A Colorful Wall Trumps Everything...Part 4

Let me begin this blog by apologizing to you readers who looked at my previous three blogs about figuring out colors for the U.S.-Mexican border wall. You will find a number of redundancies here concerning my interactions with the President Trump concerning colors ; but, let's face it, when you are dealing with an individual who has a pre-adolescent attention span and a disturbing propensity for skewing the truth, it becomes necessary to repeat the specifics of conversations in order to convince yourself that you heard correctly. I call it "pinching the brain" in order to prove to yourself that what just happened was not imaginary. I am kind of embarrassed by this reality check; POTUS doesn't have to worry about his neurotic responses because he appears to be oblivious to them.

In the previous blog, Donald decided on painting the wall black because it would confuse the "cockroaches" and effectively deter them from finding their way into the USA. I, therefore, ordered 50 gallons of black satin paint; it took my guys three days to coat the wall prototype that sat somewhere near El Paso in the desert. Immigrants who were stranded there in Mexico brought us an array of food and plenty of water. The border patrol, on the other hand, sat in their air-conditioned jeeps and laughed at us as we struggled in the broiling heat. They had been ordered by the Supreme Commander not to interact with us; he wanted to see if we could "cut the mustard".

After a couple of days into the painting, an entourage of black Hummers descended upon us bringing with them a hideous cloud of dust. In the second car, a black window lowered, and a familiar voice boomed out. "Larry, where are you? I can't see a damn thing!"

I walked up to the car, gagging on the dust. When I arrived there, I could make out with my blurred eyesight, POTUS wearing a bright yellow shirt, with green, blue, and pink palm trees emblazoned on it. A golf ball and putter shared the seat with him.

"How's it going, Lar? I just finished a round over in El Paso; thought I'd stop by and see how my wall is looking." He pokes his head out the window and squints. " Damn, boy, it's beautiful; I can't see a thing."

"Just what you ordered, Donald."

Well, I probably don't need to waste my breath telling you this, Lar, but Melania is really pissed off about the black. When she found out what we were doing, she flew off the handle and started calling me every indecent insult in the book, all the while throwing the contents of her purse at me. With "blubbering moron", a lipstick case flew by my left ear. "Drooling asshole", and a make-up mirror clunked my arm. When she screamed " worthless sonuvbitch", her car keys [why she still has them is beyond me] ricochet off the bathroom door behind me. I kept cool and brought that annoying little grimace across my face, that same look I like to use during press conferences when I am for sure that Democrats are watching. But that look only whipped her into an even more demonic rage!"

"Now I've endured my share of verbal abuse in my professional life, but what came out of that ranting bitch's mouth next brought me to my knees. She clutched the hash pipe from Nassau that I had bought her for Christmas, and as it was arcing toward my crotch for a direct hit, she sardonically bellowed, 'and everybody knows you're more of a pussy than Pelosi!' "

POTUS now slumped back in his seat and started murmuring. " What is that you said, Donald?"

" She slammed the bedroom door behind me as I headed toward that couch in the West Wing again. But when I lay down on it, the unmistakable stench of Pompeo's fart arose from the fabric. As I fumed in the fumes, I just had to get to my phone and do some tweeting. And so last night this brilliant creation came forth.

I NEED TO APOLOGIZE TO MY WIFE FOR NOT CONFERRING WITH HER WHEN DECIDING TO PAINT THE WALL BLACK. SHE IS RIGHT AGAIN, AND I STAND CORRECTED. WHAT WAS I THINKING? I WILL RETURN, THEREFORE, TO OUR LAIR, AFTER SHE HAS USED HER NEW HASH PIPE, WHERE WE WILL HOLD NEGOTIATIONS ON THE COLOR. I GET THE DISTINCT FEELING, MOREOVER, THAT THE CHOSEN COLOR WILL HAVE A MORE FEMININE HUE TO IT. I AM ALSO OFFERING NANCY PELOSI AN OLIVE BRANCH BY INVITING HER TO THE COLOR NEGOTIATIONS. WEAR YOUR PAJAMAS, NANC, AND BRING YOUR FAVORITE PILLOW."

I