The Official Biography Of Donald J. Trump
The story of Donald J. Trump began on 12th December 1945 when two very inebriated biology post-docs fertilized an orangutan egg with DNA taken from a syphilis bacterium. Failing to remember their prank the next morning, the two post-docs left the egg in its petri dish where in the months that followed it slowly grew into a shapeless orange jelly.
One day, when the quivering mass was six months old, it was found by one of the university cleaners who saw an opportunity to revenge herself upon her primary employer Fred Trump, a minor property developer in Brooklyn famous for being the slummiest of slum landlords. She slipped it into a plastic bag and the following day hid it under the covers of Fred Trump’s bed, thinking it would be a suitably disgusting mess for him to encounter at the end of a long day bullying his subordinates and cheating his contractors.
What the cleaner could not have known, however, was that Fred Trump possessed all the intellectual acumen for which the Trump family would later become justifiably famous. Upon discovering the whining quivering orange mass underneath the covers of his bed, Fred assumed it was one of his children (he already had one, so he felt he knew precisely what children looked like). From there on, the orange lump’s future was assured.
Over time, thanks to being forced into human clothing and being given all sorts of orthopedic supports, the slimy orange mass slowly assumed a form that, while clearly not human, did at least resemble some sort of bloated and deformed primate. Biologists ascribe this to the genes inherited from the nameless orangutan from which the post-doc’s egg was harvested. The one thing the creature lacked, however, could not be compensated for by expensive orthopedics and slightly-too-tight clothes. Doctors who examined the creature in the early years of its life were consistently amazed by the fact that it could shamble to-and-fro using its cellulite-pocked legs and it could utter sounds that at times could almost be mistaken for some kind of basic grunting yet it had no brain at all. The insides of the misshapen orange head were entirely devoid of anything remotely resembling a central nervous system.
To this day, when asked to explain how Donald Trump is able to perform acts that almost seem at times to be intentional, doctors have no explanation. One neurologist who examined the young Donald on several occasions over the years hypothesizes that the dark moist interior of his head provides an adequate environment for a species of slime mold that has spread its mycelium throughout his cranium and is using the flabby body beneath as a food source. The neurologist acknowledges, however, that the drawback with this hypothesis is that even slime mold exhibits some form of intelligence whereas Trump is not known at any moment in his life to have evinced anything whatsoever that could be construed as intelligent action. The jury, therefore, remains out.
The young Donald was mocked at school by human boys who identified him as a freak and a dullard. As these were accurate assessments, Fred decided to pay actors to pretend to admire the young Donald in the hope that this would help him develop at least a microscopic fragment of self-confidence. Instead, the toadying simply resulted in the orange jelly coming to believe it was (a) human, and (b) not quite as repulsive, stupid, disgusting, repellent, vile, loathsome, ignorant, mindless, spineless, feeble, and without any redeeming feature, as it had first thought.
As the years passed the creature discovered it possessed a superpower. By pure accident the creature learned that some of the babbling noises it made resembled aspects of human speech. Over the years Donald discovered by trial and error (mostly error…) that the best speech-simulacrums were those that sounded like infantile lies. Although the creature had no brain, it had stumbled upon what became the guiding principle of its existence: lie, lie, lie again, and then lie some more. Without ever realizing it, Donald had discovered that homo sapiens has speciated into two distinct branches: stupid people, and very stupid people.
This latter group (known as Republican voters in the USA, Brexit supporters in the UK, Modi fans in India, etc.) formed a natural feeding-ground for Donald and as he grew older he discovered he was able, thanks to his father’s money, to pay people called lawyers to get rid of the many consequences of his irrepressible stupidity and impenetrable ignorance. He made business history when he became the first creature ever to lose money owning a casino. Twice. Naturally he ascribed this to his business genius, telling eager reporters, “Nobody loses money like me, I’m the best money-loser in the universe, I’m the greatest loser, everybody says so.”
As the draft for the VietNam war was in effect when Donald reached the age of eighteen, his father arranged for him to be diagnosed with bone spurs — a fiction made easier by the fact that his anatomy was unlike any human arrangement of bones and so the radiologist who signed off on the diagnosis did so under the impression that he’d consumed far too many magic mushrooms that morning before setting off to work. Donald, thus spared any encounter with reality, went on to flunk every class he took at a third-rate obscure mid-Western college before a generous donation from his father opened the door for Donald to “graduate” from Yale summa never-cum-here-again with a degree in eating mud with a minor in peeing in his own pants.
