‘Dear Donald Trump, Lord of the Fries…’

Dear Donald Trump, Lord of the Fries, Supreme Commander of the Disunited Oligarchy of America, I shower your luminous head with congratulations.

Nobody, with the possible exception of Vladimir Putin and Elon Musk, could have predicted such a landslide.

This has certainly proved it’s not who you know that counts, but what they know about you.

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I am ashamed to admit I predicted that Kamala Harris would win. I don’t know what came over me. I suspect it was some kind of mental breakdown. I do apologise.

Fortunately, I regained my senses at the exact moment that CNN projected you’d become the 47th president. Everyone loves a winner, and I am no exception.

Thanks to you and Team MAGA, millions of us no longer know what is true and what isn’t.

So when the stories began pouring in long before Starlink’s wizards repurposed the tally, leading to your magnificent victory, we were unable to tell if it was good news or bad news, whether we were being told to prepare for the worst of times or the best of times.

Take this headline, for instance: “A Trump election win could add 4bn tons of CO2 to US emissions by 2030.”

When I read this before the election, I thought it was even more important that Kamala won. Then, when she lost, I read it again and realised that I had misunderstood completely and that had the woman beaten you, she wouldn’t have been able to add even 1 billion tons to the emissions.

In fact, she might not have added anything at all. What America needs now is more tons of whatever. It doesn’t matter what it is. The more, the better.

Quite frankly, when I think about it, 4 billion doesn’t sound like very much at all. That’s about what you owe your lawyers. I say bump it up. Put a couple of zeroes on the end.

Here’s another headline I thought spelt trouble until the scales dropped from my eyes: “Donald Trump has promised a closed border and mass deportations.”

Damn right. There are far too many illegal Canadians in America. You need to seal the border immediately. Don’t even wait to be sworn in. Give the order now.

Tell that limp-wristed pantywaist Trudeau that he’ll be arrested if he sets foot on American soil.

“Elon Musk exerts deepening influence on Trump’s presidential transition.” Something about this headline worried me. Then I read this line in the story: “Sources have described Trump as enamoured with Musk.”

Are you transitioning from a civilian to a president or from a man to a woman? Is Elon going to be your advisor in the same way that, say, David Furnish is Elton John’s advisor? If so, I’d advise you not to turn your back on Elon, no matter how much he insists it’s his turn.

White South Africans can’t be trusted, especially not those with money. He’ll have his way with you, steal your wife and take your job.

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Another headline: “Trump could be offered second state visit to UK.” My advice is, don’t take it. That weird Keir Starmer is up to something. Did you see him on Armistice Day standing in the back of an armoured car driving around the Arc de Triomphe as if he had personally liberated Paris from the Nazis?

The man is delusional and a visit by you could well push him over the edge, which might not necessarily be the worst thing to happen.

“Trump win bad news for climate change efforts.” Like you, I believe that if the climate has a problem, then it’s the climate that must change and not us. We were here first, right?

That’s the problem with the environment. It’s always doing something dramatic to get our attention. Worse than a needy child. When you’re back in the White House, I hope you punish it with tons of pollution.

Your first executive action must be to declare martial law. Impose curfews. Roll out the tanks. And forget about the White House. That’s for depraved liberals like Joe Biden.

You need to move into the Pentagon and get fitted with a uniform made of Kevlar and lion skins. Maybe get a bandolier of solid gold bullets to string across your chest. Since you’ve never been to war, you’ll have to make some medals of your own. The centrepiece could be an Iron Cross studded with rubies.

Your new title could be Field Marshal or, even better, Führer. You will also need to declare yourself President for Life. The sooner the proletariat knows where they stand the better for you. In fact, don’t let them stand at all. That only encourages the swine. Keep them on their knees.

Like you, I am also something of a racist, sexist, homophobic misogynist. You’re a professional, though. I simply dabble. This is why you’re going to be the most powerful man in the world while I remain the most powerful man in my house. I live alone.

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Hopefully, that will change once you bring me on board as your chief advisor.

One of the reasons I want to work for you is that you’re not an intellectual. You tweet, while others read. You talk first and think later, if at all. Thinking is heavily overrated.

Winners like you act purely on animal instinct. The only point of having an opposable thumb is to help you sign cheques, death warrants and autographs.

Last thing. May I have an advance on my salary? A million dollars will do nicely.