You Can't Spell America Without Me

by Alec Baldwin

  It’s a crazy world out there, so crazy, crazier all the time, I’ve never seen anything like it, the amount of press that I’m getting is just crazy, absolutely crazy, because I do know my subject, I’m prepared to take the test, you know, the pop quiz but also the final exam, and I do know our country couldn’t continue to do what it was doing. They didn’t respect us and they were laughing at us, laughing, laughing, laughing, that I can tell you.

  SO MANY, MANY SECRETS TO KEEP

  Dr. Müller and I had a nice talk. She brought me some new supplements. She said they’ll last through October. They’re very good. I’m very good. I’m very relaxed. I’m great.

  The last chapter was very, very visionary. I let Barron read it. He says it needs fixing. He says there’s an editor “app” that can do it for me.

  I’m almost finished. With the book, not the presidency, ha ha ha, no way. Being president is demanding. Dr. Müller and Ivanka say that between the tweeting and the book, I’m spending too much time away from “being president.” Okay.

  I asked the Pentagon to invent an app where I say a sentence and then the app takes my thoughts from that one sentence and expands them into a few pages. They say it might take a while. So I’m going to be more brief from now on, but you can expand these shorter chapters later if you want, when the app comes out.

  The other reason I’m going to be more brief is because of national security. It’s become even more important, very, very important, shhhh, so many, many secrets to keep.

  Like the big one about North Korea. I won’t give it away. But I will say this: Paul McCartney has been a fake since the real Paul died, because the Beatles were worth like $100 billion a year to the economy of England, so British intelligence, the same ones who wiretapped me for Obama, gave some auto mechanic a lot of plastic surgery and turned him into “Sir Paul.”

  The secrets and dangers are also why I need to stay inside more. But I can tell you we are planning so many great secret things as we finish the first year, such fantastic things. You’ll be surprised. America First—And America Last. Like it? Me, too.

  ROUTE 66

  When I sell this book I can charge the publisher by the chapter. I could get to sixty-six chapters.

  Mike Pence told me there are sixty-six books in the Bible, and I told him the address of Jared’s building on Fifth Avenue, which is half as tall as Trump Tower, is 666, which made Mike mutter some special Christian words. Christ died at thirty-three, which is half of sixty-six, and my father’s middle name was Christ.

  At Trump Tower, the Northern White House starts on the sixty-sixth floor.

  I have sixty-six years of memories, starting in 1951, right after Dad got “rich” and we moved into the new house on Midland Parkway, which looks like the White House. It cost $66,000.

  I got to second base with Mitzi when I was fourteen, watching the show Route 66 on TV. She said I looked like Tod, the one played by Martin Milner, who was later on Adam-12 around 1966.

  Today I asked why we haven’t won in Afghanistan yet and someone said it hasn’t been very long, so then I asked how long ago I announced the new plan, and he said, “Sixty-six days, Mr. President. Only sixty-six.”

  “Hannity and chill,” as Ivanka says: Working hard late into the night at the White House, I take little breaks, like Edison and Einstein did—but unlike them, I boost my energy with a phenomenal slice of chocolate cake from the nearby Trump International Hotel.

  MAGA

  Lots of my MAGA people on the Internet are saying extraterrestrials have infiltrated the government, especially “intelligence.” I have many reasons to believe it’s true. This time I’m not going to make the mistake I did with the “wiretap” on me in Trump Tower, when I “let my anger get the best of me,” as Ivanka says, and I wasn’t taking the right supplements, so now I’m having my people gather the proof first before I start tweeting about it. It will be incredible when the truth comes out. I can’t get more specific yet, but you know how Trump was the one who was saying Obama wasn’t born in America? Maybe he was born a billion miles from here.

  MY NOBEL PRIZE

  I’ve heard people around the White House a few times lately whispering about “the twenty-fifth” and “plans for the twenty-fifth,” “is Pence on board for the twenty-fifth,” and so on. It turns out it’s a surprise twenty-fifth birthday party for my daughter Tiffany, who’s apparently here in Washington at Georgetown Law School now, later in October. Nice.

