There’s No Place Like Covfefe: D.T. Wants to Go Home

Zahra
Zahra
Aug 22, 2017 · 3 min read

Dear Overlords of my home planet,

I can’t properly express how I felt when you passed by yesterday without beaming me up. Sad. Yes, I think sad covers it, but maybe not adequately enough. You see, I’ve spent a lot of time here in this place where you left me as a child. Misunderstood and alone in a different galaxy.

I’ve tried to adapt. It appears that everyone thinks I’m stupid. Unfair. The telepathy I use with you guys doesn’t work on the loser earthlings. That’s what they are: Losers. Looooo-sers. [I think I’m supposed to repeat it a total of five times for luck]. I’m supposed to pick up on body language and actual spoken words. They gave up getting me to read anything.

Do you remember those sultry summer nights when I would sit atop Trump Tower and communicate with you via my special hair implants from Planet Xargonia. They may mock me, but this hair allowed me to become President via your amazing instructions. Really they’re the best. The best instructions.

Doing your bidding, however evil, is a real privilege. Remember when you told me to start a war with North Korea — or maybe it was to cure gonorrhea, not important — and I tried. I really did. I’m still working on it.

Fake news is a goddamn plague here and I’m its victim. I try to learn everything I can about Earth politics from all of the important documentaries like Harry Potter and the Wizard of Oz, so I know white wizards are fine people. But I’m the bad guy for not speaking out against them.

I’ve had some mishaps for sure. I accidentally divulged our beloved planet’s name, Covfefe. I’m sorry if I angered you. Is that why I’m still stuck here on Earth? In the old days, I simply focused my thoughts on “D.T phone home,” but now that doesn’t work.

People thought I was stupid for looking directly at the sun. I’m not allowed to tell them that I’m immune and was merely waiting for you to beam me up. Of course, the Earth idiots don’t know that solar eclipses cause the perfect conditions for intergalactic flybys. It’s science.

I’m starting to worry that nobody wants me here or on my home planet anymore. I still have the loyalty of the wizard men with the funny white pointed hoods and tiki torches. But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced of their popularity.

So this is a plea for help. I’m really struggling here. My thin-skinned man suit is itching and it’s getting harder to preserve the protective orange sheen that you bestowed upon me, my gracious overlords.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to tap my ruby slippers together three times while uttering, “There’s no place like Covfefe.”

In your eternal service,

Donnie T

Covfecian Special Agent #8

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Zahra

Zahra

Born at the arse-end of Generation X. Used to think a Millennial was a type of business publication.

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