The Rise of Donald Trump

When Donald Trump was a young man, he was just a penniless, dumb schmuck from Queens. He was a total loser and, worst of all, women wouldn’t even look at him.

One day, as he dumbly walked Rockaway Beach, his ragged sneaker struck something hard. When he looked down, he saw a shiny, gold object poking out from the sand. Digging it out, he discovered it was an odd looking oil lamp. As he brushed sand off of it, a giant, majestic Genie appeared.

With a booming voice, the Genie said, “I will grant you three wishes.”

Donald was astonished. “Really?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Donald didn’t even think before blurting out, “I want to be a billionaire!”

Lacing his fingers together, the Genie spun and vibrated like a top as lightning shot from his eyes resulting in an explosive burst. Terrified, Donald fell to the ground, covering his head with his arms. As quickly as the storm began, it ended and it was silent. Donald lifted his head. To his amazement, he was no longer on the beach.

There he sat at the head of a giant, mahogany conference table in a Manhattan skyscraper, dressed in the finest suit and shiny, black shoes. He looked at the papers in front of him and saw his name emblazoned across the top of them in gold. He ran around the building, marveling at all the ostentatious symbols of wealth: Chandeliers! Diamonds on the doorknobs! Gold-plated toilets! His name was even on the building!

Donald was the billionaire CEO of a major corporation. He couldn’t believe it, it was greater than he could have imagined.

“I’m the richest man in the world!” He exclaimed.

“Not quite,” the Genie said. “You’re a billionaire, but there are people much, much, much richer than you.”

Trump’s elation deflated. Knowing that there were others wealthier than him, he vowed to do everything he could do to become an even richer man.

There was just one problem: wishing to become a billionaire didn’t change the fact that he was still a dumb schmuck loser. Every time he started a new business venture, it eventually failed. His magazine, his school, even his steaks. He had billions of dollars, but all the other billionaires knew he wasn’t really one of them.

After years of failures, he accepted he would never truly compete as a businessman. He decided that if he couldn’t be the most successful businessman of all time, he could be the most famous.

He went into his closet and dug out the lamp that he had hidden away many years before. He rubbed the lamp and in a spectacular flash, the Genie appeared.

“Genie, I still have two wishes, right?” He asked.

“You do,” the Genie answered.

Being more deliberative on his second wish, a minute passed before he demanded, “Alright, I’ve got it. Make me the world’s most famous, influential person. I want everyone to listen to me”

“Are you sure?” The Genie asked.

“Of course! My wish is your command!”

Once again, as the Genie spun, Donald was startled by the flashes of light and loud noises, even greater than for his first wish. He ducked for cover until the commotion passed.

When Donald opened his eyes, he was standing at a podium in front of thousands of people who were chanting his name. The people were wearing shirts, hats, and pins with his face on them while huge TV screens all around projected his towering visage. Behind him were the giant, gold words, “Donald Trump for President.”

Rushing backstage, he exclaimed, “I’m the president!”

“Not quite,” the Genie corrected. “You are a candidate for president, and as such you have tremendous influence and everyone listens to every word you say. But you still have to win the nomination.”

Donald scoffed. “I’m a billionaire, how could I lose?”

Easily, it turned out. The dumb schmuck loser had no idea what he was doing. Now, he wasn’t just the failing head of a major corporation, he was running a historically inept campaign for President of the United States. Everywhere in the world, people were listening to the insipid things he said and mocking him.

Donald was unhappy and angry. He once again summoned the Genie.

“This isn’t what I wanted!” He yelled.

“Your wish was my command,” the Genie countered.

Fuming, Donald stormed off to think. He had one last wish and it had to be perfect. After a brief period of self-reflection, he realized that money and fame had never been what he truly desired. All he had ever really wanted was to have sex with beautiful women. That should have been his first wish.

Just as he was about to command the Genie, he had thought. He realized that if he made the wrong wish, it could blow up in his face just like the first two. What if he were a terrible lover and the women ridiculed him? That would be worse than going bankrupt or losing the presidency.

He carefully considered how to make his final wish. After thinking for an exhausting five minutes, he finally came up with the perfect wording:

“Okay, Genie, I have it. My final wish!”

“Do tell,” the Genie prodded.

“For my final wish, I want to be a great lover. Give me the ability to make love to the prettiest, sexiest, tightest women in the world.”

He braced for the storm, but the Genie didn’t react.

“Why aren’t you granting my wish?” Donald yelled. “My wish is your command!”

The Genie shook his head.

“Don’t you understand, Donald? I don’t need to grant that wish. You’ve had the ability to make love to the prettiest, sexiest, tightest women in the world all along.”

“I did?”

“You did,” The Genie said.

Looking down, Donald suddenly understood: He had a tiny penis.