Cub reporter Michael Gove, 49 and a half, stood next to the golden lift of Trump Tower and pinched himself. He was to go where only Nigel Farage had gone before. As the doors opened, Mikey blinked. Donald Trump’s face was more orange and his hair more blond than any other person alive. Truly he was blessed to be in the presence of such greatness.

“Good to meet you, Nick,” said the president-elect.

“It’s Mikey.”

“Whatever. You’re probably wondering why I chose to give my first British interview to you.”

“Gosh… Now you come to mention it.…”

“It’s simple,” said the Sun God Don. “I asked Nigel who could be relied on to give me a favourable write-up and piss off Theresa May in the process. By the way, I’ve got her letter somewhere there over on my desk. Would you mind giving her my reply yourself? See, I’m a businessman and I know the value of saving a stamp. Now, you’ve got an hour. So what do you want to know?”

Mikey looked down at his notes. His editor had told him to start with Brexit. “As you probably know,” he said, “I was an extremely important…”

“OK,” the Don interrupted. “Let’s start with Brexit. Brexit’s going to be great. Sterling losing value is going to be huge. That’s it. Everybody should do a Brexit sometime.”

“That’s great,” said Mikey, overwhelmed by the incisive brilliance of the Don. Some people had warned him that the president-elect had a notoriously short attention span and suffered from narcissistic delusions, but hadn’t some of Mikey’s own friends said that about him.



“You wanna know about the EU,” the Don continued. “I tell you this straight as a businessman. The EU is going to break up. And I’ll tell you why. You take in too many of those goddamn refugees. Those Muslims need to learn how to take care of themselves.… It’s because of the refugees that Brexit happened.”

Mikey twitched nervously, wondering if he ought to explain the difference between the freedom of movement within the EU and the refugee crisis before remembering he wasn’t entirely sure of the difference himself.

“Let me tell you another thing about the EU,” said the Don. “I had a house in Ireland and the MFs refused to give me planning permission for an extension. So I told them, sod it. You can keep the house and the EU.”

“Can you tell me what you think about Nato?” said Mikey, returning to his notes.

“Nato’s a crock of shit. Not worth the piece of paper it’s written on. But will the Don defend Europe? Hell, yes. Unless he decides he won’t. It’s like this: I’ve got a lot of time for Vladimir Putin and Angela Whatserface, because basically I’m a trusting guy, but if I wake up and find I’ve been abused on my Twitterfeed then sure I’m going to respond with ‘I AM GOING TO NUKE YOU!!’. What you’ve basically got to realise is I’m not a politician, I’m a businessman and the way to run a government is like a profit and loss account. If you’ve got a load of Hispanics that are losing you money then waste them…”

Mikey checked his watch. His hour was up. He felt humbled to have been granted an audience with someone even more untrustworthy than himself.

“Good to see you, Dick,” said the Don, kicking Mikey towards the lift. “Don’t forget to give Theresa May that letter now.

Culled from The Guardian


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