It should really be called the Department of Desperate Losers, he thought.  Losers because they were not from America, and Desperate because they so badly wanted to get here.

He rubbed his hands together.  He loved this part.  It was the beginning of a fun new game.

In front of him sat a stack of computer file printouts, personally selected for him.

He grabbed the first one and started reading through it.  Her name was Maya.  She was a 15 year old girl from Syria.  She liked mathematics and soccer.  He looked at the file in shock.  Who could have possibly picked this one?  After a moment, he finally noticed the Post-It note on the cover sheet.  “Just kidding,” it read.  He made a mental note to find out who was responsible for this joke.

The next one was better.  She was Vietnamese, and she was past the legal age.  Very thin–he liked that.  But while skimming her bio, he found out she was politically active and had been part of the opposition movement in Vietnam.  In fact, this was why she was trying to leave the country.  He shook his head.  That sort of thing only caused problems.

There was the file of a Colombian girl who was much too athletic for his tastes.  Once again, he congratulated himself on his decision to make full-body photos mandatory with all immigration applications.  “You’re fired!”  he said as he placed her application on the reject pile.

He didn’t want a woman to wrestle him.  He wanted someone who would be as perfect of a wife as Melania.

Ah, Melania.  What a woman.  Always so quiet, and when he gave her permission to speak, always so classy.  And a knockout–that went without saying.

She looked a little sad at that last party.  He could understand how she was feeling.  It was bittersweet for him, too.  They had such good times together.  But he was a realistic man.  And reality was that Melania was past her expiration date.

It wasn’t all bad.  He would get to pick out a fresh new babe.  And Melania would be fine. She would go on to do…well, whatever it was that older women did.

More ladies–from Mexico, from Somalia.  He suspected that his staff was trying to be politically correct and do that whole diversity thing with the candidates.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he got to the women of European heritage.  Finally…this was the good stuff.

Oh, yes.  A blonde from the Czech Republic.  Gorgeous face.  And those knockers.  Talk about merit-based immigration.  She would be getting extra points for sure.

And then a bombshell from Sweden.  A brunette this time, with legs for days.  Definitely a ten.  But not pretending to be someone she wasn’t.  No weird hobbies, no PhDs.  Just solidly feminine.  He could appreciate that kind of honesty.

He would gladly save her from the terrorist hellhole that was Sweden.  He felt a tiny twinge.  Was it sympathy?  Maybe it was an erection.  Whatever.

Might as well end it right here, he figured.  Could it get any better?  Who knows, but he didn’t have the attention span.

And then he was hit with another one of his brilliant ideas.  Why not have both the Czech chick and the Swedish chick come over here and fight it out?  The lucky winner would get his hand in marriage and American citizenship.  Of course the entire thing would be filmed.  It would make a fantastic TV show.  They could wrestle in…in something.  He would figure it out later.

There was a light knock on the door of the office, and Seth peeked in.

“Having fun, Mr. President?”

The President spread his fingers over the desk.  “This is so great, Seth.  So great.  Thank you for this.”

“Excellent.  Take your time, Mr. President.  We’re discussing some policy issues in the other room.”

“Good job, Seth.”  This was his genius, he reflected–he had such fabulous people working for him.

The door closed again, and Donald went back to ogling pictures of hot girls.

“Being President is seriously the best job ever,” he thought.

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Subjects of America!

First off, I must thank you for helping pay for Queen Melania’s recent plastic surgery. The sight of the Queen’s lifted cheeks has lifted His Majesty’s spirits (it’s a joke–laugh, peasants!).  Alas, even Queen Melania is not immune to age, and as King Donald has frequently declared, only a perfect 10 in feminine beauty can be allowed to complement his own leonine visage.  It has been inspiring to see our loyal populace so willingly contribute their tax monies to the important cause of keeping the King’s sacred marriage bond intact.

In other news, ratings were the highest ever for the latest episode of Prison Camp Survivor.  Millions of subjects tuned in last Tuesday to catch the surprise execution of fan favorite, Sasha Obama.  As producer of the show, His Majesty is very pleased with its success, and proud of himself for pioneering this innovative and inexpensive new kind of reality show.  Tune in this week to find out who will be the next one to get eliminated from the re-education centre!  Also, look for Gladiator: Antifa vs. Militia, coming this fall!

