The Trump Diaries 2024

By Barry Robbins

It's the year 2024. Mar-a-Lago has been destroyed by the Great Fire. Combing through the rubble, investigators make a startling discovery - the Diary of Donald J. Trump for the year 2024. Eloquently translated from Trump-speak into real English by a woke translator hired by the ex-President, these 87 diary entries contain the nuggets of wisdom that Trump was able to muster over the course of the year as he navigated political and personal challenges that he barely understood, let alone overcome.

Who knew he had such pithy wisdom to impart? Who knew he had the discipline to keep a diary? For that matter, who knew he could even write? Startling revelations, the challenges of everyday life, missing documents, Wordle, smoothies, running mates, harmonicas, it's all there - naked - for all to see in this unique political satire. Mark Twain meets Donald Trump in The Trump Diaries 2024.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Robbins
• Release date: Aug 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201019389

Barry Robbins

Two-time award-winning humor author Barry Robbins is a former accountant, but he hopes you’d never guess. He combined his interest in politics with his disdain for a certain current politician whose name rhymes with Dump, and an unfettered imagination, to produce the satirical world of Oh Daddy Chronicles, now consisting of four books. He spent his time in exile in the accounting world at a large, international accounting firm. It lasted 26 years. Then he quit. He moved to balmy Finland with his two beautiful daughters and Finnish wife. Not knowing the language, he followed in the footsteps of most expats and became adept at taking out the trash. But he also developed another pair of eyes – seeing the world and the U.S. differently. He now resides principally in Florida. With two first-place awards for Humor under his belt, Robbins wonders if he has put a dent in the accountant stereotype

Book preview

Introduction

Buried in the rubble of Mar-a-Lago, destroyed by the Great Fire, investigators made a remarkable discovery – Donald J. Trump’s Diaries from 2024. Who knew he had such pithy wisdom to impart? Who knew he had the discipline to keep a diary? For that matter, who knew he could even write?

The Diaries fell into the hands of The Publisher through means best left undisclosed. The Publisher, after obtaining permission from no one, decided to publish the Diaries verbatim and unabridged. In what you are about to read, not a word has been changed, added, or deleted. This is the genuine article of what has been called The document of the century.

Buckle up.

B.R.

January 1, 2024

Family Reshuffling

Ah, New Year’s. Always a pleasant day for me. A brand new year to look forward to – fleecing tenants, cheating at golf, extorting a Ukrainian president, lifting a glass of vodka with Vladimir (OK, mine is grapefruit juice).

Except that it just doesn’t seem the same without Melania and Ivanka around. At least they were nice enough to make a video call to me from their new apartment in San Francisco. Their marriage seems to be going well. And that invite they got to Pelosi’s big New Year’s Eve party speaks volumes. Melania especially should be the life of the party now that those two months with the speech coach are bearing fruit – she sounds like a cross between a Brooklyn plumber and Christiane Amanpour.

Perhaps the worst thing about the Melania and Ivanka divorces is the kids. Ivanka left Jared with custody of Arabella, Joseph, and Theodore. No problem there. But when Jared dumps them with me for days at a time, well, that’s a bit too much. At first, I was pleased to have a new audience for my tale of woe about the stolen election. But after a while, they reacted by diving into the swimming pool in a contest to see who could stay underwater the longest.

You wonder about Barron? Do I miss him? Get real.

Happy New Year!

Signing off on January 1, 2024

The Donald

January 6, 2024

No Cover-Up

South Florida can have glorious weather this time of year. It’s hot but not too hot. And I also take great pleasure in watching television coverage of people in the north suffering from cold, ice, and snow. You might not know this, but seeing other people suffer is one of my greatest pleasures in life.

As President, I usually adopted a serious demeanor befitting the weighty responsibilities thrust upon me. Do you remember when I had to decide how many hamburgers to order for the Clemson football team? Why, that momentous decision brought me into the Oval Office before 10:00 am – the first time in my Presidency.

Anyway, this is a prelude to describing my main activity today. I sat by the pool in my bathing trunks – no top, just trunks. Around lunchtime, I went inside and paraded through the dining area, lobby, and reading rooms. Ricardo, the head butler at Mar-a-Lago, showed me where the reading rooms were.

You should have seen those guests flee at the sight of me wearing only bathing trunks. And because most of them were covering their eyes, they tripped, knocked over tables, trampled each other, even crashed headlong into Melania’s old floor-to-ceiling pole. I never did have the courage to remove it. Man was that fun! And Dr. Oz jacked up his normally exorbitant rates when tending to all the injured. Did I tell you I hired him as chief resident physician at Mar-a-Lago after he lost that close Pennsylvania Senate race by 32 million votes?

It’ll be tough to top this day tomorrow, but we’ll see.

Signing off on January 6, 2024

The Donald

January 10, 2024

Silver-Tongued

This is only the third entry in my diary, but you might already be questioning its authenticity. Surely, you say to yourself, Donald Trump doesn’t speak like this. Words longer than four letters, complete sentences, lots of sequiturs, none of those non types – surely, we are in the presence of an imposter.