Following his father’s example of cheating his contractors, buying the cheapest possible materials, and declaring bankruptcy every second Tuesday of the month, Donald found a natural home in the real-estate business.
Knowing that Donald was too repellent ever to be of interest to even a deaf, blind, and wheelchair-bound human female, Fred Trump desperately sought ways to palm him off on someone in the hope that then, finally, Donald would leave home. Learning that even the Catholic Church wouldn’t marry Donald to a baboon or a lemur — and discovering that no female baboon or lemur wanted to come within a mile of Donald — Fred eventually hit on the solution: a glossy magazine called Mail Order Chump.
Mail Order Chump was started in the late 1950s by Jimmy “the weasel” Rigoletto as a way for ambitious young women from impoverished countries to find suitably dull-witted American men they could marry and thus become eligible for visas and then green cards. Fred paid for expensively-altered photographs of Donald to be placed in the magazine along with a brief description that described all his best feature: Donald’s ability to (sometimes) breath through his nose. Once the ad was placed, Fred sat back and hoped for the best.
Eventually a somewhat deranged and exceedingly desperate young Russian woman called Ivana contacted Fred through the magazine to inquire if Donald was still available. Over the following weeks she negotiated a price, with Fred finally agreeing to pay her half a million dollars and provide ten years’ supply of paper vomit sacks in return for her marrying the orange jelly-like creature he still imagined to be his son.
And so it was that Donald and Ivana found each other in a heartwarming tale of selfish greed and sheer desperation.
Of course it was inevitable that when Ivana actually met the man his father always fondly referred to as, “my shit-for-brains tiny-dick loser son,” she would refuse to allow him within ten yards. As Fred was desperate for someone to carry on the family business after he was gone (knowing that Donald would be the world’s most incompetent businessman ever) he arranged for Ivana to be artificially inseminated, thus starting what would become an unbreakable tradition for Donald in the years ahead — a tradition that would spare several women the horror of having to touch his wrinkled cellulite-addled flabby body.
After Ivana used up the last of the vomit sacks she received from Fred as her wedding gift, she divorced the orange jelly, leaving Donald once more a solitary sack of orange pus. Fortunately Fred had paid for the ad in Mail Order Chump to run for thirty years under the suspicion that it could take that long to find anyone desperate and unfeeling enough to marry his son. So it was that Donald’s next wife Maria Maples found her escape from meth-addicted poverty and moral degradation by becoming Donald’s second wife, thus trading meth for martinis and moral degradation for, well, more moral degradation. She too negotiated a significant dowry from the Trump Estate, some of which was actually paid, but having failed to negotiate a suitable supply of vomit sacks, Maria soon parted from Donald on the grounds that as he was clearly an evolutionary mistake therefore technically they’d never been married in the first place.
As we all know, Donald didn’t remain a drooling mindless singleton for long. Eventually an even more desperate young woman from Slovenia found the ad for Donald in Mail Order Chump and spent months trying to decide if it would be better to escape to the USA by marrying the orange moron or if she should continue with her simple life as a full-service prostitute to Slovenian gangsters and corpse fetishists. After one harrowing episode where a client tried to hammer a wooden stake through her heart, Melania cast caution to the winds and emigrated to the USA in order to become Donald’s third wife.
Undergoing the by-now traditional artificial insemination, Melania later gave birth to a child she fondly calls “the little hideous monster” and promptly handed him over to a series of nurses who were under strict orders never to let him out of his cage. She named the offspring Barron, believing that this would automatically make him a member of the British royal family so she could eventually marry Prince Harry and thus one day become Queen of Great London.
When asked, she always tells reporters that Bannon is “Just like his father, it is so cute! He is a moron, very flatulent, and his pee-pee is also deformed.” Although as Melania has never seen Trump naked, this last comment is surely speculative and can be attributed to her fertile imagination — the same fertile imagination that led her to claim on her website that she has ninety-seven PhDs from Oxford, Harvard, the Sorbonne, and the prestigious Black Swamp Theological College, Louisiana.