  I GOT A CALL from someone in Sweden who spoke English with a Swedish accent. She said I shouldn’t be disappointed on Monday when the Nobel Peace Prize is announced. I don’t get it, because they’ve already decided to give me my Nobel Prize next October, in 2018, unless I start a really big war between now and then ha ha ha. “Done,” I said. Nice. Also, it’ll be just before the midterm elections. Fantastic.

  SHLIMAZEL

  After dinner at Ivanka and Jared’s on Saturday night, after their very special Shlimazel Day of Atonement ended, I said I wanted to go for a walk with them and the kids along Rock Creek to look at the Halloween decorations.

  “Oh, look,” I said after we’d walked two blocks, “there’s the Obamas’ house! Let’s knock on the door and say hello!” But Ivanka’s a smart girl. She knew I just wanted to make him admit he wiretapped me, and all the rest, so she and Anthony wouldn’t let me go. “We don’t want another incident like last Tuesday, Dad.”

  She was talking about how I walked downstairs into the public area of the White House one morning in my pajamas and handed out autographed 2016 voting maps to a few of the visitors on tour, the map that shows my incredible landslide in electoral votes, which by the way the tourists loved and then agreed not to talk about after the new head usher, Dr. Müller’s friend, gave them all their special cash prizes.

  ANG BUHLAY AY MAGANDA

  I’m pretty sure they’re taking my phone away when I’m sleeping to check my drafts on Twitter, the amazing ones I haven’t beamed out yet. So I asked Rodrigo to get me extra phones, secret phones, what they call the “burners.” He needs to buy them with cash, so we came up with a great way to do that—every night I sign the tie I wore that day with a Sharpie, which he then sells in a special market on the Internet.

  “ANTHONY,” I asked, “is it true your Secret Service lie detectors are the gold standard, the best there are?”

  “I believe that’s correct, Mr. President.”

  “Okay, great. This weekend the First Lady and I are going to play ‘Truth or Dare,’ and to make it more fun, more presidential, I want to hook her up to one of your lie detectors, with one of your expert guys running it. Okay?”

  “That would be a serious breach of regulations, Mr. President.”

  Rodrigo did bring up the possibility that my first and third wives might both be Russian agents, working for Putin, since they both grew up in the Communist countries back then and the First Lady’s dad, Viktor, was an actual Communist official. I really, really hope it isn’t true. But it might be. Keith, my security guy, my security guy in all the White Houses, worked for me for twenty years, is going to check it out.

  My wife is almost forty-eight. I’ve literally never been with a woman that old. I stopped things with Ivana when she was forty, when we’d been together thirteen years; I stopped things with Marla when she was thirty-five. My wife and I have been married for almost thirteen years. When Rodrigo said to me “Ang buhlay ay maganda,” I was shocked, because I thought he was being funny, saying, “Angry that Melania’s getting laid” or something, because Rodrigo really never jokes around. But it was just another Tag-along proverb—it means “Get it while you can.”

  HOPE HICKS, my very loyal and very beautiful director of strategic communications, Hopester, just turned twenty-nine. I just reread the statement she issued about me at the beginning of the summer completely on her own. One of Rodrigo’s relatives printed it up in that fancy art writing they use on
wedding invitations, so I can refer to it whenever I want. “President Trump,” it says, “has a magnetic personality and exudes positive energy, which is infectious to those around him. He is brilliant with a great sense of humor and an amazing ability to make people feel special and aspire to be more than even they thought possible.”

  Beautiful, right?

  I think we’ll put it on our White House Christmas card this year.

  HOPE AND CHANGE. That’s going to be a new Trump slogan. I thought of it.

  OR A VAMPIRE. She used to talk so much about vampires. Or a robot. It could be possible the First Lady is a robot. I actually saw that on the Internet.

  MITZI:

  Is Melania like you? and if so, is it like in The Stepford Wives, where she’s good, or like the girl in Blade Runner?

