In an act of unbridled generosity, very much in keeping with the tone of outgoing President Trump's letter, President Biden released to IA a copy of the “generous” letter, presented here in its entirety.
Now I am no longer president of America and, without a doubt, the greatest American president ever, I am able to pursue some of my many passions. Golf, golf and more golf. I believe golf is the best motivation for eternal life. Everything about it is good.
The ultimate goal of penetrating a hole as quickly as possible is something I’ve been on about for years. Sure, there may be roughs and other traps along the way, but who doesn’t mind a bit of rough every now and then? I do and going by some old footage I’ve seen of you in action, so do you.
I’m establishing a niche golf contest: The POTUS Cup, set up by number 45, the greatest POTUS ever, Donald J Trump. In fact, the full title of the cup will be The Donald J Trump, Greatest POTUS Ever, Cup.
To qualify, you must have been a president of the United States. That means only me, Clinton, Obama, George W, Peanut Carter and you qualify to participate. I can’t wait to play that geriatric piss-ant, Peanut Carter. I’ll whup his ass big time.
I’m sure you’ve already barred up at the thought of playing a round or two at my Doral Golf Club in Florida. Well, don’t get the lubricant out, you wanker. There’s only room for one cheat in this contest, and that’s me. You’re such a fucking cheat (refer to the 2020 Presidential Election). You’re banned from playing, participating, performing and poisoning the event with your dishonesty.
I’ll play Peanut Carter twice in the round-robin qualifying rounds to make up for your absence. Win. Shit it in!
Word of advice, from a POTUS with four years of experience to a POTUS with four hours experience. Cut the poofy, girly, sissy crap. Crying in Delaware before flying to DC. For fuck's sake! What were you thinking? You’re the President of America, for fuck's sake! I know you’re still cut up about your boy Beau carking it, but that was over five years ago.
If it was to do with your boy Hunter, that I could understand. His problems with his dealings in Ukraine, possible malfeasance with Chinese business deals and so on. Servicing Beau’s widow Hallie. All of that I can admire and identify with. But bawling over that loser Beau, forget it. Toughen up you sook. Look at me. 400,000 COVID deaths barely rated a mention from me, let alone reaching for the tissues.
To show you I harbour no hard feelings, even though you and your corrupt, criminal, cheating, conniving Communist cabal bullshitted me out of the White House, I have a great business idea for you. Should make you a motza, not a matzah or a matzo ball, what with you and your Muslim Democrats in Congress.
Here it is, Joe.
Seeing you’re reversing the ban on Muslims, allowing open slather, an absolute winner of an opportunity opens up for you. Face it, Joe, the White House lawns are shockingly underutilised. If I’d had my way, I would have built a shopping mall with an apartment block atop. Money for jam!
With the influx of Muslims, why not set up a kebab store? Think about it, Joe. Kebabs originated in Istanbul. It’s the Muslim burger. Dead set. I’m happy to be a sleeping partner with you in the venture. Think about it and let me know.
Another word of advice. Use the presidential helicopter as often as possible. Just go for a joy ride in it sometimes. Makes you look important.
Melania told me to inform you she has left several of her lingerie outfits, stockings and stilettos for Jill to wear when you feel a tad frisky. Between you and me, no amount of cajoling or money could get Melania to wear them for me, except for our first night in the White House. After then, she basically told me to watch PornHub. What a fucking ingrate!
Last thing Joe — if shit hits the fan for me, I’m sure you know what I mean, any chance of a presidential pardon? I couldn’t really pardon myself.
PS. Please keep this to yourself. My major fear now is that it will be heaps harder for me to get away with cheating on the golf course now I am no longer president. Dead set, I could take eight shots to get out of a bunker and still mark a par four for the hole. Now, I’m not so sure.
Enjoy it while you can, old man.
Donald J Trump.
Rocky Dabscheck is a musician/songwriter and front person for Rocky and The Two Bob Millionaires. He is also the author of '42+1: The (Real) Meaning of Life' and ‘Stoney Broke and the Hi-Spenders' — available HERE.
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