Only one month left until the Day of Remembrance, so get your commemorative shirts and coffee mugs while you still can!  Once again, we will be paying tribute to the fallen of San Francisco, Chicago and Los Angeles.  These cities will always remain a part of American history, even though they had to be sacrificed for the sake of liberty and freedom in the Yuge War.  We can take comfort in the knowledge that those who were nuked in the Attacks will live on forever in our memories, and also that those towns were full of Democrats.  The Royal Family has announced that it will mourn that day by going into seclusion at the Mar-a-Lago resort.

A special shout-out goes out to James D. of Pittsburgh, who at a recent town hall asked His Majesty: “So, when are those manufacturing jobs coming back?”  We haven’t had this deep and enjoyable of a belly laugh in a long time.

Some concern has been expressed about how succession is going to work, now that elections have been temporarily suspended due to the Tragic Attacks.  The public has made clear that it loves Ivanka and Tiffany, and wants the process to be free of any outdated sexist ideas.  His Majesty has come up with a beautiful deal that he thinks will satisfy everyone.  The country will be divided between the children:  the Eastern U.S. will go to Ivanka, the Western U.S. to Don Jr., the Midwest will be given to Eric, and Barron will inherit the deep South.  Princess Tiffany gets Florida.  Thus, we have ensured that the Royal succession will be based in the kind of equality all Americans believe in.

That’s it for this issue of the newsletter, faithful citizens!  May you have a week of productive labor for the Kingdom…you know what happens otherwise!  Quick reminder:  It’s July 4th next week, so extra patriotism patrols will be out.  Have fun and stay safe!

Yours In Superiority,

Lord Kushner,  Baron of New Jersey

“My Secret Service men are unattractive.  Why can’t I have cute Secret Service men?”

“Please, Melania.  I got enough problems.”

“Oh, Donaaaaaald…”

King Donald sighed.

“It’s so cold today, Donald.”

He hated them.  He hated them bigly.  Not only had the Democrats gained control of Congress, but the very first bill they passed was the cruelest blow of all.  It required that he had to spend at least 80% of his time every year right here in D.C., and so did the rest of the Royal Family.  No more Trump Tower.  No more Mar-a-Lago.  Just the dinky old White House.

There were some misgivings about how much that would limit King Donald’s overseas diplomatic travel, but then everyone remembered that he embarrassed the country that much more when he went on foreign trips.

His first impulse was to shout “Off with their heads!”, but despite his stunning re-election victory, he didn’t quite have the power to do that yet.

“I really don’t like living here.  The decor is so drab.  It’s so…there’s not enough gold.”

Queen Melania was right.  But did those lowly Congress-sheeple appreciate all the work he had done in Florida?  His Palace was going to be the best and the biggest.  Like one of those old French ones, or maybe ancient Roman.  Didn’t matter to them–they kept whining about how staying at the White House was a “national tradition.”  They gave dramatic speeches and quoted that “of the people” bit about the government.  He was totally acting like a ruler of the people!  He could help Americans even better from a Palace!  Why didn’t they understand that?

“It’s time.”  The Queen took his hand stiffly.  “Let’s do this right now.  I want it over with.”

Yeah, there was that–one more little stab at his self-respect.  It was a small amendment inserted into the bill.  It stipulated that he must meet with at least one citizen who had voted for him every day–chosen by random lottery, to ensure he didn’t simply select his wealthiest supporters.

They took the elevator down to the tiny room they had set aside for audiences with their subjects.  The couple was already there, waiting for them.

The woman was very excited.  She had poofy hair and was wearing an ill-fitting business suit.  She grabbed Melania’s arm.  “You’re so beautiful!  I love you so much!”  The Queen wrinkled her nose in distaste.

The man was wearing a baseball hat and a shirt with an eagle on it, and King Donald could swear he was staring at him with suspicion.  He nodded at the King.  “Nice to meet ya,” he drawled.  “Lookin’ forward to you finally buildin’ that wall someday.”

That’s when the break came.  The small, wary eyes of that man–one of his constituents–caused the King to make one of his infamous impulsive decisions.  He couldn’t deal with these people anymore.  He didn’t care how anybody would feel about it.  He didn’t care about the Constitutional amendment he himself had pushed through, removing the term limits on his presidency.

This was urgent.  He would tweet about this first thing tomorrow.  No, today.

He was never running for God Emperor again.