Mein Trump: Hitler and Donald Hump, Travel Time and Fall In Love (Over Micropenises)

(The following is an excerpt of a book of vulgar smut. Read the book on Amazon.)

“When you take a joke seriously, the joke becomes serious, and the joke is on you. “ — Harry Bearjew, 326 AD

Introduction

I recently traveled across Asia for six weeks, and the first question out of every Canadian, European and Australian traveler’s mouth I met was: Is this Trump thing serious?

After their face stopped contorting long enough to form a word, they’d ask: How?

A vocal minority of supportive ignoramuses. A flawed, vulnerable system. Trolling the broken media.

It’s like the butt-chugging “fad” from when I was in college. It started — hahaha, alcohol up your butt gets you drunker! — became a meme — who’s doing my enema tonight? — then the media caught on and we laughed, even though I didn’t know a single soul who supported it. And then people died. Buttchugging wasn’t funny anymore.

Trump for President isn’t funny anymore. But we’re addicted. I can’t walk down the block without Trump said what?! We need a nicotine patch. So, I wrote the worst book ever written. It’s an alternate, fictional explanation of Trump’s rise to quasi-relevancy — that he traveled back in time and had filthy sex with Adolf Hitler. It describes their miniature penises in detail.

This book is poorly written smut. You will cringe.

However, a current CNN headline is “Trump: China is raping U.S.” Is Mein Trump any more ridiculous than the “news?”

At least I’m not pretending to “inform” you. I’m sorry for being born. Enjoy.

Ch. 1: Donald Pops His Cherry

Nobody was taking Donald Trump’s 2016 US Presidential campaign seriously. The blogs called him a “troll.” The papers said his rise was “temporary.” Commoners on the street called him “a mop-wigged scumbag piece of shit racist.”

People laughed when Colonel Sanders discovered you could fry chicken. People laughed when Hugh Hefner invented penicillin. People laughed at every renewal of The Apprentice. Genius always won, eventually.
Donald would win … once people knew he meant business. “Trump” meant “business.” Literally!

He would find Miriam Webster, that bitch, and get it in the dictionary.

What was it, all of a sudden, that made people laugh when they heard Donald Trump? People had always taken him seriously! And now all of a sudden that he wanted to be President, he wasn’t serious?

He was The Donald. Not A Donald. Which Donald was he? That’s fucking right! The Ohio State University stole that from him. He would sue!
He didn’t feel The Fucking Bern; he barely felt A Fucking Tickle.

Come to think of it, he should get that burning sensation checked out. Never mind. Later! Donald’s minions wouldn’t stop. “If you become president, you won’t be able to sit around, reading the newspaper, yelling at people and jerking off all day.” Fuck them!

“You’ll have to give speeches, make nice with world leaders,” blah blah blah. It sounded like a load of horseshit to him. And they said he’d be taking a big paycut!

Apparently, banning Muslims required paperwork.

And building a wall to keep everyone out couldn’t happen overnight, for free, they said!

But the power! The airtime! Instead of being on TV 45minutes an hour, it would be 70, at least! The world would be his bar of gold, to eat and stick up his hairless asshole.

Powerful men always bleach their assholes; hav eyou read Alexander the Great, Airy Asshole’s Biography? That’s why you’re not going to be president! Lazy! He’d be King of the world!

Hey, Islamistan, you wanna fight? We’ll war your asses. Fuck the world; we’re making America great again!

Alexander the Great. The Donald, The Dominant. It was worth the pay cut.

Hey Putin, I’m King of America, suck my dick, and give me your money! Hey, Federal Reserve, I’m taking a few gold bars home today, little bitches! You know how I’ll solve the debt problem? Hey, Chinamen, go fuck yourselves and go back to where you came from! We’ll build a wall!

He wasn’t overwhelmed. The Donald was never overwhelmed.

But for once, he figured he could at least use some basic advice. Not that he needed it, but he wanted just a tip. Confirmation he was on the perfect path, at least.

The problem was: Only one person in history had matched his power and leadership. Not that he approved of the man’s philosophies, but the principles they embodied were legendary. That man was Adolf Hitler.

Fortunately, Trump Industries, with the influx of donations from his idiot supporters — let’s be honest, even Donald knew they were dumb — had developed a time machine.

So Donald, in secret, visited his Hera From Another Era. Adolf “Fucking” Hitler, as most Americans called him.

But unlike the ignorant fools who would want to kill this brilliant man, who was simply a bit misguided, Donald was going to ask the visionary some questions on how to lead a country. So he could Make America Great Again, by taking it back to its roots of extreme power.

Those had been the days, when the country was at its most prosperous. Under the great dictatorial presidents. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Millard Fucking Fillmore.

Donald judged men objectively, not by what the common man thought of them.

If he wanted advice on how to get girls, he’d look in the mirror. If he wanted advice on how to convince people you’re not Muslim, he’d ask Barack Obama.

If he wanted advice on how to live like a pussy, he’d ask the Buddha.

He’d join the greats on Mount Rushmore — Fillmore and the like, but they’d be draped in his hair, and you’d forget they were there, because of The Hair. Mount Trumpmore, it would be called. It was only fair, bitches.

