My Golf Course, My Greatest With, Maybe Ever

Well folks, let me tell you — I just won another golf tournament. A big one. Huge. And not just any tournament — the Trump National Invitational at my incredible, world-famous, totally gorgeous golf course where I can screw all the world with my greatest visions of everyone bowing to me. Nobody hosts tournaments like I do. Nobody wins them like I do either. Some say it’s impossible to win your own tournament. I say — watch me.

They said, “Sir, wouldn’t it look bad?” And I said, “Only if I don’t win.” And guess what? I won. I crushed it. I played 18 of the best holes you’ve ever seen. People were crying. Grown men. Tears! That’s how good it was. And the crowd — oh, the crowd. Mostly my staff, of course, but the best staff. Everyone was chanting, “Four more holes! Four more holes!” And folks, I gave them five because the finest of holes was discovered. Because I’m generous.

Now, the Fake News Media — the real enemies of golf — they’re talking about something else that happened that day. Something about military bodies returning on an airplane. Very sad. Very solemn. And they’re saying, “How could he be golfing during that?” And I say — respectfully — what better way to honor the troops than to win a golf trophy?

The military, they love me. I’ve done more for the military than probably anyone who’s ever lived. Ask anyone — they’ll tell you. I brought back the respect. And by playing my best game, on my best course, on the best day — I gave them a win, too. Because when I win, America wins. Even if it’s just me playing against two guys from accounting and a groundskeeper who’s never held a putter.

They gave me the trophy — solid gold (okay, gold-ish). I held it up like a war hero holding the flag at Iwo Jima. And I looked out over the 18th green, and I thought: “This is what true leadership looks like. Golf shoes. Windbreaker. Total domination.”

Some say I’m the only person in history to ever win a tournament at their own course while a military plane was unloading coffins. I say — put that on Mount Rushmore.

Tremendous day. Historic victory. The best kind of patriotism — the kind that fits in 9 holes before lunch.

You’re welcome, America.

Last but not least,

“Oranges and Balls”

 Anonymous 

People ask me, “Sir, what’s your secret?”

And I say, “Look — it’s very simple. Oranges and balls.”

From Florida, where the sun shines bright —

Just like the spotlight I live in. Every. Single. Night.

The oranges? Perfect. Round. Beautiful.

Just like a good economy — firm and juicy.

You squeeze ‘em — respectfully, of course —

And they give you everything. Just like the voters.

And the balls — oh, the balls.

Nobody’s got balls like I do. Ask anyone.

Tucked in a velvet pouch. Treated with care.

Polished daily. Presidential.

But folks — listen — when things heat up, and they always do,

You gotta keep your eye on the ball, especially when it’s two.

Because the heat? It builds. It simmers. It swells.

It’s like a sauna made of lawsuits and hotel towels.

And just when the sun is hottest and the crowd’s in a trance —

In walks Stormy. Not a weather report, folks — a storm in heels.

She says, “Wanna play?” And I said, “I always play to win.”

She picked up my club — said it was impressive,

I said, “Darling, that’s regulation size — and very aggressive.”

She lined up my shot, gave it a tease —

Whacked the ball straight into the trees.

Tremendous chemistry. Historic moment.

Like the moon landing, but with more spray tan.

People were watching. Cameras flashing.

I said, “Keep filming — this is presidential golfing passion.”

So here’s to Florida’s fruit — and to golf balls, two by two,

To steamy weather, stormy weather — and everything I allegedly do.

Oranges, balls, and a woman named Stormy…

A recipe for greatness. And possibly, testimony.

Thank you. No further questions.