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Trump sat perched against his fancy tulip table on the yuge back porch of the Whitehouse. The sun was setting over the construction site of his brand new, big, beautiful ballroom. It was going to be the most tremendous thing; the most elegant- well…almost the most elegant thing that Trump had ever laid eyes on. And hopefully, it would be…enough.
Sitting his back was arched - per usual, as his trusty Secretary of Health RFK Jr. had recommended. Apparently twink posture was “good for blood circulation.” But high cholesterol wasn’t the only thing taking a toll on Trump’s poor heart.
“Oh, Kimmy.” Trump sighed and let his ballroom sized back slouch down into it’s default posture while plopping his chunky face into his hands. A week earlier, North Korean dictator Kim Jung Un had payed America a visit. It was the first time Trump had really met him in person. He had heard many things about Kim; that he was he was evil and intimidating. That he was selfish and controlling.
That he was fat and ugly.
America (probably the radical far left-wingers) led Trump to believe these things which would later cause such shame and remorse in him. But the day Mr. Un stepped off his privet Jet…well that’s when trump knew those stupid ass libs were just jealous. The evening he arrived there was a soft golden sunset; identical to the one Trump sat beneath currently.
The Korean jet landed with a loud *THUD* at the D.C. Private Airport, followed by a muffled clatter of Korean swearing and beeping alarms from inside the cockpit. A bawling pilot was seen desperately banging on the console while yanking the wheel up as the small plane swerved to a stop.
“Gae-sae-kki!? What do you mean weight limit exceeded!?” The angry voice of a dictator roared from the cabin. “You’re useless, mu-geoun. And now your wife will be terminated.” A short stream of wailing pleads (assumingely from the pilot) poured from the jet before being muffled out.
The jet shook as attendants quickly applied a staircase and opened the pair of double doors on the side of the aircraft. Then Trump saw him- The most elegant thing that he’d ever laid eyes on. The ginormous individual was about half-way through the large doors by now, and Trump watched in enamor as the evening sunlight highlighted the man’s smooth, plump face.
Beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as the attendant team heaved him through with all their might. Trump thought it was kinda sexy. Suddenly there was a ear-blasting *POP* and Kim was through. The force of his great mass caused him to stumble and roll over a couple attendants.
But he kept picking up speed- and was headed down the stairs and straight for Trump.
Trump stood as an accelerating Kim came rolling towards him. In an instant, they collided. It felt almost like slow motion when at the perfect second, Kim rolled up-right and Trump’s lips met his with great force. Trump instinctively latched on to kiss them- although Kim’s were just pressed. Not a second later, Kim rolled on top of him.
Trump’s gravitational force had counteracted with Kim’s; bringing them both to a halt. Both forces were pulling against each other, making it almost physically impossible to separate. Not that Trump wanted to anyways.
Kim forced himself up and looked trump in the eyes, still lying on top of him. Kim’s brown eyes were like rich, dark chocolate- matching with the real chocolate that had stained his suit from third dessert on the jet. Trump couldn’t believe for a second that anyone could feel something less than pure admiration towards such a man.
“Mr. President! Mr. Un!” An escort came running towards the two leaders. Faces flushed, they quickly stood up and gathered themselves.
“Oh- um, I’m sorry sir was I interrupting something?” Trump began to reply but was quickly cut off by Kim. “No. I had stumbled but I’m alright. We must get things situated at my suite.” Kim turned to Trump without making eye contact. “Good to meet you Mr. Trump.” Trump was baffled. No one had ever spoken over him like that. Kim seemed completely unbothered by his presence and shoved past him towards his prepared limo.
But only Trump could see that his face was still red. Was he playing hard to get?
Trump watched Kim thump towards the limbo. His large curves bouncing with grace as he took each step. He couldn’t walk every fast due to his size; but Trump certainly didn’t mind getting to watch him for a while.
“Mr. President?” “Excuse me, sir..?” “Mr. President!”
Trump would’ve jumped if he were in better shape. “Argh! What, you liberal!?” He screeched at his assistant. “Um, Joe called. Just wanted to let you know.” Joe. Joe Biden. Trump scoffed. It had been a little while since he’d spoken to that man. Joe would always call once in a while to try and win his ex back, but Trump wanted nothing to do with that old ass snowflake.
“He calls me every other month. Must be the dementia.” Trump left his assistant without a clear answer and headed towards his private government limo. Trump’s mind was still processing his wonderfully awkward encounter with the intriguing Kim Jung Un, and he wasn’t going to let a clingy ex boyfriend try to get in the way.
The sun was completely set by the time Trump got back to the White House from the airport. A purply sky shown overhead, and the light of the moon made the house illuminated. He had one job that evening- to greet the North Korean Dictator. But he couldn’t even get that right.
