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The Tip: An Open Letter From Donald Trump

"The Tip" is a satirical segment in which writers poke fun at relevant and controversial issues. If you haven't a sense of humor, beware.

At this point, I’m almost starting to take myself seriously. This started out for me as one big, stupid joke. I get awfully bored twiddling my thumbs up in my huge towers, which are all, as you probably assumed, modeled after my penis. I enjoyed talking about it at the last debate. It’s huge—I can’t stress that enough. My towers help me affirm this to the world. It has a name, too, but that’s special just for me. Not even my lovers get to know its name. But, I digress.

This whole campaign was a way for me to add a little spice into my life, but it’s going better than I ever imagined. The fact that I’m doing really well in this race indicates that there’s something deeply, deeply wrong with our country. What other explanation would there be? I’m openly bigoted, I’m absolutely obscenely rude, and I steadfastly refuse to explain literally anything. Don’t worry, though, all of my secret ideas are great. 

I wave my arms a lot, I spew ignorance, I yell, and I vaguely mention a few plans that will eventually be so awesome that I can’t even explain them now… and people are infatuated with me. The votes roll in. The more support I get, the more ridiculous I act—just for fun. Just to see how crazy I can get. Just to give me something to do. I thought it would honestly give me a great laugh back up at the top of my tower every single lonely night. I thought it would be an interesting little social experiment, but as my obscenity garnered me more votes, I got scared. I got scared, yet I wanted to see how much I could push the envelope before people called my bluff and realized that no one could be this stupid, this awful… but, apparently there is no such point.

The spotlight is on me, and people love me. Scary, huh? Apparently I can push it as far as I want, even in racist, Islamophobic, homophobic, anti-Semetic ways. How are people still supporting me? What else can I even do at this point? Anyone have any ideas? I need to come up with something worse than I’ve done or said before, and I need help at this point. I’m running out of beastly, inhuman material. America is in much worse shape than I ever imagined, and the proof of that is my popularity. ‘Cause I’m literally the worst.

Unfortunately, though, the one thing that is not a joke thus far is my hair. There’s not much I can do to fix it at this point; trust me, I’ve been trying for years to make it look like anything other than a wisp of old-man leg hair mixed with the softest hay. You know whose hair does look good, though? My daughter’s. Damn. She’s fine. I’d totally ba—I mean, if I weren’t her father, and if I weren’t married, I would totally…want to…date her. Still sounds weird? Yeah, I don’t know how to make it not weird. Whatever. Why wouldn’t I be attracted to her? Half of her DNA does come from me, and I’m one handsome devil. Literally. Emphasis on the ‘devil.’

I think my biggest problem is what I’m actually going to do with this whole build-a-wall-separating-Mexico-from-America-and-make-Mexico-pay-for-it thing. If I can’t figure out how to do that, then maybe people will start to realize that this was just a huge game for me and an expensive one at that. I’m still not really sure why the “I’m rich, so I could run our country well” idea is working. Maybe I’ll just pay for the wall and claim it was funded by Mexico. To pay for it myself, though, I might have to sell a couple of my towers. Anyway, I’ll be right back; I’m gonna go stare at my reflection in that pool over there.

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