Donald Trump Dies and Goes to Hell
Fifty years later, he goes to the Devil and says,
“I know I am to spend eternity here, but I would like to ask for a favor.” The Devil, figuring he likely owes Donald any number of professional courtesies, decides to hear his request. “I miss my country, I miss the United States,” Donald says ruefully, “I wonder if I could go back to Washington, DC for just fifteen minutes, and have a chat with someone? Then I will return to stay here forever and never ask you for anything again.” The devil finds this an agreeable arrangement.
“Very well,” Satan growls, “I will return you in a body different from your own so that no one will recognize or believe you are Donald Trump.” The next thing he knows, >POOF< he is standing on a street next to a bar. He goes in, sits down and orders a club soda.
“Pardon me, barkeeper,” Trump asks the amiable fellow behind the bar, “I’ve been in a coma for a very long time, can you tell how things are going in the country?”
“Couldn’t be better!” smiles the bartender, “We are the mightiest nation in the world, we no longer have ANY external threats! All political issues have been resolved! Every country is either our loyal ally or is completely controlled by our government!”
“Wait a second,” Trump says, not believing his ears, “What about Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan?”
“Everything is ours now!” the happy fellow says, “We have conquered them!”
“And the Ukraine?”
“Also ours!”
“I can’t believe this,” mutters Trump, “how about Mexico, Turkey
“Every single country belongs to us, the entire world, and it’s all thanks to President Donald Trump!”
Donald sits up and smiles, “Ah, well, that makes perfect sense. Well my good man, thanks for a terrific talk. What do I owe you?”
“That’ll be 350 Rubles please, comrade.”