“I’m a yuge idiot!” He thought to himself. Why did he do it? Why would he kiss Kim Jung Un? Surely Kim felt it…surely he knew. Melania, his lavender show wife’s shift had ended by now so Trump was alone in the building (if you don’t count the security personnel.) Trump finally got into bed with a loud thump; springs busting underneath the mattress.
Tomorrow was a big day, and he would have to face Kim again for white house second breakfast. At last, his mind let him begin to dose off. But there wasn’t much resting to be done. At around 4:00 am there was a knock at the presidents door.
“Mr. President? There’s a very important call for you, sir.”
Trump groaned and slowly got up from his king sized bed; which had left a gigantic crater from his large self sleeping there each night. “What, you stupid liberal!” He squawked. A butler gingerly opened the door. “There’s um…a seemingly important call for you at the moment- Joe Biden?” Trump scoffed and proceeded to throw his silk pillow at the butler’s head, who shut the door.
A few minutes later, another knock. “Sir, he won’t stop calling.”
Trump, exhausted and at his limit, flopped off of the bed and groaned again in utter annoyance. “Give it” he scoffed. The butler presented Trump’s golden iPhone with an AI wallpaper of him riding an eagle; six pack and all. The phone was coated in a thin layer of greasy fingerprints, referencing the president’s late dinner of cheesy Wing Stop.
Although Trump struggled for a bit to unlock the phone due to excessive X notifications, grease and his cursed sausage fingers, he eventually opened that damn Chinese data-miner.
16 Missed Calls - Joey (Ex)💔
“What does that sleepy lib want now.” Trump murmured. In less than a moment, the phone rang again. Trump answered. “What the hell do you want, Joe.” Silence. Trump rolled his eyes almost as quickly as Kim had been rolling towards him that evening.
“Donny? Are ya there?” The voice of Joe Biden crept from the small speaker. That voice was once Trump’s favorite tune. But all that is in the past, of course. “No, it’s Vlad P. YES, it’s me you snowflake.”
Trump was in discomfort. Something about Joe’s voice was sweet and fragile, but it wasn’t missed. That chapter was finished- although Trump knew what Joe wanted. “Donny, I’m lonely…I miss your plump figure. I miss how solid and grounded you are, how you would roll over guys who would hit on me because you were jealous.”
Trump blushed- but he was more irritated than flustered. “Dammit, Joey.” He gritted through his veneers. “I CAN’T BE WITH YOU! I got over you a long time ago…and I suggest you do the same.” The phone was quiet. “C’mon man, it d-doesn’t have to be like that! We can j-j-just be friends with benefits!” Joe replied. “Jill doesn’t do it for me like you do.”
“No, Joe, we can’t. Not now. Not ever again.”
The phone went dry again, projecting only a light static. “There’s someone else, isn’t there Donny.” Trump was quiet for a moment this time before replying with a sigh. “It shouldn’t matter to you anyways. I’m not yours any longer, so my affairs are no concern to you.”
“Did our debates mean nothing to ya, Don?” Trump was getting frustrated now. “I never said that- it’s just…things happen. And this isn’t the first time you’ve called just for me to tell you the same story.”
“Why do you keep picking up then.” Joe replied. Silence.
*Beep* Trump hung up. What a waste of time. It wasn’t Joe’s fault that he kept forgetting what Trump had told him, but his words stuck. “Why do you keep picking up then.” Despite him being the most intelligent president, (which a lot of people say, a tremendous amount of people) that was the one question Trump could not answer.
He turned to his golden alarm clock. 7:20 AM
That damn liberal. Trump had lost a larger number of hours than what showed on his step scale. Maybe that was Biden’s plan all along- to sabotage his chance with a new, hot babe.
Trump shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Donald.” Although Joe drove him nuts, he still seemed to have some sort of a soft spot for that helpless old man.
About 30 minutes later, Trump called for his butlers to fetch the forklift which was used to help him out of bed each morning. They helped force him into his nearly too-tight XXXXXL suit, and 5 foot long red tie. Trump admired himself in the mirror. Was he enough? He wondered while adjusting his toupee franticly.
A self-conscious Trump rolled his way over to the gaudy, golden vanity on the other side of his bedroom. Yanking open the drawers, he scrambled to find something.
“Where is it…where is it!” He grit.
Suddenly he yanked open the last drawer and froze. The corner of an old photo was peeking out at him. Trump carefully pulled it out of it’s cluttered pool of tacky shit, and carefully examined it. An old picture of him and Joe in the hospital.
