The Chronicles of Pickle’s Pen Pal: President Donald J. Trump

There’s lots of groundbreaking world news we missed during our extended absence. Probably the most earth-shattering was the revelation that Donald Trump has a friend. That friend took the form of a carefully orchestrated distraction from the ineptitude of the Trump administration letter written by a 9-year-old boy whose friends call him “Pickle.” Here’s that letter in all its glory:

We know this letter excited the Orange Don for two reasons: First, because he finally had someone to talk to that could match the eloquence of his Twitter feed. Second, because he had his over-it lackey, Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders, read the letter to the press pool.

What a lot of people don’t know, however, is that the Kumquat Despot actually took time out of his busy Tweefing schedule (that’s qweefing out an ill-advised Tweet for all you rookies) to respond to his buddy Pickle’s letter. It went something like this:

Hey Cucumber,

It’s Don. Duh. Thanks for the letter. You could’ve sent me a Tweet, but you’re probably too poor to own a Tweet-making thingy. I’m not poor, though. I’m a billionaire. I’m worth, like, $5, $10, $15, $20 billion – it varies depending on how I feel in the morning. I even earned some of that money myself. What I didn’t lose in bankruptcy or alimony payments, I mean.

Anyway, if you ever decide to get a real job like I did, you should totally get a Tweet-making thingy. It’s great when you’re pushing out a KFC deuce and need something to do. I use it for important unpresidented stuff like calling Rosie O’Donnell fat and wishing all the haters and losers a happy 7/11 – I mean, 9/11. If I don’t like the job one of my babysitters – I mean staffers – is doing, I can use it to fire them, like I did to my old buddy Rinse Pubis. You should see the looks on their faces when they check out my Twitter feed and find out they’ve been shitcanned. Hilarious!

So Rutabaga, what do you like to do for fun? I love golfing. I’m the best at it. I can hit the ball farther than anybody, especially that little pipsqueak Michael Bloomberg. He thinks he’s so great just because he has a shit ton more money than me and is a much better politician. Sad! I like golf because it gives me a chance to get away from this dump of a White House. And I really need to get away. A LOT. It’s hard to appreciate a mansion like the White House when you’ve got a really classy place like Trump Tower to live in. Everything’s gold-plated. Putting gold on stuff means you’re important, and that your dad really loved you. Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah – golf.

Golf gives me a chance to show off my sweet bod. I didn’t get married three times for nothing. Women LOVE me. You got that? They LOVE ME. Especially Melanoma, or whatever her name is. She does a lot of little things to show everyone how much she loves being my trophy wife. She plays handsy with me all the time in public. She stayed in New York even after I moved into the White House – just to keep the relationship FRESH and STEAMY. You know what I’m talking about, right Potato? You know life. Kids know life. OK, I’m talking about BONING.

Since we’re on the subject, a little advice about women from a guy who knows. You really wanna impress one, you’ve gotta pull out all the stops. I’m talking furniture shopping, planting fake stories with the Enquirer – whatever it takes to get in her pants. She might act like she’s not interested, just because she’s married or literally in the middle of doing her job, but trust me – she wants it. If you’re getting nowhere, just do what I do – grab her right by the pussy. Don’t let go until she turns 30 (gross!) or her green card expires.

Man, Fennel, you are SO lucky to be getting a letter from a guy like me. I’m really important, and I have the best brain for knowing things. I get the best intel, too. You’ll never believe this shit we got from the Israelis. They told us…damn, gotta go. Daddy Kelly is calling me. He says it’s time for a nap, but I’M NOT TIRED! I’ll show his ass. I’ll sic Bannon (if he ever stops sucking his own cock) or Kellyanne on him. Smell ya later, Turnip.

Your Friend,

Donnie

P.S. Have you seen my poll numbers? They’re amazing. Big league.

P.P.S. Write again. I’m not lonely or anything, just wanna see how losers like you live.

 

You guys, we think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. We’ll check in with Donald and his Pee Pee (that’s short for “pen pal,” get your minds out of the gutter!) periodically and see how they’re getting along. In the meantime, we leave you with Donnie Boy making a toot toot on a vroom vroom like a big boy!

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Photo Credits: Big Daddy Said, Mediaite, Giphy

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