People often ask me what it’s like to be the offspring of the world’s most reprehensible cheeto in a suit. The paparazzi won’t quit badgering me about my dad’s plans for his presidency, what he ate for breakfast on any given day, the authenticity of his hair, and what he means by the implications in his various speeches. I stand and stare blankly at the cameras, feigning ignorance with regards to my father’s choices and causing a large portion of the population to question my mental capabilities. Plebeians. They think I’m just a dumb kid. What they don’t know is that I’m behind it all.
That’s right. I, Barron Trump, a strapping young lad of only ten years, am the mastermind behind the actions of America’s newest president. Dad has all sorts of stuffy Republicans whom he calls his “advisors,” “cabinet,” and whatever other lingo the legal system so generously provides us with, but his only true consultant is the youngest of his progeny. I draft his speeches, perfect his press conference antics, and contrive his infamous social media presence. Did you all really think that the old lard knew how to Tweet?
Don’t ask me how I got this position. I really couldn’t tell you. All I can say is that Ivanka wanted my job for years, but what did she expect? She’s a woman. Did she really think she could handle the responsibility of being the brains behind the bright orange brawn? Hush Ivanka, sit back down and look pretty.
God, don’t even get me started on my mother. I’m supposed to be her advisor, too, but to be entirely honest, I have no patience for counseling a brick. She’s a lost cause, and frankly I’m too preoccupied with real work to write any more speeches for that woman. She didn’t even notice when the speech I “wrote” for her was Michelle Obama’s 2008 DNC address verbatim; I cackled all the way through that train wreck. Oh, how I love interpersonal manipulation.
As of now, I think I’ve done an excellent job of convincing the nation that my father is an independent individual by making allegations and insinuations that seem simply too absurd to be fabricated. Roasting Meryl Streep on Twitter and the whole wall thing have been my favorites. I have slipped up a few times, however. Sometimes my dad seems to make childish mistakes… A ten year old can only do so much.
Although, with such blatant maturity slip-ups such as calling people “haters and losers” and simple incompetence in terms of spelling, one would think that the general public would catch onto his pre-teen antics and expose me as his advisor. I guess they’re willing to accept that their nation’s leader acts like a fifth grader. Works for me!
Oh, and by the way – the hair is fake.