Dear Barron,
You’re 18 now, or 13, or probably at least 16, so you’re becoming a man, and that means it’s time for your father, Donald J. Trump, to teach you about life, and about what it means to be a Trump, and how to carry after I am gone the family reputation I have erected for you.
It might not be long until I’m gone. Seriously, Adderall is like a mystery glue that somehow keeps my heart going after doctors said it’s inexplicable I haven’t had a heart-attack yet from all the aspartame in my Diet Coke, the sludgy Big Mac sauce in my veins, and my endless, ceaseless, all-encompassing, rageful obsession with enacting revenge upon all my enemies, who are pretty much everyone I know because everyone around me is a nasty idiot who if given the chance would rig everything in the world against me, including all my businesses, my presidency, these Espionage Act charges, election fraud charges, and business fraud charges. And they’ve laughed at me, but who will be laughing when I get elected again? Me! Unless I have a heart attack because I haven’t exercised in decades. Which is why I’m writing this letter to you, Barron.
You have to understand that I set a pretty high bar of masculinity back in the 70s and 80s. It was almost like magic. I was a celebrity, I was rich, and I was best friends with Jeffrey Epstein, so I did very well with the ladies. I did so well, it was my Vietnam. Let me tell you, after I had undiagnosed syphilis go on undetected for most of my 20s slowly eating my brain, I vowed never again!
So I’ll let you in on a little secret. In my 30s I only pretended to have such amazing, beautiful women as my girlfriends because I knew I didn’t want to take the chance on getting another STD. I had a special trick. I pretended to be my own public relations guy, and I’d call up various newspapers, television news shows, and magazines to make up stories about how I couldn’t make up my mind who I’d date because so many models were begging me for a chance to be my girlfriend. And no one could tell it was me on the phone, even to this day. That’s where you got your name from. My alter ego was John Barron, a Trump PR executive. He was the best employee the Trump Organization ever had. Still to this day, no one has any idea John Barron was me all along. I would have made one of the great actors of all time if I hadn’t chosen to go into business. You know the story — went to Wharton, top of my class, and all the professors were begging me to teach their classes on business so they could actually learn from me. But I turned them down because I’m so humble. How are you doing in school these days, Barron? Do the girls in your class ever talk about me? How are the girls in your classes filling out? Send me some of your high school yearbooks sometime.
But anyway, back to the subject of this letter, here are some tips on love that I’ve practically trademarked because of how well they’ve served me throughout my life. I want to help you become a winner and a ladies’ man like me to protect the Trump family’s reputation. I’m kind of counting on you to be my successor because Don Jr… I mean, I really messed up naming him after myself. That is the single greatest regret of my life. He’s totally going to ruin my name beyond repair after I’m gone, I just know it. I wish I could sue him for damages to my brand, and make a judge force him to change his name to something like Frankie Failure. So, Barron, make me proud, son! I love you. Boy, if Don Jr. heard me say that to you… it would just crush his soul. It’s like the more he tries to make me like him, the less I’m ever going to like him. Oh, and let me know when your birthday is, I’ll get you something this year. Something tremendously special. I can’t even wait to tell you. It’s a bunch of blanket pardons I filled out for you before I left the White House. If you’re ever going to take the reigns at the Trump Organization you’re going to need them. With all the people we do business with in wild, corrupt, almost lawless spots of the planet, let’s just say you’re going to have to get creative at accounting and foreign lobbying real soon.
So without further ado, here are my totally amazing dating tips:
It’s easy to impress women on dates by walking into the restaurant and announcing to all the other diners that you’re going to pay for all their meals. Of course, I always leave without buying anyone anything — why would I really buy dinner for all those losers? — but it makes you look good in front of your date!
Girls always play hard to get, so it’s best to sneak up on them and surprise them. I’m sure you’ve seen the whole grab-’em-by-the-you-know-what video. The fake news media attacks me so much for that, but I’m telling the truth! You can’t let women know you’re about to grab them because then they swat your hands away!
It’s hard to do ever since I got famous, but when I was in high school and college, I’d always pretend to be blind and get a cane and some real dark sunglasses, and then fake stumble my way into the women’s locker rooms and bathrooms. Great way to see some skin.
Order meals for your dinner dates. Sometimes the girls want to eat steaks, or burgers, or other big entrées, and then they get full and are less attractive. I ALWAYS order for my dates so I can get them tiny little salads instead. And NO desserts! If I’m paying, they’re not going to get anything fattening (and this will save you a lot of money over the years!).
Unfortunately, you have my faulty hair genetics, so plan to start fixing some balding issues around your early 30’s. It’s the only instance of Trump DNA not being perfect. But you should be thankful hair regeneration procedures are much more modern now. When I was desperate to bring back my hair in the 80s, the treatments were really nasty, and I put so many chemicals on my scalp that the doctors warned me I was endangering my brain, but they didn’t know who they were dealing with because I’ve always been the smartest person in every room I’ve ever been in. I know more about everything than everyone. Went to Wharton, top of my class, big brain, you know all that! Although, all those chemicals that are now banned in Europe didn’t ultimately help my hair situation. Hopefully your mom’s genes help you out, but just know that the Trump genes are very dominant on account of how superior they are to everyone else’s.
Chivalry is way overrated, so don’t waste your time pretending. Men are just more important in this world than women. Besides, why should my hair get wet because me and Melania only have one umbrella? My hair takes way longer to get ready than hers!
Always cheat on your girlfriends and wives. Have as many kids both legitimate and bastard as you can because Trump DNA is God’s gift to humanity. Just try to have more girls because Trump daughters turn out better, and much hotter. I’ve done six paternity tests on Eric because the apple really fell far from the tree with him, and I’m embarrassed to say he’s really mine. You turned out pretty good because your mom Melania is quite a looker. Not so much now that she’s over 50, but in her prime modeling days, wow! Google “Melania naked” sometime. I’ve married some beauties, haven’t I? Just curious, do you do the dirty with yourself yet? I know at your age it can be marginal. Ever done it to Ivanka? I have. She’s got the superior Trump genetics, how could I not?
Anyway, that’s all I can think of for now. I’ll write some more when they come to me.
Just remember that I’m hoping you step up and become the Trump man your brothers will never be. And part of that is having amazing girlfriends, or at least making the world think you have them. Start thinking about what your PR alter ego’s name should be. I need a real shark to take over the Trump Organization, and keep the Trump reputation going.
P.S.: By the way, there are some various tapes of me floating around out in the world that maybe make me look not so good. Putin’s got some, Jeffrey Epstein’s collection had quite a few of me, and Roger Stone has a couple. If you ever hear threats of these tapes getting out, can I count on you to catch-and-kill those stories? Thanks!
P.S.S: Can you ask Melania to stop sending evidence against me to the DOJ? I’m starting to think she WANTS me to spend the rest of my life in jail!
Thanks for your eyeballs!
—Dash MacIntyre
My new prose poetry book, Cabaret No Stare, is available now. If you like the themes, attitude, and humor of my satirical work, you’ll like my poetry as well!
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