That was the day of Don Jr.’s birth. Joe lay in a hospital bed next to Trump, who appears to look lovingly at their baby. Trump winced at the photo. He seemed…genuinely happy back then; even though Don Jr. was un unexpected accident, Trump wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Trump snapped back to reality. Folding up the picture, he tossed it to the side. Those chapters are over - besides, his beloved son was the only thing keeping him from tossing that stupid picture into his golden trash bin with the others.
Enough distractions. Focus on the future. Trump continued to dig into the drawer of last hope until he found what he was looking for. “Hallelujah!” Hollered the least christian man on the planet.
His tacky, golden trump pin from his personal merch site.
Trump quickly jabbed it onto the chest of his suit - which was incredibly easy because the fabric had been stretched as thin as it would allow - and ran into his second dressing room. “This will hopefully grab Kim’s attention!” He giggled.
Ultimately Trump had spent 30 minutes practicing faces of which he thought to be “cute” in the mirror while his poor butler cringed from behind. Not that Trump could see the man, or really anything but himself as he took up the entire mirror. “Mr. President?” The butler cautiously gestured to the very serious and focused president.
Trump’s expression dropped from a kawaii kissy-face to an irritated scowl. “WHAT THE HELL NOW!” The butler took a step towards the gaudy, clock above his tie rack. “The Whitehouse second breakfast is scheduled in about 20 minutes.” Trump’s yuge head turned a bright, MAGA red. “But-but I haven’t even had first breakfast yet!!”
“Well…you were too busy looking for that pin and practicing your…um..demeanor, sir.” Trump stomped his foot like a giant toddler. The whole building rattled along with the following sound of dishes shattering in the dining hall and cursing from the catering staff.
“You democrats want me to starve to death!? You tried shooting me already, and now you want my fate to fall in the hands of malnutrition! Slow and agonizing!!” Trump stormed out after squeezing his way through the door and into the hall. Trump was making his way toward the kitchen for a raid, when suddenly - *riiiinngg!*
“Mr. President, the guests have arrived!”
Trump froze. This is it - no going back now. The president peeked from behind a corner into the corridor as if everyone couldn’t see him taking up the entire hall. First came the Xi Jung Ping…then came Vlad…and more and more world leaders after him. But no sign of Kim.
The suspense was torturous. That man was the only person Trump could even give a shit about at the function and he was nowhere to be seen.
Then suddenly, a slight tremble of glass rang out from the dining room hutches. It grew slowly until vases and other decorations of the Whitehouse shook as well. Then the chairs - which began to shift dramatically in waves which added to the choir of trembling furniture. Another plate fell to the floor following a murmured “fuck” from a caterer.
The shakes where rhythmic…almost like- footsteps.
The piercing smell of bulgogi and kimchi arose to announce his presence. The waves grew until once pounded down with a final bang - causing the whole country to tremble. There as a knock at the door. Trump’s large stomach was in knots.
The butler shimmied up the corridor to answer. When the front door opened, no shadow was to be seen. Because there was no light coming in through the doorway as if it were nighttime. Trump looked down at his $120 golden Rolex watch with the little red “MAGA” engraved on the face, just to lower it when he remembered that he can’t read analog.
But he was pretty sure it wasn’t nighttime because second breakfasts aren’t that late.
Trump came to his second conclusion. It must be him.
Trump’s heart fluttered with nerves as he heard the painful, strained groans of Kim’s assistant team trying to shove the Korean dictator through the door. Then, “POP” Kim was through.
Kim brushed himself off as the pile of common folk workers flopped on the floor in fatigue. Trump, still tucked by the wall like a schoolgirl. Kim looked up for a moment, locking eyes with the president who blushed profoundly.
Trump was sweating- and he fucking stunk too. Was it because he was so big or… was it because of love? Trump shook his head. “Love..” What a stupid thought. All he knew is that he’d better go find his AXE bottle STAT before embarrassing himself in front of the most glorious world leader he’d ever met.
“Mr. Trump! Come greet your guest.” Cried the butler just as Trump was making his escape. He turned around to face Kim and turned bright, Republican red. Just as Trump was about to speak, a final knock arose from the door.
“Ah Mr. Biden! Long time no see.” Cried the butler as he bent past another man outside the door. There was giggling and chattering. Trump was…absolutely speechless.
What the hell was Joe doing here? The only person left on the guest list was JD! Trump scrambled to get a better look, just then noticing that Kim had rolled forth into the dining room without him noticing. Trump not noting Kim? That’s something he never thought would happen. Not unless something weren’t going as Trump planned - and Trump HATES not having full control over his little kingdom.
As the four individuals entered the corridor one by one, the president’s non-existent jaw dropped feet lower. First came JD Vance with his newly acquired trophy, Erica. And surely, right behind them came Joe, Don Jr. and…Bubba?