Donald Trump Jr. Asks His Dad Who He Has to Blow to ‘Get a Killer Office Like Ivanka’

WASHINGTON, D.C. — Are tensions mounting between America’s Royal Family? Leaks out of the White House indicate that a cat fight might be kicking up between Duchess Ivanka Trump and The Duke of Jizz Face, Donald Trump Jr. At the heart of their conflict is the resentment Junior Trump feels toward his sister over her getting an office in the West Wing of the White House.

“Diddums! Why can’t I have a big office in the White House too, Diddums,” Donald Jr. asked his father. Staff and senior officials say that the mood in the Oval Office became cold and distant. Donald Jr.’s sister Ivanka was in the room, and witnesses say she was staring daggers at her brother. Their father stood up from behind the big wood desk in the room, and placed one hand his son’s shoulder, while another wrapped around his daughter’s waist, eventually drifting down to cup her left buttock softly, but with authority.

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The senior Trump in the room would later tell his friends and closest colleagues that he felt like he was “trapped,” but didn’t want his son to feel like he was being dismissed out of hand.

“Now, son,” President Trump tried to reason, “Ivanka is in the West Wing because I need her there. She’s filling some vital roles for me that Mommy Three can’t do because she doesn’t want to live with Daddy anymore because Daddy likes pee parties and is a senile old man. You remember that right, Junior?”

Donald Jr. wasn’t having any of it. Sources say he stamped his feet and held his breath. He pointed in the general direction of Ivanka’s office.

“But it’s not fair Daddy! It’s not fair,” the Junior Trump said to his father, “I want an office like Ivanka’s! I want to feel important while doing absolutely, positively nothing good on behalf of the American people too, Daddy!”

President Trump remained calm. He’d been down this road with Donald Jr. and Ivanka before, he’d later tell Steve Bannon and Kellyanne Conway while they watched Ann Coulter and Stephen Miller engage in a Nazi vampire orgy, eating popcorn and hot dogs all the while. He knew that the key to being a good president was balancing the right amount of nepotism and favoritism.

“But Donny Jr.,” Trump tried reasoning with his son, “you don’t really want to work here, not really. People here are expected to, like, do real work. Not just go and sign some papers and shake some hands and get some money out of the deal. It’s tough work son. You can’t just go off and kill big game animals any time you want. I have to work at least six, maybe seven hours a week before they let me to go golfing on the weekends, Son. Do you really want that?”

The president’s son stood still, thinking. His eyes were shut especially tight, so his sister and father knew he must have been really concentrating. The last time they saw him think this hard was when someone asked him how many C’s are in the word “cat.”

“I do want it, Diddums! I do,” Donald Junior shouted.

“I really don’t think you do, son,” the president tried to reason again.

For twenty minutes the two argued back and forth. Neither one wanted to give an inch. Finally, exasperated, the younger Trump shouted out in despair.

“Jesus Daddy, who do I have to blow to get a killer office like Ivanka,” Donald Junior asked.

Everyone in the room got very quiet. Worried, nervous looks were exchanged between staffers, President Trump, and Ivanka. Mr. Trump shared a moment with his daughter. She shrugged a knowing shrug. Finally, Ivanka broke her silence; she hadn’t made a peep up to this point.

“Trust me Don,” Ivanka said to her brother, “you don’t want to know who you’d have to blow.”

“I do want to know, Sissy, I do – ” Ivanka cut her brother off. She placed a single digit over his mouth, which seemed to spark a twinge of jealousy in their father, though no one could quite figure that out for sure.

“No,” Ivanka said firmly, “Donald Junior, you really, reallllllly don’t know who you’d have to blow. Please trust me.”

The younger Trump agreed to drop the subject for the time being. He decided to spend the rest of the day retweeting white supremacists who voted for his father instead. That pleased him, and his overbite grew three sizes that day.

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Writer/comedian James Schlarmann is the founder of The Political Garbage Chute and his work has been featured on The Huffington Post. You can follow James on Facebook, Spotify, and Instagram, but not Twitter because Twitter is a cesspool.

James Schlarmann
James Schlarmann
Comedian, writer, semi-amateur burrito wrangler and platypus aficionado, James cannot and will not be pigeonholed by anyone's expectations. Unless you want to pay him money, in which case his principles are as malleable as his "children" are "in need of food." Winner of absolutely zero lifetime achievement awards. You should definitely not give a shit about his opinions. James' satire is also found on: Alternative Facts, Alternative Science, The Political Garbage Chute, The Pastiche Post, Satirical Facts Hire James to create (very likely) funny content.

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