No holiday for Donald..!

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DONALD walked from the Oval to the Lincoln room, down the stairs, stared at paintings which stared back at him lifelessly, winked at Jefferson, frowned at Lincoln, strolled out onto the lawns, ignored secret service men who saluted, eyeballed visitors who gaped at him outside the protective fence, then walked back into the Whitehouse, walked from the Oval to the Lincoln room, and screamed, “I’m bored! I need a holiday!”
“Gee dad! Let’s go to New York!” cried his little son. “I want a proper holiday, not ride up and down the Trump Tower’s elevator!” shouted Donald angrily, “What’s the use of money, if I can’t have a vacation!” “And where would you go to daddy?” asked his daughter coming out of her room, “Any place in particular?”
Donald pulled out a crumpled travelogue from his pocket and spread it out, “Look at these beaches, one hundred and seventy-five miles of sand and sun! Just look at that children. I’ll be back with a tan that will even be the envy of Obama!”
“Which beach is that dad?” “Latakia; exotic name ain’t it?” “That’s in Syria dad! You’ve banned them here, they’ll ban you there!” “What about this?” asked Donald furiously turning the pages of the travelogue with his small fingers. “That’s a lovely building named after my gambling den in Atlantic City!” “That’s the Taj Mahal dad. Don’t forget your speeches got three Indians lynched and two killed. Your plane may not even reach Agra!” “London should be safe for me!” said Donald hoarsely. “It’s not safe for Theresa May herself!” whispered his daughter.
“Then it’s to New York I’ll go,” said Donald brightly, “Maybe a ride on my golden elevator, instead of walking up and down these ancient stairs! A bath in my diamond studded bathtub, where I’ll watch the whole city through my glass walls. Heh! Heh! Heh! That’s the holiday I need. Just to get away from here!”
“Look at this,” said his daughter opening a newspaper. “What’s that?” asked Donald, “Where’s all that happening? In Iraq? Pakistan? Where?” “Right outside our home in New York dad! People yelling, waving placards, holding banners, shouting slogans! You may not get much rest in New York dad!”
Donald threw the travelogue away. He walked from the Oval to the Lincoln room, down the stairs, stared at paintings which stared back at him lifelessly, looked at Jefferson, frowned at Lincoln, walked out onto the lawns, ignored secret service men who saluted, eyeballed visitors who gaped at him outside the protective fence, then walked back into the Whitehouse, walked from the Oval to the Lincoln room, and screamed, “I need a holiday!”
Was it Jefferson or Lincoln who’s whisper he heard saying, “You’re caged in Donald, by your own sweet words..!”
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com