It was 5:30 am when the POTUS awoke from a dreamless, hugely restful, and luxurious sleep. The White House bed, though grossly inferior to his custom-made gold-plated Victorian-era emu-stuffed mattress in Mar-a-lago, was nevertheless conducive to an excellent sleep. Generally, the president appreciated the fact that his furniture exuded power only a true master of business could possess, a point he would often stress to those who were listening. Yawning, Trump reached for the beeping alarm clock. “I don’t even need an alarm clock, it’s true, believe me. I can wake up on my own at the exact time I need to, believe it,” he said to the empty room. The President maneuvered his rotundity out of bed and yawned, stretching. Noticing a twinge of guttural disturbance in his bulging midsection, Trump smiled and chuckled at the obviously powerful and healthful state of his presidential corpus. Clearly the previous night’s meal of over 40 Chicken McNuggets was sitting well with him, and the urgency felt in his bowels was more symptomatic of just how strong and commanding his digestive tract really was. The POTUS trundled into the stately James Garfield bathroom. He sighed at the total lack of golden fixtures and rhino skin towelettes. Shaking his head but nevertheless committed to his purpose he exclaimed, “It’s time to get to work.”
Two hours and twenty-five tweets later, the President emerged from the James Garfield bathroom feeling invigorated. “I wonder what the bigly losers in the media are saying about me today?” he remarked audibly to absolutely no one, this time gazing into the corner as if someone were, in fact, present. Trump turned around multiple times before settling on a direction. He had recalled, using his huge and prodigious memory, that the farthest door to the left was the exit from his sleeping chamber. First stabilizing his now dizzy body on a nearby hutch, he slowly but surely made his way to the door. Reaching the hall, the President of the United States of America, arguably the most influential nation on Earth, turned around again, forgetting where he was. After a period of leaving and re-entering the same room no less than three times, Trump remembered Fox and Friends would be on soon. “Melania! Turn on the news, I’m going to be on it!” he yelled down the hall of the historic White House, home to presidents such as Abraham Lincoln and Dwight Eisenhower. Melania was nowhere to be found, however, having never even once stayed in the White House with the President. But Trump was undaunted, and as he labored down the hall screeching her name, an aide eventually emerged from a nearby doorway.
The aide skittishly approached the President and handed him a television remote. “Please, sir, follow me! I can take you to the television!” he shouted. The POTUS nodded approvingly, having insisted that all his assistants and advisors use a big boy voice for manly adults when addressing him, the President. He smiled and greedily snatched the remote like a child grabbing for Halloween candy. “Good work, Don!” said Trump. “Sir, I am not your son…” replied the exasperated aide, who clearly had been correcting the President for some time on this trivial and insignificant matter of mistaken identity. But it was too late, the POTUS had already wandered off.
It was 9:00 am before the President was finally able to turn on the television. Having both missed and forgotten about Fox and Friends, he tuned into CNBC. News that a large corporation was laying off workers immediately enraged Trump. “Fake News!” he cried, swearing to himself that he would use his massive and bigly powers of business acumen to resolve the issue. The President stared unblinkingly at the television for another hour, pausing only to mutter to himself about phonies and fakes, and how people were treating him very unfairly. Another aide entered the room. “Oh Don my boy, good to see you. Bring me to the Office.” The aide sighed and gestured for the President to follow. Dropping the remote on the floor and leaving the television positively blaring, Trump followed to the hallowed Oval Office, home to major, Earth-shaking decisions for over 200 years. Trump plopped himself in the leather-bound chair behind the desk and began slowly spinning. Spinning made his head feel funny, and would energize him for the life-altering work he was about to perform; huge and magnificent undertakings even the haters would have to agree were stupendous and glorious.
