Satire: A very successful day in the life of a Trump re-education grad

     (<a href='https://www.bigstockphoto.com/image-184030141/stock-photo-coffee-shop-bar-counter-cafe-restaurant-relaxation-concept'>Rawpixel.com</a>/Big Stock Photo)

    (Rawpixel.com/Big Stock Photo)

    I’ve just returned from Trump Re-education Camp, where I graduated with the highest honors after enjoying a thorough mind-cleanse and a crash course in communication skills, and I want to share with you my first day back on the street, because it was truly an unbelievably historic day that people will be talking about for years to come.

    I’ve just returned from Trump Re-education Camp, where I graduated with the highest honors after enjoying a thorough mind-cleanse and a crash course in communication skills, and I want to share with you my first day back on the street, because it was truly an unbelievably historic day that people will be talking about for years to come.

    Craving a hit of caffeine, my first stop was my favorite covfefe shop. I shoved my way to the front of the line and told the barista, “Gimmee your best brew, you gropeable young thing.”

    She said to me — and she was not very nice — “Sir, I have to ask you to leave.”

    I said to her, “Let’s make a deal: If you agree to stop sounding like Hillary, I’ll stay.” I also told her that my very presence was winning universal praise from the hundreds of customers who were applauding me.

    She looked around. She told me that the shop was almost empty, but I said that was fake news. Someone in line behind me actually had the balls to touch my shoulder and say, “Yo, pal. Apologize to that woman right now.” I told him that apologies were for wimps and Kathy Griffin.

    Then the barista said something very, very sad about calling the police, but I told her I was leaving anyway because the covfefe in her shop tasted unbelievably German.

    I quickly crossed the street to a park to continue my day. I alone made the courageous decision to choose the best bench, and did so with outstanding success. I sat back and pondered at length how best to exude my magnetic charisma. I told all the squirrels to stay tuned.

    Finally, I pulled the bag of KFC chicken from my pocket, chewed very strongly on a superb drumstick, and told all the passersby that the globalists, deep-staters, NATOists, Hillary, and Dishonest Media are conspiring to launch a covfefe against me. People were saying that this was the greatest historic speech anyone in the park had ever delivered, and I could see for myself the brilliant impact that it had on those who rushed past me during the ensuing eleven hours, simply by how much they all pretended not to care.

    When the sun set and it turned chilly — scientific proof that the Paris climate deal is a hoax — I made the executive decision to leave. I swept the underside of the bench for wiretapp surveillance, yelled goodbye to all my followers (fearing Obama retaliation, they didn’t wave back), and I headed for home.

    On the way, I heard unbelievable accolades for my brilliant technique of stepping over the sidewalk cracks. Some people, the best people, were saying that my footwork marked an extraordinary turning point in American urban history. The people who stopped me to take selfies said that not even Andrew Jackson had ever walked better, although in fairness he was busy cutting deals on the Civil War.

    I stopped at a food market, bought my very incredible dinner (carton of Cheetos, jar of Marshmallow Fluff, bag of beef jerky, Russian dressing), and I promised the store clerk who looked Mexican that I’d probably get around to paying him some of the money some other time. When all of a sudden he started to act like a professional protestor, treating me very badly, I told him very strongly that he should be the one who pays for my dinner.

    I mused aloud that perhaps someone should put a nine-iron through his head, and that’s when I acquired many new fans. So many, the line was out the door. They were crowded around me at the checkout counter. They acted as if they were angry with me, but I knew it was love. I knew it was love. They said so in the Mexican covfefe dialect.

    An hour later, after I was very nicely treated for the cuts and bruises I had sustained during my food market rally, I dug into my pocket and gave the paramedic a copy of the 2016 unprecedented landslide Electoral College map, and I told him that meeting me had been a special moment for him.

    He said, “Sir, are you feeling OK? The Ted Nugent T-shirt, the red tie, the Russian fur — you don’t seem right to me.”

    I said, “Nobody in human history has ever felt better. You are sadly deluded. Wake up and smell the covfefe.”

    “Sir, medical experts say that a person who makes up words is often suffering from a psychiatric disorder. You should get medication.”

    But I have the best hearing. What he really said was, “You want some beautiful chocolate cake.” I strode strongly away, to deafening applause. And so ended my very successful day.

    Follow me on Twitter, @dickpolman1, and on Facebook.

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