Trump Explains The Rain

Nov 12, 2018

November Rain, by Donald Trump

When I was a child, I watched children play in the rain.  Up in my tower, above the clouds, how the other children played as if rain was a blessing.

Then I turned from my tower window, back to my television.  I watched shows about the muddy civil war and trench war. Years later, the very children who splashed in the puddles below were sent off to the jungle to fight in the monsoons.  My dad’s doctor said I could stay home because of bone spurs.  My bone spurs healed once the war ended.

I very much enjoy desert wars.  It’s very dry in the desert.  How I love the Sahara and Arabian Nights and Aladdin’s lamp.  Sometimes the military lets me pilot the drones like a video game.

My friends who are buying up the water say that water is life.  That water holds all there ever was and is and will be.  Our dreams and our soul.  Water is the seat of the soul.  Water is life.  Mni Wiconi.

I see how water is priceless. Too priceless to be free.  I’d control the weather if I could.  Let California’s fires burn, then let my private companies manage the disaster.  If children want to play in the rain, they can buy a ticket to my casino’s water park or the VIP pool deck.

Confession: Ok yes, my friends’ short-sighted and irresponsible companies actually did cause global warming, and the resulting droughts and floods as of late.  But my friends’ companies will also make a killing scrambling to fix the problems we caused.  Make a killing, I say.

Oh this damn water.  How I hate being wet.  It's hard to hold a candle, in the cold November rain.

I wish I could stay dry forever, by the fire.  Fire too is the seat of life.  Give me more and more and more fire.  Turn that water to steam.  Set the whole thing ablaze.  For I am safe up here in my tower.

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