After the president finished his third sketch of Nancy Pelosi’s head on the body of a donkey, he began to lose interest and started glancing around the room. Should he construct another architectural masterpiece out of the Popsicle sticks and glue Paul Ryan had left for him? Surely his skills in real-estate should not be allowed to languish during his time as Leader of the Free World. But no, there would be time for such endeavors during Arts and Crafts at 3:00 pm. Instead Trump became fascinated with the red rotary phone on the right side of the desk. Now that was an important looking phone, truly befitting an important man. He lifted the receiver, ready to call some of the celebrities and businessmen he had networked with in his long, fantastic, and successful career. Who knew what great and impressive deals he would make on behalf of the American people? It was time to find out. A voice emerged from the other end: “Mr. President, please, hang up the receiver.” The POTUS was displeased. Who was this man, and how dare he order him around? “Don is that you? Don’t you dare tell me what to do, now bring me my lunch or I will cut you off, believe it!”. The voice, growing audibly distressed, replied “Mr. President, with all due respect we have been through this. You need to use the intercom in the center of your desk. Please remember what Mitch told you, this phone is broken.” The President sighed. Being in charge came with many unfair burdens. He slammed the receiver down with so much force the desk shuddered. Slapping ineffectually at the intercom on the desk, a third aide eventually appeared with a silver tray and a bag containing two McDonald’s cheeseburgers, a large order of fries, and an apple pie (the President would not eat and became fussy if he did not receive the dessert he so rightly deserved). Trump licked his lips and snatched the bag off the tray. He ate ravenously, smearing ketchup all over the desk where Peace Accords, International Treaties, and Legislation affecting All Americans have been signed for two centuries. Another meal accomplished.
Trump shook his head in disbelief and confusion when a voice called from the desk intercom. “Show yourself!” he shouted, fists at the ready. “Mr. President, it’s time for your briefing with the Chiefs of Staff.” Trump hated this part of his otherwise busy and impressive day. As their wise and regal leader, he of course had to attend. But he felt the weaklings and nobodies in the room would not appreciate the genius of his ideas yet again. This time. he thought, he would simply have to force them. Trump was led to the boardroom by a fourth aide coincidentally named Don, and he was seated in a gigantic highback chair at the head of the table. The Chiefs of Staff all filed into the room, each of them acknowledging the President in turn with a grin and a slow, belabored “How are you, Mr. President?” John Kelly slid up next to the POTUS. “Sir, we have some very important business for you today”. On cue, a butler emerged from a pantry with crayons and a coloring book, “The Bill on Capitol Hill”. This gigantic and cumbersome work of literature would bore the President, but by filling in the outlines about the Judiciary Branch today, he would help save Americans tomorrow.
Trump diligently began his work as the Chiefs of Staff began their own less important work with the daily goings-on of the country. The President smiled at their smallness and started shading in an American flag, tuning in and out of the conversation at the table. Just when he had discovered an excellent and aesthetically moving use of Fire Hydrant Red, he jolted up from his coloring book. “I did not collude! This is hugely unfair, very unfair! Sad! And True! It’s all made up by haters and fakes!” The President had apparently overheard conversation with the attaché to Russia. More specifically, he had heard the word “Russia.” The Chiefs of Staff all made calming gestures and soft cooing noises. A second McDonald’s apple pie was brought for the POTUS. His rage was assuaged, and work continued.
At 6:00 pm the Judiciary Branch had been brought to life with vibrant and liberal application of color. Several executive orders were presented to the POTUS, who quickly signed them in order, making sure to admire his huge hands and luxurious signature as he did so. Though irked that he had not had time for Arts and Crafts, the President was nevertheless satisfied with his day, having accomplished a great many important tasks. The Chiefs of Staff filtered out, and dinner was served at the board table, this time McNuggets with rare, imported Szechuan sauce. Trump shouted for an aide to lead him back to the television room with his meal. When no one immediately responded, the President turned 360 degrees three times and once again located the door out. “Looks like I have to do everything myself around here! Sad!” Truly, heavy weighed the crown as Trump left the board room, carrying his own food with him. Trump miraculously navigated himself to the television room, still cacophonous from this morning. He settled down in his favorite recliner, and tuned into the Golf channel. Thee POTUS scarfed down his meal and prepared for some much deserved relaxation. “My swing…is way better than…these losers” he remarked to no one in particular as he began to nod off. Another day done in the life of The Single Most Powerful Man on the Entire Planet.