After majestically arranging to become bankrupt four times in a row, Donald cleverly engineered his comeback by laundering Russian mafia money through a series of his companies, notably Mar-a-Largo and his money-hemorrhaging golf courses. This enabled Trump to borrow $15 to pay ghost-writer Tony Schwartz to write The Art of the Squeal, in which Trump’s business genius is explained by his propensity to squeal loudly whenever he imagines he is doing something clever — a blatant tell that enabled everyone he negotiated with to ensure Donald would make a massive loss on every deal. Examples of Trump’s business acumen include building Trump Car Parks in twelve cities at a cost of $2 billion and selling them for $3.75 (plus the promise of a McDonalds happy meal) to a consortium of Italian pizza-makers, and his stable genius investment of $2.7 billion into a factory making invisible diapers for the over-90s run by Igor Biltashelvski — a factory that was never finished because Biltashelvski relocated hastily to Tahiti under an assumed name.
Fortunately for Donald, two cynical TV producers recognized something in Trump that they were sure would make them rich: his irresistible appeal to everyone with an IQ under 15. As this comprises 99% of Republican voters and thus approximately 75 million viewers, they knew they had a hit show in the making. So it was that The ApeMeantThis hit the airwaves on 16th February 2005 and turned the creature who had begun as a prank into a national joke.
The producers laboriously explained to Donald that the phrase “you’re fired!” would mean that someone would bring him a McDonalds Big Muck burger and so the wobbly orange creature began babbling it at every opportunity. With judicious editing, the producers took a mindless blubbery subhuman and turned it into a celebrity — a feat they’d repeat shortly afterward with three biology experiments gone wrong that they discovered underneath a disused toxic waste reprocessing facility called Car-Dash-E.N.
Many thought Donald would end his days squealing “you’re fired” like an over-sugared child with ADHD, but as the years passed even Republicans grew tired of the repetitive formula. The ratings declined and the producers told Trump that his days of free Big Macs were coming to an end. Desperate to secure his lifeline to artery-clogging McDonalds, Trump decided to stage the most risible feat of all time: he announced his candidacy for the US presidency. This, he was sure, would pull viewers back to his junk TV show and thus ensure that he could gorge his bloated body on a continued supply of McSlop.
As we all know, although many believed Trump to be the most ignorant and most stupid creature ever to live, in fact there were forty-three million US voters who were even more ignorant and stupid than Donald. These benighted mindless voters actually imagined that the deformed brain-dead reality TV host was a suitable person to run the world’s most militarized nation. And so it was that, thanks to some help from the equally stupid director of the FBI and a gloriously dysfunctional electoral system, Trump became the 45th president of the Unites States of America.
At first Trump believed this meant he could eat hamburgers all day while drooling happily at the flickering pictures on Faux News, but eventually aides explained that he’d also have to continue cheating at golf on a regular basis so as to mollify Republican donors who expected to see him out on the links at least five days a week. Fortunately electric golf carts eased the metabolic burden of ferrying Trump’s bloated body from one tee to the next, and extensive cheating by his caddie ensured that Trump rarely had to get out of the cart in order to win by seven hundred and bigly strokes each game. Trump achieved a much-sought-after record, being the first president in US history to spend more time playing golf on his own courses than ignoring the pretty pictures aides drew for his daily in-depth forty-five second intelligence briefing.
In four short years, Donald magnificently achieved what no president before him had dreamed of: he licked the boots of tyrants around the world, scorned old allies, wrecked the future of the US economy by giving $1.5 trillion in tax breaks to millionaires, and turned the USA in a global laughing-stock.
Of course, he didn’t do it alone. Without the help of the Republican Party who backed him at every turn, Trump couldn’t have done so much in a single term. Thanks to stalwarts like Mitch (“the bitch”) McConnell, Ted Cruz, and Tom DeLay, Trump was able to defecate all over the remnants of the US Constitution, commit treason, shatter the emoluments clause, and escape with zero consequences. By laying the groundwork for the end of the USA and the emergence of pure tyranny in the years ahead, Trump did what the Soviet Union, Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and Kim Yong Un could only dream of. It is for this reason that many consider Donald J. Trump to be the most influential president the USA has ever had.
Now that his time in office is crawling to a close, what’s next for this extraordinary individual? No one could have imagined that the deformed result of forcing syphilis DNA into the egg of an orangutan would one day destroy an entire nation. Surely Trump can accomplish still more before his time on this Earth expires?
Biography, no matter how well-researched and authoritative, can only chart the course of what has been.
We must rely on our imaginations to predict what may happen in the years ahead.