Love Letter To The Orange Troll Elicits First Laugh From Melania, Ever!
Exclusive to Flake News: Melania Trump was setting fire to one of her husband’s Brioni suits in the Rose Garden when she came across a carefully folded piece of paper, torn from a legal pad and inserted inside one of the pockets. Upon reading, she quickly determined that the hand-written document was a “love letter” to POTUS.
To our barely concealed delight, the long-suffering Trophy to the Troll turned the letter over to Flake News and, as is our duty as members of the Fourth Estate, we are sharing it with our loyal readers. When asked how she felt upon discovering the ketchup-dotted and somewhat sloppily-written declaration of love, Melania was laughing so hard that she couldn’t respond. A Flake first! Herewith, the document, with the headline scrawl, “Let’s Get Freaky, My Love.”
“Dear Donni (sic),
I hope you don’t mind my calling you that but ‘Mr. President’ just sounds so stiff. And you’re anything but, at least in my book. You’re a big, soft, cuddly lump of a man.
I love you. There, I’ve said it. I’ve loved you since your days on “The Apprentice.” That manly manliness – so freakin’ hot! And it pisses me off when people call you “orange.” I think you’re firee (sic).
You probably need love these days since so many people hate your guts. Even your own wife, who has no idea how blessed she is to be able to climb into bed with the likes of you every night. Probably a really big, soft bed, too…right? With clean sheets? Never mind…I don’t want to think about that right now.
Every day, after my shift at the hog butcherin’ plant, I imagine what we would do together. By the way, I’m not a “dumb southerner.” I went to school. I even almost graduated. But back to us:
First, I would light candles of all shapes and sizes – even an “Impeach Trump” candle of which I scraped off the letters so you can barely see them. Then I’d fill a bath tub (freshly scrubbed, mind you) with warm water and a squirt of vinilla (sic) smelling bubble bath.
I’d undress you my fireee (sic) darling. I would cut off that red tie as my nuckles (sic) are a bit narly (sic) after all that butcherin.’ I’d strip off your fancy suit jacket and unbutton your shirt, spilling out all that plump, pink goodness. (Oh my Lord. Getting so hot right now…)
I would kiss your belly over and over whilst working on the buckle of your trowsers (sic). You would gasp in delite (sic) as they fall down around your skinny ankles.
You’re in your off-white skivvies now and I’m hot as hell. I yank them down to reveal your manhood, which, I admit, is not as I imagined but that’s ok. Mama will make it right.
As I lead you to the tub you almost fall because your pants and skivvies are twisted around those skinny ankles, but I quickly hoyst (sic) you back up, cause I’m strong as an ox, thanks to all that hog butcherin.’
I hold onto you as you step into the tub and settle in with what I think is a soft fart, but I may be wrong. The tub isn’t really big enough for two but I manage to squeeze in anyway, feet astride your lion’s head. I reach over to dribble vinilla (sic) smelling shampoo over your cotton candy hair and commence to rubbing it in but my fingers get stuck and I have to yank them out. A little bit of hair sticks to them. (Do you use hairspray? Also, I’m pretty sure your hair moved! )
Dearest – I need to stop now as I’m getting really worked up and Hank from the feed store is on his way over. But know that I Iove you and this isn’t the last you’ll be hearing from me. By the way, I think Ammarosa (sic) is a dog too. A hound dog.”
Melania could not be reached for further comment.