Editorial by President Donald Trump
This is an open letter to my wife, Melania Trump. You’ve left me with no other option, since I don’t know where you are in the house and I think you have me muted on twitter (unfair), so here it is:
I am the President. Everyone says so. And not only, when you think about it, am I the President, but I’m also in fact your husband. And a great businessman, very successful, all these things.
Everything I’ve gone after, I’ve achieved. Everything I wanted, I’ve claimed. Everything on earth, except for a normal, consensual-looking holding of hands in public with you, my wife. When I close my eyes, I see your hand – pulling away at televised events. Wriggling out of my clutches. Mocking me. Your hand is the absolute Rosebud The Sled of my life.
Melania, we both know these are uncertain times. But whatever the days to come may hold, whatever happens to my presidency or to me, I make one vow to you: I’m gonna get that hand.
I’m gonna grab it and I’m going to hold it while we stand there, or walk around, and people will see it on television and it will look like you like it, and not like you’re trying to stop a fish from putting your hand inside its mouth, and everyone will agree that you held my hand like a wife and it was regular. You mark my words, Melania. That hand is going to get held.
Your guard is going to drop eventually. You’ll fall asleep on Air Force One with your hand hanging out, or we’ll be at a thing where I have to bring my family and you’ll get distracted paying attention to our son. But I won’t, not for a second. I’ll be locked on to that hand like a terminator, and then whammo. And then we’ll see who can’t get his own wife to hold his hand. We’ll see.
I want that hand! It haunts my dreams. Damn it!
Are you not richer than you ever imagined? Is there any measure of comfort or status I haven’t provided you? Did I not make you the First Lady of the United States of America? Was that not enough to keep you from taking every possible opportunity to demonstrate on the world stage that you don’t like me and you think my hand is gross? Gimme that hand. Gimme that hand Melania, let me hold it on the news!
I warn you: I will not focus on anything else ever again until I get that hand. And if everything else in my life and in this country goes to hell, if I get impeached or arrested or blown up and all my buildings burn down and the White House blows up and the beautiful Mar-A-Lago falls into the sea, I will die holding that hand, in a non-weird way that looks normal.
And my tombstone will say this was a great man, a huge man, and that he held hands with – at one point – probably a ten, eight minimum.