Donald Trump Fills Out a Tax Form!

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By Donald “Braveheart” Stewart

Mr. Trump is waving paper.

Picture the scene…

It is early in the morning and not long after getting up, Mr. Trump is trying to work out what this piece of paper is doing on his desk. He is not alone in the Not So White House. Sitting across from him is his tax advisor. For once his tax advisor is looking a little sheepish.

It is not a look that suits him, and he wants to get out the meeting as quickly as possible. But Mr. Trump is not happy and when Mr. Trump is not happy, that means delays in paying the bills and for the tax advisor, any tax advisor that is not good…

They are also not alone.

Agent Orange is currently hiding behind his favourite plant pot.

The tax advisor wishes he had a good hiding spot too as Mr. Trump has turned a shade of purple. Orange suddenly looks better.

“What do I pay you for? I do pay you, don’t I?”

The tax advisor nods as he knows that unless he is being refereed by Fox News, there is little point in trying to interrupt.

“I have paid all I am going to pay and YOU,” Mr. Trump stabs a finger in his direction, “you need to sort this out. The IRS are bad to me. You know they are. WE both know they are. They treat me very badly, but this is not good. Not good! You need to help me out here. What do I pay you for?”

The tax advisor goes to speak as Mr. Trump stands up to tower over him. At that Agent Orange looks out from the pot plant. He is calculating the distance between him and the escape route. He could manage it. That Brazilian ninjitsu stuff might just come into its own.

“I am not going to pay another dollar to you or to them! Do you hear me?” Mr. Trump is shouting now.

The tax advisor begins his defense.

“Mr. President. Paying $750 over 15 years is a good deal. I would take it…”

“Mr. Trump looks like he is about to explode.

“Take it? I don’t think that you understand. I am a businessman. I am a successful businessman. That is my story. That is my legacy. In fact I am probably the best businessman that I know and trust me I know a lot of businessmen. I also know a lot of businesswomen and the fact is I am a better businesswoman than any of them. I might even be a better woman than them. Hell, if I was a woman, I would be dating myself, if I wasn’t dating my daughter but that’s not the point. I pay you to get me, a successful businessman, out of paying tax.”

All during the rant Agent Orange has decided to go for a dummy run. He slithers out from behind the plant pot and is now under one of the rugs. Unnoticed by either Mr. Trump or the tax advisor he is now within two feet of the President and equidistant between the advisor and his target. Right now, he could launch a nuclear missile at the President, and he doesn’t think the President or anyone else would notice.

Just then the President makes a move.

Across the rug.

As walks over the bumpy rug which he never notices because in his DNA is walking all over people and not caring that he is doing it.

But Agent Orange notices as he is kicked in the shins, has two fingers broken when Mr. Trump tries to stamp out the ruffles in his rug and tries not to squeal when Mr. Trump stands on his genitals.

“Mr. President,” starts the tax advisor. “The best that I can do is to offer the $750 and see what they say. You will not get away with paying any less. You also have to think about your poll rating.”
At that, Mr. Trump coughs and touches his forehead.

Is it hot in the Not So White House? Is the Not So Oval Office warmer than normal?

His ratings… he starts to see the sense of it all.

He walks back across the bumpy rug.

Agent Orange stifles a howl.

“OK. If they need to see some green from me, I can take it. I am the President. I need to show people that I can understand a chart and I can hear you and them talking. We pay $750 but no more.”

The tax advisor smiles. It is a sinister smile. “The people shall surely recognise the intelligence and the business acumen you display Mr. President. It is truly Presidential.”

With that he rises and looks at the rug. He wonders if he too is suffering from something as he is sure he sees it move and make some kind of moaning sound. After many years of being advisor to the Trump organisation nothing surprises, shocks or pleases him any more.
He makes for the door.

Mr. Trump, pleased with his latest win, has got back to his seat. He thinks to himself, it’s truly warm in here as the tax advisor turns and is about to say something when he realizes that he is leaving without the one thing he came in for.
“Mr. President, the form?”

Mr. Trump realizes he has still to sign it off and does so with a flourish. His gaze is caught by a slight flutter in the pot plant and he makes a note on his pad to have his temperature taken as he does not feel great. And he always feels great. In fact, he doesn’t know anyone who can feel as great as he does.

The tax advisor takes the form, turns and leaves.

Mr Trump smiles and sweats.

Agent Orange behind the pot plant, sweats, gets too many leaves in his mouth and nearly chokes as he counts how many fingers he has left that are not broken.

As many as Trump Presidential promises kept, he realizes and makes a mental note to go get them checked.

Next time, he thinks, he will use the Brazilian stuff… or the Japanese stuff… or just anything…

Whilst the author asserts his right to this as an almost original tale, any similarities to persons real or imagined are deliberate. However as there is little or no evidence that Mr. Trump has ever filled in a tax form on his own or turned purple, as far as he is aware, this is clearly fictional and never actually happened, though much of the dialogue has been said.

Over the last week, Donald J Trump has had his tax affairs published showing that he allegedly paid very little tax. By the end of the week he was suffering from the virus he says will magically go away and is allegedly under an experimental treatment, allegedly in hospital which might not allegedly be paid for by Tax Dollars that others pay. There is no alleged election coming though the President thinks it shall allegedly be bogus. The truth rests with the American people to decide…

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