  I DON’T THINK SO. This morning she stepped on a piece of broken glass that was somehow on the floor right next to her bed and she bled a lot. Plus, Barron definitely came out of her.

  WAS THAT ALL A DREAM?

  Did I just visit London? It’s the fall, and I was supposed to. Did I ride in the horse-drawn gold carriage to Buckingham Palace and give the finger to the protesters? During dinner with the queen and all of them did I ask the cute sister of the superhot future queen why she had the same first name as the English race car driver, also cute, blonde, Pippa, and did the royal Pippa tell me she wanted to leave her new husband and become my new First Lady, and did I make out with her a little before Anthony came in and the dinner suddenly stopped and we went away? Or was that a dream?

  ALL FAKE

  It was all lies, I just found out. I learned the truth. It was all fake.

  Mad Dog or Mad Dog’s replacement or one of them told me it’s not true that the reason I shouldn’t ever start a war with North Korea is because the CIA had replaced Kim Jong-un with a fake one who secretly works for us. It’s still Kim Jong-un.

  Rodrigo told me Dr. Müller isn’t really a leadership adviser and historian—she’s a psychiatrist. Those quizzes she had me take were psychiatric tests.

  Tiffany turned twenty-four in October, not twenty-five. The talk I heard around the White House was about the Twenty-Fifth Amendment in the Constitution, where it becomes exactly like Seven Days in May and they get rid of me and Mike Pence becomes president.

  HOORAY PRESIDENT TRUMP, HOORAY PRESIDENTE TRUMP, HOORAY PRESIDENT TRUMP IN RUSSIAN WITH THE CRAZY BACKWARD 3

  My Tag-along proverb Rodrigo sent in with breakfast this morning was the best one yet. “Kung ano ang kailanman ay hindi mawasak mo bumili ka ng isa pang araw upang sirain ang iba.” That which does not destroy you buys you another day to destroy others.

  By the way, remember last year when I was winning in Ohio or Indiana or Iowa, one of those, and I said I could shoot somebody in the middle of Fifth Avenue and I wouldn’t lose voters? Well, now I can tell you that wasn’t just a “figment of speech.” I once did shoot someone in the middle of Fifth Avenue—Fifth Avenue in Queens, College Point, near the water, 1966, summer, very late one night, like 3 a.m. in the morning, an argument with this guy who used to work for my dad, betrayed us very badly, we thought he was about to shoot me, and he didn’t die, I’m pretty positive. The statute of limitations means they can’t prosecute me, and even if they could they can’t prove it without me testifying against myself, which isn’t allowed because of the Fifth Amendment.

  Whoa. Fifth Amendment. Fifth Avenue.

  Right now I’m on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. On the sixty-sixth floor of Trump Tower. The Northern White House.

  Inside my special superprivate bedroom in my actual personal private penthouse, PPP, in my true Trump home, the one home totally built by Trump, the one named Trump, totally owned by Trump—as my junior special presidential assistant says, my “Fortress of Solitude.”

  MITZI: Presidential to-do list

  Song, “TRUE TRUMP / TOTALLY TOTALLY TOTALLY,” et cetera, invented and patented by President Trump 2017. You definitely got that, Mitzi? Okay, thank you. Mitzi, you’re so professional and so loyal. I totally trust you again.

  Finally, I’m here in Trump Tower inside my own special fort, which I just built myself, like the ones I used to build in my bedroom on Midland Parkway, for me alone, but better now, with official presidential blankets draped over the chairs, and gold chairs, and like a week’s supply of Lays and Coke and all my special supplements and vitamins stored right here inside the fort, and my dad can’t rip it all apart when he comes home. And now my special secret superagent Anthony just outside the door isn’t some imaginary genie but a totally real genie with real guns who just arrived for his shift and has to die for me if necessary, which is so fantastic. One wall of this fort is glass, Trump Tower glass, dark so nobody can see in, the best glass, bulletproof glass, my window overlooking Fifth Avenue, so I’m looking down at all the beautiful Christmas lights now that it’s dark, because President Trump ended the War on Christmas, that’s what Hannity says and what everyone is saying.

