Inside the Mind of Donald J. Trump
A little holiday riffing.....
Mark Halperin, markhalperin.Substack
You know, they keep saying — they’re always saying, they never stop saying, like a broken appliance with an opinion problem — that I don’t work hard and that I’ve lost a step or two. Lost a step! I’m practically Fred Astaire out here. I’m twirling, I’m tapping, I’m doing the little kicks. If I’ve lost a step, everybody else has lost the whole staircase.
And by the way, who else is working over the holidays, besides me? Nobody. You go to Washington — tumbleweeds. Congress is gone. The press is gone. Even the interns are gone, and they love pretending they have power. They live for that. Like Cryin’ Chuck.
The fake news is certainly taking a vacation. They’re lying on beaches, they’re applying SPF 95 because they’re extremely pale people. Good and bad with them, always two columns, like an accountant who hates you and doesn’t hide it. Good, they barely noticed the ratings for the Trump–Kennedy Center Honors. Highest ever, by the way. So high the TV said, “Please stop, I’m overheating.” Bad, they treated the economic data that shows everything booming like it didn’t happen. They look at the numbers and say, “We don’t do numbers unless it’s climate doom or a poll we like.”
And now they’re obsessed with Jeffrey Epstein. Obsessed! Like a middle-school crush that should’ve graduated. Like Archie and Veronica. And I keep trying, in the nicest way, to explain that Epstein is a Democratic story, not a Trump story. But they won’t listen. They say, “Sir, what about the island?” I say, “Island? I don’t even like boats. Have you ever seen me on a boat? I get seasick before the anchor pulls up.”
Then they do the skeptical eyebrow, the Rachel-Maddow-knowing-something eyebrow, and bring up that Washington Post story about how he tried to kill himself before. Quite something. Very dramatic. Needed an editor. Could’ve been a Tom Clancy thriller if they threw in a submarine and a Russian guy with a scar.
Anyway, I’m working hard this weekend. Harder than anyone. I’ve got two beauties coming in — Zelensky and Bibi at Mar-a-Lago. Little peace brunches, big “stop blowing each other up” moments. I’ve lost patience with Zelensky, and my whole team has lost patience with Bibi. It’s like negotiating with two different cable companies: one keeps you on hold, the other sends you a bill for something you never ordered. Last chance for these allies.
But home court advantage has worked for me in the past, which is why I told the New York Post I’m optimistic about a Ukraine deal. And even that failed nutjob Paul Gigot — and I say nutjob with holiday warmth — even he thinks this is shaping up to be a good deal. When Paul Gigot approves of something I am doing, you know the world is upside down and the lion in Narnia is giving press briefings.
These Republican senators who think I will give too much to Putin haven’t been paying attention. They’re not watching the show. They’re out in the lobby buying popcorn during the key parts. No one else could make the deals I make. Nobody. Certainly not Sleepy Joe, but not Clinton or Obama or the Bushes either. The Bushes couldn’t even deal with broccoli. Probably not Reagan, and I love Reagan — wonderful hologram at the library — but come on.
I’ve made this the hottest country around. Hottest economy, hottest celebrities trying to get selfies, hottest everything. And the left can’t handle it. They just keep predicting that I’m done. I’ve only just started. I’m in the helicopter shot over Manhattan; the theme music hasn’t even come in.
What I need to get my poll numbers up is a foil. Like the Central Park Five. Or Crooked Hillary. Someone. Anyone. Newscum is not working now for some reason. He had the potential — great shampoo-commercial hair — but it’s stale. Like sourdough that refused to rise. Mark Kelly and that other senator from Arizona? No. Minor league players. You can’t duel with someone who sounds like the guy who shows up to fix your broken elevator..
And I keep telling my geniuses — beautiful geniuses, the Mensa of Mar-a-Lago — that I need someone on my staff to come up with some ideas on housing that sound good and maybe will work. They say “affordable housing,” I say “make it look rich.” You put gold trim on it, people LOVE affordable housing. They say, “This is the nicest affordable housing I’ve ever seen!”
Meanwhile, Scott is doing such a great job telling people that the tax cuts are coming. He’s like Santa, but for deductions and big beautiful refund checks, paid for with tariff money from China.. Walks around whispering, “Have you heard the good news?” and people faint with joy.
My whole team is so strong. Greatest cabinet ever. That’s why almost no one has been fired yet. People say, “Sir, when are you firing someone?” And I say, “Why would I? The Diet Coke is cold, the applause is warm — everything’s perfect.”
And then there’s Ted Sarandos. Netflix Ted. Hollywood Ted. He has kissed up to me like nobody else, unbelievable devotion, Olympic-level flattery. But he’s kidding himself if he thinks I’m going to let that guy get what he wants. You don’t get everything just because you say “sir” in that soft voice. You’ve got to earn it with at least a limited series and a prestige drama. Plus, the CNN needs to be fixed.
So yes, I’m working, I’m grinding, I’m negotiating peace deals, carrying the whole holiday news cycle like Santa hauling the bag — except my bag has better ratings. They say I lost a step. I say I added choreography and pacing.
And we’re only getting started.
