all panda skins, the furniture is all made of ivory, the walls are solid gold, the dining room silverware is platinum, and the glasses are made from diamonds, freshly dug from the most exclusive mines in Africa. The menu is unmatched: Crimean caviar, Bolivian cocaine, Siberian tiger hearts, Pacific bottlenose dolphin liver pate, elephant balls. And the broads they got, wow. Top of the line, kid, top of the line. Not just a bunch of cute little oriental chicks like you might find in a lot of places out there, but top drawer Russian blonde bombshells chosen for us by Putin himself. And, let me tell you, my friend, Vlad really knows how to choose them.”
I nodded. “Yes, you mentioned in one of the debates that you and Putin are good friends.”
“Sure,” said Trump, smiling wickedly. “If you are looking for a good time in Moscow, he’s definitely the man to see.”
“Yet,” I said, “Putin is also the guy whose bombs are stampeding our way all those Muslim refugees that you are making such a fuss about. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Trump did a double take, looked at me like I had just revealed myself to be a born-yesterday idiot, then grinned knowingly. “You’re kidding, right? Anyway, he’s got this Olympic gymnast himself, and man, she is hot. The things she can do, you wouldn’t believe it. In all my travels, I have never known anyone like her.”
The Donald closed his eyes, as if recalling a blissful memory, but my head was spinning. “I beg your pardon. Are you saying…?”
Trump opened his eyes and held up his hand like a policeman telling a car to stop. “Sorry, I misspoke,” he said. “I didn’t mean to insult anyone. I should not have said I have never known anyone like her. I should have said ‘rarely.’ Not ‘never,’ but ‘rarely.’ There was also this nice piece of work who was married to the French president for a while, and maybe several others, whose names escape me at the moment. I love women, you know, and I’m really looking forward to meeting more of the world’s top broads once I’m President.” Trump suddenly looked puzzled. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with Merkel, though. I mean really, you call that a face? What do the krauts see in her? I just don’t get it.” He shook his head.
I decided to change the subject. “Returning to your friendship with Kim…”
“Yes, great guy,” Trump nodded appreciatively. “I love his hairstyle. We use the same hairdresser, you know.” He playfully fluffed his hair up with his right hand.
“I see,” said I. “But aren’t you at all concerned about his ethics?”
Trump frowned. “Ethics? What’s that?” Again he turned to me closely and pointed his finger in my face for emphasis. “Listen kid, in this world, there’s no such thing as right and wrong; there is just winning and losing. Kim’s a winner. I like that. He’s a real boss who knows what he is doing. You don’t see any North Korean companies leaving to set up their factories in Mexico, do you?”
He had a point. “No,” I said.
“Or foreign outfits trying to take away his action by flooding his joint with their stuff?”
Again, he had me. “I haven’t heard of any,” I replied.
Trump nodded, gracefully accepting my concessions. “Right. And how about that wall he’s got?” his eyes lit up. “Now that is what I call a wall! You never hear about hordes of illegal aliens coming into his country to steal North Korean jobs do you?”
His point was incontestable. “No,” I conceded.
“And they don’t have any Mexican rapists getting in there either,” Trump continued, holding up his finger like a professor giving a lecture. “Do you realize that 99 percent of all rapes committed in the United States are done by highly-trained professional rapists sent illegally into our country by the Mexican government?” He looked at me intently.“Would you believe it? Ninety-nine percent!”
Right or wrong, this claim aroused my skepticism. “I find that very hard to believe.”
Trump tried to deal. “Would you believe 98?”
I folded my arms. “No.”
Trump grinned at my cockiness. “Well it doesn’t matter what you believe kid, because my followers will believe anything I say.” He laughed, slapping his thigh happily for about 10 seconds, then sobered up. “Anyway, the point is, he gets the job done. That’s the kind of leader a country needs.”
“But he’s keeping millions of people in prison labor camps on starvation rations,” I pressed, “working them to death, and selling off Korean girls to be sex slaves in China, while he luxuriates on the profits. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”
“Why should it bother me?” Trump shrugged. “Those people are [expletive, plural] losers, and anyway, they all love Kim Jong-un, so who are you to complain about him?” He examined me closely. “Have you ever been to North Korea?”
“No,” was all I could say.
“Well I have, many times,” Trump said, conclusively proving his greater expertise. “It’s a beautiful country, absolutely fabulous, and everyone there loves Kim Jong-un. You go anywhere in North Korea, and ask anyone; ‘Do you love Kim Jong-un?’ They will answer, ‘Yes, we all love Kim Jong-un.’ That will be the answer, every time. Guaranteed. His approval rating is 100 percent. He has given the people everything they have, including not just single-payer health care, but a single-payer plan covering food, clothing, housing, employment, education, entertainment, the works, all inclusive. It’s wonderful. No one needs to worry about anything. Everything is decided for everyone, by the person who knows best. That’s why they all call him ‘Dear Leader.’ I like that. When I’m President, that’s what everyone will call me.”
I wanted to ask more, but our conversation was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of four Secret Service agents accompanying two spectacular blondes, one of whom made a remark to the other in Russian slang that I cannot repeat here, but which caused both to burst out laughing as they each took one of his arms and strode off into the private, gold-walled, panda skin-carpeted penthouse elevator.