NY Post coverage of the President in happier times

Mister President,

Can we talk?

First of all, you’re doing a great job.

Five days a week, you’re Archie Bunker as president, firing off all those racist, divisive, incendiary words as if you’re arguing with your socialist liberal son-in-law, Meathead.

The other two you’re being yourself, setting the new standard for a president that future generations will judge a presidency, like those other Republican icons, Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt and Ike.

What your enemies still don’t understand, sir, is that you never really wanted to be president. It was a job thrust on you by the people, not all of them, a minority, the 34.9% better known as “the base,” for which you embody what they always wanted, a president as dumb as the average American.

Long before you said you wanted to be president, sir, all you wanted in life was some bimbo you could squire to Le Club or Studio 54 so you could make Page Six. That was you’re entire goal in life.

Now you can make Page Six every day as president. You are the happiest guy in the world.

There are those who say, Mister President, your administration has been a joke. A day doesn’t go by without something risible at the White House that would give us a good laugh, if it weren’t so offal.

There’s no real logic to what you’re doing. You’re telling Xi of China, for example, to go fuck himself. You buy wheat, soybeans, and corn from us or else— we’ll do something to them! Who knows what, exactly?

You’re turning the daily White House briefings into a food fight. But that’s your strategy.

The other day you did something right out of Archie Bunker. You planned to fire Supreme Court Justices because you didn’t like their vote on two of your favorite issues. They had to tell you: “Sir, you can’t fire them. They are there for life. Unless they retire.”

Firing people is one of the two main things as president you are good at; the other is getting lower taxes for the rich.

Last Friday night, when you hoped nobody would notice, you had the AG, Deputy Dawg Barr fire the guy you appointed to head the SDNY, Jeff Berman. And when your lap dog bungled it, you had to 86 him yourself.

Any day now, my guess is, you’ll be firing Dr. Fauci, Dr. Brix and her scarfs, the CDC chief, and the other conspirators in the public health crisis gang. They are off message.

Not only don’t they get testing is the problem— as you have explained, Mr. President, a decline in testing will produce a decline in the afflicted, ipso facto — but the crisis is over The Trump Flu is history. So what if there is a second or third wave after Election Day. You can lie about it.

Whatever happens, it won’t be your fault, sir. You’re not known as President Don’t Blame Me for nothing.

Should you be running out of Inspector Generals and other remaining competent public servants in the administration, you can always fire your daughter Ivanka and her husband, the White House office boy, Jared.

I also would fire the eight members of the White House staff and Secret Service who caught the non-existent Trump Flu just as the 2020 campaign opened in Tulsa Monday. Consummate acts of disloyalty, maybe even treason!

BTW, you should stop apologizing for the crowd size in Tulsa, sir. The convention center was packed. True, it wasn’t the 800,000 who RSVP’d. But 6,200 are a lot for a campaign rally.

How many people would line up for five days just to hear Joe Biden talk, socialist Michael Moore was asking?




The 6,200, I don’t have to remind you, sir, were on a mission from GOD! As political scientists will tell you, that’s what wins the White House.

If the size of the crowd is the criteria for how well a campaign is doing, sir, I would recommend your next big campaign rally be held at one of those 100,000 seat NFL stadiums before the football season starts and the doors locked. Not only would there be zero risk of infecting, and plenty of safe distancing in the 100,000 empty seats, just let those “sons of bitches,” as you called the members of the press at your Oklahoma Great Comeback address, make a big deal about all the empty seats.

Meanwhile, Mister President, Stay at home. Stay safe. Don’t wear a mask. And take it easy popping those Hydroxi pills, dude.


Your favorite pundit,
Marvin Kitman,
June 26, 2020

Marvin Kitman is the author of “The Making of the Preƒident 1789.” “George Washington’s Expense Account” by Gen. George Washington and Marvin Kitman PFC (Ret.) was the best-selling expense account in publishing history. His next book, “Gullible's Travels, A Comical History of the Trump Era,” out now from Seven Stories Press. Order your copy today.