“Joe Biden!” I’m saying into the phone. “What a loser! Thinking he speaks for America when he spends all his time hiding in a basement! Sad!”

Ivanka says I keep breaking up. Perhaps because I’m hiding in a basement?

Not hiding, I tell her. Inspecting! But even though I brought enough food down to the White House bunker to keep inspecting it for the next 17 days, that’s when I decide I need to get on to the streets. But not before I’ve had the Secret Service clear them of everyone. Literally. Even the whites.

“So,” I say to Ivanka, as we walk through Lafayette Square surrounded by men with guns. “Who looks scared now?”

Ivanka is wearing a mask. Like a liberal. Sad!

“Anyway,” I say, as we come to a big building with pillars. “What’s this place? Do I own it? Let’s do a photo op.”

Ivanka says people pray here.

“To me?” I say.

“To God,” says Ivanka.

“Big fan,” I say. “Close friend.”

Then I find a copy of the Bible, which is like my second favourite book, and I hold it for the camera.

“And now let’s do one with my autobiography,” I say.

“Get him out of here,” says Ivanka.


Went to another church. Took Melania’s stunt double. Hot! Now I’m back and speaking to state governors. And I’m telling them they’ve gotta crack down on lowlifes and scum. And agitators. And Antifa! Because those guys are against everything we are for.

Cuomo, from New York, says I might want to rephrase that.

“Your city is the worst,” I say. “Those anarchists? Dressed in black? So violent!”

Cuomo says that’s the NYPD, though.

“Troops,” I say, ignoring him. “Bring ’em in. Restore order. DC was burning and what did we do? We sent in the 82nd Airborne. Who can’t fly, by the way. No wings. Not even capes! Disappointing! But I don’t choose the names.”

Then I say the worst thing is these weak, liberal cops you sometimes see, because there is nothing that makes me more ashamed to be American than a cop taking the knee. Disgusting! Unless it’s on some black guy’s neck.

Because that’s obviously a bit more nuanced.


Hydroxychloroquine for breakfast. Fizzy! Barricades still burning outside the White House. Speaking to Mark Zuckerberg. He’s my IT guy.

“No I’m not,” says Zuckerberg.

“Sure you are,” I say. “Like Elon Musk is my space guy.”

Then I tell him that I appreciate his decision not to censor my tweets about shooting people, like Twitter has. And then Zuck says he’s outlined his thinking in a 7,000-word Facebook post he’d like me to read, and I say, yup, sure, that’s totally going to happen.

After that, I call Boris Johnson, because he’s been talking about our protests.

“Some nerve!” I say. “I’ve seen the news! You’ve got crowds of lowlifes and scum outside your parliament, too.”

“Yes but that’s different,” says Johnson. “Because they work there.”


Now Jim “Mad Dog” Mattis, my ex-defence secretary, has told a magazine that I’m dividing the country using the same tactics as the Nazis. So I call him.

“You bastard,” I say. “You’re basically an anti-fascist!”

“Yes,” he says.

“Disgusting,” I say. “You’re even admitting it!”


Tried to inspect the bunker again this morning but Melania went down there with her stunt double a few days ago and isn’t coming out.

“This unrest will pass!” I shouted to her, banging on the door.

“What unrest?” she shouted back.

Back in the Oval Office, I summon Ivanka. Still in her mask. Really starting to worry about her.

“This presidency continues to exceed expectations!” I tell her, and I point out of the window.

Ivanka looks at the smoke rising over the trees. There are sirens in the distance and helicopters overhead. Then she says this is definitely true, in a way, but she’s not sure what she’s meant to be looking at.

“My new wall!” I say, pointing at the barrier on the lawn. “Between us and Mexico!”

Ivanka says it’s clearly also between us and everywhere else, though.

“Exactly!” I say. “Even better!”

*According to Hugo Rifkind