“We take you to Washington D.C. where President Trump is about to hold his first news conference since being sworn into office.”
Trump walks onto a giant stage featuring as a backdrop a huge American flag slightly bigger than the used in the opening scene of “Patton.” He walks up to a lectern with a golden T attached to the front, partially obscuring the Presidential Seal.
“OK, losers, let’s get this over with. First question goes to the front row. You, the hot chick from FOX News.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“You’re welcome, Toots.”
“Sir, how much greater has America gotten since you’ve been President?”
“Excellent question. And by question I mean your boobs. People are saying America is so much greater than it was a couple days ago — the greatest it’s ever been. There were 10 million people at my Inauguration. More television viewers watched my speech than all the Super Bowls combined. Experts are comparing my rendition of the oath of office to Brando in “Streetcar”.”
Trump points to another reporter in the front row.
“Alexei Petrov, Pravda.”
“A-Train! What’s happening, comrade? … Uh, I mean, what’s your question, Russian journalist that I’ve never seen before.”
“Mr. President, what do you think it is that makes President Putin, who absolutely does not have any salacious evidence on you, such an exemplary leader.”
“Of course, I’ve never met President Putin and I certainly don’t owe any money to him or any of his associates, nor has he ever arranged for me to meet any ladies of the evening in Moscow, though he’s right — they are the best, the absolute best in the world.”
“Thank you, Comrade Trump.”
“OK, now I’m supposed to call on one of you clowns from the lamestream media. OK, you there, Tubby.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. Lawrence … ”
“Hold it, Tiny. You know the deal. You get a Trump credential, you play by Trump’s rules.”
“Last chance, Fatso.”
“Lyin’ Larry, the Failing New York Times.”
“Go ahead, Lyin’ Larry with the Failing New York Times.”
“Sir, many experts are concerned about what they say appear to be conflicts of interest on your part …”
“President Trump can’t have conflicts of interest. Look it up. OK, you next.”
A woman breathes a deep sigh. “Dishonest Debbie, the Terribly Overrated Washington Post.”
“Go ahead, Dishonest Debbie with the Terribly Overrated Washington Post.”
“This is ridiculous. My real name isn’t even Debbie, doesn’t begin with a D. It’s Allyson.”
“Whatever. Sir, polls show that a large majority of the American people believe that now that you are President, you should release you tax returns.”
“Rigged! Next! Go ahead, Pedro.”
“Mr. President. Remember me? It’s Jorge Ramos with Univision.”
“Correction. Shorty con Univision muy mal.”
“Anyway, sir. About that wall.”
President Trump snaps his fingers, says, “deport him” and five guys in dark suits and sunglasses drag Ramos out of the room.
“OK, you — way, way, way in the back.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. Freddie Fake News, CNN.”
“Yes, Freddie Fake News, CNN.”
“Sir, can you outline for the American people what your top priorities are for your first 100 days in office?”
“Drain the swamp. … Whoa, look at the time. We’re going to have to stop there. I’ve got to do my 11 o’clock Tweetstorm. You’ll get better stuff out of that anyway.
“Now, don’t forget, losers, you have to exit through the Trump Presidency Gift Shop.”
Trump reaches into the lectern and removes a red shirt, unfolds it and holds it up for the cameras.
“This is today’s featured item.”
The T-shirt is inscribed with the words: “I went to a Trump Presidential news conference and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.”