So the Brits don’t want me to come. Who the hell cares? I didn’t want to go anyway. An effete country. Cold and wet. And I don’t care for May. What a bore. She’s weak, not like Merkel. Or Thatcher! Now, there was a gal you could talk to! Ugly as a stick, but smart. Course, if I went, I could always get in a round or two at St. Andrews, which would be nice. But Bedminster’s great, and their kitchen makes me the Best. Fried. Chicken. Ever! So screw England.
Still, it would be good to get away for a while. Too much heat over here lately, and I don’t mean the weather! Sarah wants me to go to Africa to make nice. I told Kelly to look into it, but he just gave me one of those looks—you know, where he rolls his eyes–and then he said, “Mister President, I don’t think an African trip is a good idea right now.”
I mentioned it to Melania at dinner. “Darling, you can go wherever you want. You’re Mister President. But please, don’t make me go with you.” Mel hates these trips, unless it’s Paris or Rome, where she can shop. To be perfectly honest, she’s happy watching T.V. at home, in her Snuggly-Buggly, and lunching at Jean-Georges. People think she’s some kind of glamor-puss, but she’s really just a regular American mom.
Things were a little tense because of this Stormy Daniels crap. I mean, Melania doesn’t ask me about my private life. That was the deal when I married her. Pre-nup clause #3b[1). I remember she said, “Donald, darling, you can do whatever you want. But please, be discrete, and don’t let me hear about it.” Sometimes I get the feeling she wants to ask me about the rumors. But she’s got a couple billion reasons not to.
I wondered what Jared thought about an African trip. As usual, I found him in the White House gym. “Pops, I think you should go,” he said between crunches. “You could always stop by Lagos and see about that hotel deal.” Jared’s a good kid. Not much of a sense of humor, but Ivanka likes him.
Okay, Sarah’s in favor, Jared’s in favor, Kelly’s against, and Melania’s, like, “whatever.” What does The Base have to say? That’s when I wished I could call up Bannon, but Cohen, my Jewish lawyer, tells me I have to put, like, a billion miles between me and Steve. So I tweeted. “Thinking of going to Africa on State Visit. The Coloreds love me over there. They know that #FakeNews lies.” Sixty thousand “Likes” within 15 minutes! Forty thousand retweets! Those are ratings, folks. America loves Trump! To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about Africa, except for the animals and the huts, but McMaster tells me we need those shithole countries for national security reasons. Speaking of shitholes, Tillerson called last night to say that all the leaders over there are “going ape” over my comment, which I didn’t make in the first place—that Durbin is such a liar, I call him “Deceivin’ Dick”–and that I’m going to have to do some “fence mending.” I was about to ask him if he really thought I should go, but before he could answer I realized I didn’t care what he thinks so I hung up on him.
Fence-mending. What the hell does that mean, anyhow? Do I put on a grass skirt and dance around a fire with the Mucketymuck of Botswana? I don’t mind having these people to the White House, when I have to, but I shouldn’t have to travel ten thousand miles to some mosquito-infested swamp and eat fried termites just to “fence-mend.” On the other hand, it’s a lot easier for the Secret Service to smuggle porn stars into my bedroom overseas than it is here. That’s my biggest complaint about being POTUS. Cramps my style! Everywhere I go that damned press pool follows me around like rats, sniffing for scandals. I haven’t grabbed any decent pussy since before the Inauguration! Why doesn’t the press cut me some slack, the way they did for Kennedy? Because he was a Democrat, that’s why.
There’s another thing: Oprah. Looks like she’s running. I’ll beat her, but it couldn’t hurt to shore up my Black support. Maybe I’ll have Dr. Carson tag along. What a brilliant man. My favorite Black person in America, and I have a lot working for me. Hey, if I’m such a big racist, how come Martin Luther King’s nephew loves me?
So I guess I’ll head over to Africa. I just had my butler bring me a globe. Wow, who knew there were so many countries over there? Must be fifty! I like the purple ones. Memo to self: have Tilly find out if they have decent golf courses.
Wow, just heard on “Fox and Friends” my popularity is up to 68%!!! That’s the highest ever for a President. We’re winning the war against #FakeNews! Gotta call Lindsay, and tell him!!! More tomorrow, Diary.