I think about this kind of thing a lot:
The President can have dinner with anyone in the world, can go anywhere, can get anyone on the phone, has access to movies before they come out and instead sits alone in his bathrobe every night and live tweets Tucker Carlson while begging for praise. https://t.co/UBxzB5VeAs
— Dan Pfeiffer (@danpfeiffer) January 23, 2019
Like if I was president — and I’m keeping the Diet Coke button on the desk, that’s all I’m keeping from the Trump years, that’s genius — I would just call up Harrison Ford every once in a while and have him talk about carpentry with me. I’d ask NASA to send over some pictures of aliens or whatever that are not ready for public view. I would eat homemade soup all the time and and Mexican food.
I’d invite Kendrick Lamar over to watch YouTube videos of kittens. He wouldn’t have to come but I’m the president, he’d kind of want to, right?
There’s all this useless shit you can do to make what is a pretty nasty job kind of fun a lot of the time. I mean aside from siccing the FBI on my enemies and casually ordering building inspections on my ex-neighbors and the other vindictive shit I’d do for amusement, you can watch whatever movies you want, and fly people places, and I’m pretty sure the Kennedy sex tunnels are still in operation.
I’d have Robert Redford recite all his lines from Spy Game while we drink scotch. What would YOU do?
A.
I’d invite all my favorite teams and athletes to the White House, whether they won anything or not.
Host Michael Jackson, Tupac and Elvis from their secret mountain hideout for dance competitions and shots of Jeppson’s Malört.
More seriously, I think about side/legacy projects. I’d want to regulate light emissions so the whole country could see the Milky Way at night.
I think that the WH tunnels are no longer sufficiently discreet, and that Donnie feels deprived and besieged in the WH, and that’s another reason he flees to Mar A Lago whenever possible: at the resort it’s his own staff, in quarters he designed for himself, and he can watch porn without anyone’s knowledge, and can invite women of negotiable virtue to visit him and negotiate.
I’d invite the ex-President, in this case Il Douche, to the White House and have the Presidential barber shave his head. Make a lanyard of those faux golden locks, for the archives.
Then I’d have the current WH physician weigh him, in front of Fox and Friends, and we’d all share a lunch of ceviche and tamales and salad.
Then I’d send him back to prison in a jumpsuit, in his favorite shade of orange, with a tattoo of Obama on his ass.