  Christmas! New Year’s! We’re almost at the end of my first three hundred days! Which the fake media won’t mention. I need to start planning 2018. Because as I always say, “If you want it done right you have to do it yourself.” Which I hear all the time now, but I was actually the first one to ever say it, just like “prime the pump for the economy,” which by the way I’ve done better than any president ever.

  MITZI: Presidential planning 2018

  NUMBER ONE: If I didn’t already get rid of Mueller, he might die accidentally, or at least get very sick, he’s older than me and so many Trump supporters are praying very hard against him.

  NUMBER TWO: Comey will be locked up for perjury and leaking—Lock him up! Lock him up!—along with Hillary. I could pardon them, I’ll tweet about the possibility, but I won’t ever do it, and Hillary may die in prison.

  NUMBER THREE: I will pardon Mike Flynn and Mike Pence, all of the Mikes, and all of the Steves, everybody in the White House, all the ones who stay loyal, because the president has unlimited presidential pardon power. PPP! And doesn’t that mean the president could even pardon the president? PPP! It’s probably never been done, but that’s what Trump does—what’s never been done before!

  NUMBER FOUR: In 2018 the immigration guys will unfortunately have to deport Melania. It will be tragic. So tragic. But I can’t make an exception! She’s an illegal! I didn’t realize at the time! So sad as she returns home to Yugoslavia, sad, the Aeroflot 747taking off from Andrews, on all the TV channels, so sad, me and Barron waving bye-bye, maybe I even cry, one tear, close-up, bye-bye. My poll numbers go crazy.

  NUMBER FIVE: Speaking of too bad, I won’t be able to pardon Jared because he’s related to me, and that would be completely illegal. But if Ivanka divorces him, then I could pardon him. And then she and I, we’d both be divorced, we’d have that in common, too—the two smartest, blondest, most amazing people in America, maybe in the world, both Trumps, suddenly single. Such a powerful idea. I have goose bumps right now thinking about it.

  MITZI: Book a table at Majorelle, nice cozy corner table, tomorrow at 8 p. m., Vanksy and me, tell Secret Service.

  NUMBER FIVE: In 2018 Rodrigo definitely becomes secretary of state, for the first time a somewhat foreign secretary of state, plus he’s a minority, so people will love that, hooray President Trump, hooray Presidente Trump, hooray President Trump in Russian with the crazy backward 3 in it, hooray!

  NUMBER FIVE: In my second term, when I can start doing whatever I want and my son is old enough to become White House chief of staff, we’ll build the bridge I had him design, the longest in the world, Alaska to Russia, fifty-five miles according to Barron, so much better than NAFTA and so much stronger than the EU, partners again, this time in the war on terror, all our nuclear combined, the first double-super-duper power. Did you know if you scramble the letters in “USA, Sir!” it makes “Russia!”? Amazing, right? I think that’s actually in the
Bible.

  I know Congress and the Pentagon and “intelligence” and crooked Hillary and sick Obama will fight me on the bridge and the rest of it, like they did against Fredric March in Seven Days in May, like they killed Kennedy. In fact, they could be sending in a secret SWAT team right now to take me out.

  “Anthony?”

  Anthony didn’t answer. I really should have my own gun. I opened one of the blanket doors on the fort. They muffle everything.

  “Anthony?”

  “Everything okay in there, Mr. President? Ready to go down for dinner?”

  “A-OK, Anthony, Mogul is outstanding, better than ever, skipping dinner tonight, watching the pounds, working on the book, et cetera, just wanted to make sure you’re out there, ha ha ha, in case of enemy things. Thanks.”

  What number was I on in my 2018 plan? Whatever.

  MITZI:

  Make the numbers all go in order. Thanks, Mitzi. You are the best.

  THE END

  All the Diet Coke, all the vitamins and supplements, didn’t sleep a week, didn’t slip a wink, no sleep slink last Thursday, people die in their sleep, if I sleep then they get me, the resistance, the terrorists, ISIS, Obama and Hillary created ISIS, it’s true, so true, so evil.