We Need To Talk About Trump’s Cognitive Decline
Yesterday, in a press conference, Donald Trump:
Told his voters to buy his upcoming batch of NFTs featuring him as the various 12 Greek gods, and then ranted about how hot the female versions of him as the goddesses are, and how giant their breasts are. He said he always thought he’d have been one of the great beauties of all time if he had been a girl, and he cited his daughter Ivanka’s physical attributes to describe how his own body would have looked.
He then discussed his “big Trump brain,” and reminded the audience he had gone to Wharton. He also said he didn’t need college, and he had been smarter than everyone else around him, even the professors, and he knew it because he said he paid someone else to take his SATs, and no one figured it out, and he paid other students to do all his homework and take all his tests, and he was so smart he bought his way to a degree. He said that’s how you know he’s a genius at business: because he spent 10x more money for his degree than everyone else.
He reiterated many times he could guarantee each individual NFT that his fans buy will be worth $1 million “in two weeks,” and that he has only the best of the best people working for him on his NFTs. He interspersed his rant multiple times by repeatedly insisting his NFTs were “definitely not a pump and dump scheme.”
Then he mentioned windmills out of nowhere, and went hard on that subject for six minutes pledging to knock down every wind turbine in America. He said he felt very sorry for all the ruined views in “Real America” because of socialist wind turbines, and he felt even sorrier for all the dead birds.
Then he said he felt bad for his dead ex-wife. He said he had actually been frequently visiting her grave when he golfed, and saying a little prayer for her from his golf cart between the 7th and 8th holes. He reminded the crowd he had married two Europeans. But then he said he wouldn’t come to the aid of any European nations in NATO because what have they ever done for him?
He complained about Angela Merkel in ways that appeared to suggest he thought she was still the chancellor of Germany. He said she reminded him of his mom, and he hated his mom. He paused for a moment reflectively, and then in a shocking moment of seriousness remarked that his mother’s coldness had left him a scared little boy, and, no matter how old he gets, he’s still just that scared little boy who never got the maternal love all children need to grow up healthy and confident. He rocked back and forth for a moment on the balance mat he now brings to his events to stand on, and softly hugged himself.
Then he did his famous dance move with his hands and elbows that looks like he’s giving two handjobs at once for a little bit. When he got tired he reached for a can of Diet Coke stored underneath the podium, opened it, and chugged it. He asked aloud, “Diet Coke isn’t one of the Woke ones, is it? If they go Woke and I have boycott it, I might die from withdrawal.”
Then he announced that he had a phone call with Ye (formerly Kanye West), and that Ye had been doing some rereading recently of Mein Kampf, and told him a few good ideas to consider, like rounding up all his enemies, and letting Stephen Miller do “medical testing” on them. Trump said he’s never met anyone more interested in medical science than Stephen Miller. He said he and Stephen were a lot alike, and that when they were both little, they both liked trapping and killing small woodland creatures and neighbors’ pets.
Then he bragged about passing the dementia test with flying colors several years ago, and said he’s an “awake president, unlike Sleepy Joe.” He mentioned that, because Biden stole his “rightful second term” from him, he should get to have a third term in 2028 to make up for the lost time, and he shouldn’t have to actually win an election, the election should just be canceled. He said he’d win with 95% of the vote anyway, so it’s not worth the trouble.
He then launched into a rant about how the media is being “so unfair” to him for accusing him of selling out Ukraine and giving up so many bargaining chips already before even starting the negotiations, but then he made a face that looked quite a lot like he defecated in his trousers. Elise Stefanik, who had been standing behind him, because the press conference was supposed to be about her confirmation hearing to become America’s UN Ambassador, crinkled her nose and appeared to turn her head to her side to try and get a breath of the untainted air on the opposite side away from the direction of Trump’s now likely smeared anus.
As Trump launched back into how European leaders weren’t spending anywhere near as much money at his hotels and golf courses as the Russians, Chinese, Israelis, and Saudis, he began to awkwardly shift weight from leg to leg. It was somewhat obvious from the expression on his face and his tensing eyebrow muscles he was trying to assess the fecal damage. He grimaced, apparently feeling the excretion begin to pool in the bottom of his diaper.
Then Trump was startled by Stefanik leaning over and throwing up on the ground behind him. She quickly wiped her mouth on her pantsuit sleeve, and then leaned back up with two thumbs-up gestures. Trump looked at the splashed vomit and got squeamish, and ordered someone to come clean up the mess. “Why do women always do this around me?” he asked himself loud enough for the microphone to pick up.
Then Trump grimaced again with a facial expression that suggested he sharted yet again, and Elise Stefanik gasped, but unfortunately it appeared to make her inhale the explosion of Trump’s squalid feculence, and she grabbed her throat with both hands as her tongue waved in and out of her coughing mouth. Her face turned purple as her eyes rolled back, and she threw her head back gasping for breath before collapsing to the ground.
She gave one last audible exhale before remaining perfectly limp and still.
Donald Trump’s stench had killed again. 🥃
☕ Enjoy my comedy and political commentary? Buy me a coffee!
But first subscribe to my free Substack The Halfway Café to get my work delivered right to your inbox. In this second Trump Era of surrealist governance, nothing is more important than comedy, so consider becoming a paid member to help support me tirelessly mocking Trump and his MAGA movement.
Because our social media platforms are being scrambled up by oligarchs, if you like my comedy, diversify where you follow me so you never miss my jokes to interrupt your doomscrolling: Twitter, Bluesky, Threads, Facebook, Instagram, Spoutible, Medium, and Substack.
If you think Donald Trump is a joke, I published the book for you: “Satire In The Trump Years: The Best Of The Halfway Post,” available on Barnes & Noble and Amazon. I’ve also published three existentialist poetry books for Millennials, Cabaret No Stare, Moon Goon, and Hotel Golden Hours available in print and on Kindle.
Browse my comedy portfolio, my Dada News portfolio, and my poetry portfolio.
>read more at © Halfwayposts.com
Views: 0