I can assure you it’s me – Donald J. Trump. I simply did what all self-respecting idiots who can’t spell, have an almost non-existent vocabulary, and don’t know shit about the English language would do. I hired one of those fancy-ass woke liberal types to translate my drivel into real English. And the guy is good. I’d crossed paths with him before. He calls himself the Chronicler-in-Chief of the Oh Daddy Chronicles.

You might be wondering how it is that a native speaker of English can be as inept with the language as I am. After all, I grew up in a wealthy family in a fancy neighborhood and even went to an Ivy League school. Before you nastily assume that it must be some mental defect of mine, let me try to gain your sympathy. I’ll tell you the story.

As a young lad of 13, I was terrified of girls – shy, tongue-tied, totally inept. They always laughed at me. One day, I was talking to this 13-year-old girl who I had a crush on. I think her name was Marcy Middleton. Wait, yes, her name was definitely Marcy Middleton. Anyway, I was doing my usual verbal bumbling when I got the idea of sticking my fingers into a live electrical outlet to impress her. The ensuing shock – boy, was it a doozy – seemed to hard-wire my verbal ineptitude permanently into my brain. And Marcy? I never saw her again. Her parents abruptly moved to Billings, Montana.

So, cut me some slack when you hear me talk and enjoy this Chronicler-in-Chief fellow.

Signing off on January 10, 2024

The Donald

January 15, 2024

Smoothies

I think smoothies are misnamed. Don’t you agree?

How many times have you actually had a strawberry banana smoothie with vanilla yogurt and a shot of wheatgrass (yuck!) that didn’t get all clogged up in the straw? Pretty seldom, I’d guess.

Sometimes it happens right from that first slurp on the straw. The liquid in the smoothie cup is so thick and gooey that it just looks at the straw and laughs. So, you remove the straw, dripping the goo all over your new suit, and drink your smoothie directly from its container as if it were a bowl of split pea soup with ham – bowl directly to the mouth, that is, Trump family style. It tastes just fine, but it isn’t so convenient when President Xi of China bursts into the Oval Office, followed by a gaggle of reporters and photographers, and you’ve got that strawberry banana smoothie mustache, with a hint of green wheatgrass mixed in.

Or maybe the smoothie decides to be sneaky and starts out just fine, lulling you into a false sense of security. Nice flow through the straw. Good consistency into the mouth. No popping sound when pulling the liquid through the straw. And then, it happens. Your mouth sucks only air. You inhale harder. More air. Harder still, until you face reality, and the dreaded moment is upon you. You remove the straw from the smoothie cup, turn the straw almost upside down – spilling strawberry banana goo all over your new suit – and attempt to locate the blockage. First, you suck on the bottom end of the straw. That often works. Until the same thing repeats 30 seconds later. Then you give up and retreat to the bowl of split pea soup with ham technique, locking your office door first.

Despite all these problems, I love smoothies. Mainly for my great collection of straws. I’m ready with my moldy banana strawberry smoothie-interior-coated-pea shooters if AOC ever shows up here.

Signing off on January 15, 2024

The Donald

January 19, 2024

There Goes the Rematch

I’m still trying to digest the big news that Sleepy Joe has dropped out of the race. The pundits are saying it’s because of his age. Sleepy Joe himself is saying that it’s time to make way for all the great young talent in the Party. It took him about two garbled minutes to say even that.

But I know better. First, he was simply afraid to face me again. And he knew that I would keep hammering home the point that his Administration has utterly failed to address the three major burning questions facing our society. Big questions. Powerful questions. Important beyond belief questions. Here they are.

1). Is it YOO-krane or Yoo-KRANE?

2). Is it Ome-a-kron or Ahm-a-kron?

3). Is it Jen Socky or Jen Sacky?

Real, hard-working American families demand answers. What are they doing with all our tax dollars? Well, maybe I should clarify that to say all your tax dollars plus my $750 contribution.

Old Sleepy Joe just didn’t have the answers and took the cowardly way out.

It really is too bad. I was looking forward to the debates when I could call him out for being the sexist misogynist that he is – always going around saying C’mon man. Well, what about the women? And it would have been interesting to see which of us old men could go the longest before raising our hand to go wee-wee. If he could even remember where the stage was, that is.

Yes, what a day, indeed. Oh, I wonder if Elizabeth Warren has a son named Hunter.

Signing off on January 19, 2024

The Donald

January 23, 2024

Losing It

I’ve got a really good topic tonight...but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is. And what the hell am I doing in the kitchen? I must have come in here for something.... Shit.

Signing off on...what day is it today?

The Donald

January 27, 2024

Figure of Speech

I was watching CNN earlier today. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but that Brioche Golodrinkface sure is hot. What struck me is the response of the talking heads on the show to so many of her questions. And come to think of it, this phenomenon is not limited to CNN – so-called experts on all the networks do it.

When asked a difficult question, they usually start their response with That’s a good question. It’s not a good question, meaning that it has nothing to do with any intrinsic property of the question itself. Rather, it simply means that the talking head has no fucking clue what the answer is. The talking head is trying to make the question sound difficult so he/she won’t look like an idiot when they can’t answer it.

And while I’m on the