The Chronicles of Pickle’s Pen Pal: The Hurricane Trump Edition

Poor, poor President Camacho. He’s under a lot of stress lately. First Daddy Kelly cut off the lifeblood of his paranoid Tweefs (Breitbart) and then a bunch of ratings-whore hurricanes required him to do actual work. And we all know how much the Orange Don hates working.

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A lot of you probably don’t know this, but in times of stress, the Kumquat Despot can be quite eloquent. With the weight of the world bearing down on him due to his complete and utter incompetence the lamestream media, not to mention the fact that his main homegirl and confidante Steve Bannon was unceremoniously dumped by Daddy Kelly, President Camacho needed an outlet for his anxiety. Who better to help him than his friend and erstwhile pen pal, Pickle?

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Because we are a premier political gossip blog, we got a copy of Trump’s second letter to his buddy, 9-year-old POTUS super-fan “Pickle.”

Hey Potato Chip,

How’s it hangin’? Mine are to the ground! Just so you know, I’m talking about deez nutz. You know what I’m talking about. Kids know life. I haven’t heard back since my last letter. Whatever. It probably got lost in the mail. I get shitloads of mail. That’s because I’m an important person. The MOST important person. Only important people get mail like I get mail. Make sure you send that quote to the failing New York Times so they understand how important I am. Sometimes they don’t get the memo. Not that I care. I’m too busy doing grown-up stuff like being President.

Speaking of being unpresidented, Melon Ball, I’m doing a lot of that lately. I don’t know how much Fox News you watch, but if you get your Chief of Staff to turn it on for you, they’ll tell you that I’m pretty much the greatest ever. For example, the hurricanes. There were these tremendous hurricanes that hit some of the loser poor states. At first I thought they were talking about the drink. They’re not booze though. They’re storms.

This one, Harvey, was a Category 5. No, Broccoli Tot, they’re not talking about a woman who looks super-basic – that means a whole fuckload of water gets dumped on beautiful structures. Everyone was super happy about it. Practically nobody died, and if they did they were probably too unsuccessful to care about. Maybe if they had better branding, like the Coast Guard, I would’ve noticed. Me and the Coast Guard saved a bunch of people’s lives. Here I am with two cats:

 

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Don’t look that up. It’s totally me. Believe me. Like I said, Zucchini Bread, the hurricanes were beautiful. When I went to Texas, a bunch of people threw me a campaign rally out of nowhere. That’s what happens when you’re a big shot like me.

Of course, there are a lot of haters and losers out there, Lemon Spritzer, especially on 9/11. You’d think people would show a little respect for me on that day, especially considering Trump Tower was the tallest after those loser Muslims knocked down the Twin Towers. They said I talked during a moment of silence for the 9/11 victims, but only an idiot would be distracted by…

Holy crap, Pumpkin Pie, did you see what ESPN said about me? Not ESPN, the black chick on ESPN, Jack-in-the-Box. She said I’m a “white supremacist,” whatever that is. It’s crazy how they let the Blacks have opinions now. My house elf Jeff Sessions told me he’d make a law against that, but so far, nothing! That guy is the worst. I should’ve fired him a long time ago, but he still hasn’t told me where his pot of gold is. I’m no idiot – he’s not leaving unless I get it.

Well, Roasted Garlic, I’ve gotta go. I’ve got LOTS of major Tweets to send, and this KFC deuce isn’t gonna drop itself. Daddy Kelly says I’m supposed to call Mexico and send my “condolences” (that’s a made-up word and he knows it) since they stole our thunder (just like they steal our jobs) and had a hurricane AND an earthquake. It can wait. What’s the worst that can happen – are they gonna pull millions of dollars in aid just because I’m an asshole? I’d like to see that happen! Smell ya later, Corn Flakes!

Your Pal, Donnie

P.S. OK, I’m not panicking or anything, but turns out Mexico is pulling that funding. Shit. What am I gonna do? I know! I’ll just say I tried to call the Mexico’s cell phone, but they were all out of minutes. That should work!

P.P.S. You can write back anytime. You can even mow my lawn. I’ve kicked all the Mexicans out, so I’ve only got little white kids to do it for me. You ARE white, right? I’d hate to deport you like all those Dreamers.

 

Photo Credits: Giphy, Tenor, The Washington Post, Snopes

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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