Melania: It's all true. All of it. I never meant to hurt anyone that wasn't me. I'm so sorry to myself, and my future self, and to Richard M. Nixon, who built this beautiful, wonderful--it's absolutely great, believe me--bowling alley. It's why I locked myself up in here. Did you know--and I know this from the White House usher I fired--Petunia and Dick Nixon had this alley built because they couldn't stand baseball?
I understand. Who likes baseball? A Democrat would've built a baseball diamond in the White House basement, but a Republican thinks smaller. Thinks of alleys. Dick Nixon and his wife, Checkers, thought ahead. "Someday," they said to one another. "Someday we'll all want to live in alleys." So here I am.
|Ignore the golden pee|
Except Tiffany. Sorry, but you were the gutter-ball I sent down the lane. Your mother was brilliant in that show about a plain-spoken midwesterner from the future: Buck Rogers Follies. Honey, if only I'd gone after Bernadette Peters! It'd be you instead of Ivanka on my staff!
Or you'd have your own clothing line by now. Whichever. Whichever. It'd be a great clothing line. I know it.
Here's the point. Or the strike. Or the gutter-ball. I'm in the Nixon bowling ball rink because Daddy made a terrible mistake. Okay. I admit it. I did something Daddy shouldn't do. It's true I've spent my life doing a lot I shouldn't do, but now the pins are reseting, and as they do it becomes clear my strikes were actually gutter balls (Sorry, Tiff--we'll always have... something!).
Daddy may have to go away for a bit. But as I always say: I am with you. Mostly because you have my DNA wrapped up with you respective mothers' DNA--you can't escape me.
Forthwith, and nonwithstanding, please be advised that you in no way have rights to the trademarked name of Trump, nor do any of you have the right to use Trump in promotional material.
I remain your loving father,
Donald J. Trump (tm) (LLC)
PS. Please tell Bannon to pick up the pee jars outside the door.