Ch. 2: Hitler’s Kinda Cute

Donald’s first reaction to seeing Adolf Hitler wasn’t awe of his charisma, as he had expected. It was a tingle in his left testicle.

Donald’s uncle Steve Drumpf once told him the left one was the gay one. He didn’t like the tingle. But he kinda did.

Now that no one in his era was around, Donald admitted that … Adolf was kinda cute. It wasn’t gay to be attracted to a powerful man! That was called ambition. Right, Miriam Webster, you whore? One day he’d fight that bitch, for not putting his face next to “power,” “spiffy,” and “anaconda.”

Donald approached Adolf’s desk. It was a magnificent thing. Jet black, full of Hitler photographs. But in every picture, Adolf had photoshopped (well, actually just cut out of a magazine and pasted) a picture of a giant black penis on himself. Donald thought it was odd.

But as odd as it was, it was also odd … ly arousing.

Whatever. Don’t think about it, Donald. His left nut tingled. Goddamn it, Adolf was cute. No he wasn’t. Stop! Donald cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Mister Fuhrer?”

“Vat do you vant?!”

Thank god he spoke English. Donald hadn’t even considered that. Wait, no, he had, but he had known! His gut was never wrong!

Uncle Steve had always taught him: If theworld doesn’t agree with your gut, yell!

Adolf had an angry look on his face as he looked up from his Insecure Monthly magazine, but it quickly turned soft. That startled him, so he reverted to anger. “I’m just a really big fan, and I wanted to know how you do what you do. I came here from the future.”

Donald was proud of his speaking skills. He learned them on the playground, yelling at little cocksuckers who wanted to suck his cock. He never let them. His skills were tremendous!

He hit Hitler with his trademark move: turning his lip into an airtight pout, whilst squinting his eyes to negative openness. He called it: Sex Hamster, because his first wife had called him an Overgrown Hamster, which was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said about him.

Hamsters had such endurance, spinning that wheel, like The Donald’s endurance in The Bed!

Nobody knew how he did it. The trick was, as Uncle Steve had taught him, to pretend your lips are your butt, and squeeze them as if a dick was approaching. Hating the gays was how he got everything done. As for the eyes, pretend they’ve caught a jug of jizz. Genius!

“Oh.” Hitler blushed and cleared his throat. But then he seemed at a loss for words.

You know that moment you meet your true love? Donald didn’t. But it reminded him of a gay porno he’d accidentally watched a few dozen times. Heil Jizzler. A beautifully done rendition of a Gestapo-meeting-turned-orgy. Well, beautiful if it hadn’t been gay! There was nothing beautiful about that.

Donald was holding a newspaper from the future that proved he was really from there. And he had been smart enough to bring one from the day after the present, where they were, which predicted four Jews would escape from a nearby concentration camp. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

Donald was showing Adolf he was a fellow man of power, with this trademark move. As soon as you meet a man, disrespect his deepest values. It was like when Donald met Bill Clinton, and told him blowjobs were for teenagers. The Donald had never gotten A Blowjob!

“FUCK!” Hitler pounded his fist, then screamed in pain. “NOW MY FUCKING WRIST HURTS! FUCK YOU!” He paced around the room, tears flowing. Donald imagined half was physical, but half was emotional.

His left nut tingled. No, it didn’t! Never. But maybe. A man of power. Ambition. Never mind. Stop!

Hitler broke the silence. “Vell. Sank you for telling me. Sank you. You are a good man. And you said you are American?” He yelped again in pain, like a tiny child being tortured with forbidden candy.

“Yes!” Donald was surprised at Hitler’s receptiveness. It must have been his good looks. God, Donald was a good looking man. This was a rare sight for history, two of its best looking men in one room. Donald figured they shared some DNA, but that just made his left nut tingle more.

Was it gay if they were loosely related? “I must tell you somesing.” Hitler continued, batting his short eyelashes. “You are wery good-looking, nice man.” Donald blushed. Was Adolf hitting on him? There’s no way the Fuhrer was gay. He had shown such signs of power!

And “power” meant “man!” And “man” means “pounds women into submission!” Donald loved words and definitions. “Thank you.” Donald straightened his face, then did the trademark lip-butt-clench and jizzy-eye-squint Sex Hamster.

“No, really. You may not know this, but it is a very manly thing to do for a man of power to be fucked by a good-looking, nice man like yourself.”

Donald had always suspected this, and the reverse. What was gay about fucking a powerful man? His left nut tingled. He thought about his trademark butt clench, then did the opposite.

This was it. This was love. Well, not gay love, but loving multiplication of great power!

That was why semen tasted so good, because it increased power. Donald had acquired his power through his college invention of “Seederdays.”

Every Saturday, he’d soak some sheets with scores of semen, sit soundly inside the sogginess, and slurp his seed in seed in secret, as sophomores sucked shots of scotch and spirits, getting wasted, wasting away. Donald was a poet, and he knew it!

“Please, enter me, Mein Trump.” Hitler said, in the sweetest voice Donald had ever heard. The only thing better than hearing his own name, Donald thought, was hearing it from Adolf Hitler’s sweet, raspy tone, as he was about to pound the Fuhrer into sensual submission with his massive penis.
Donald’s left nut tingled. No one would know. He was in the past. What happened in the past, stayed in the past, he figured.

“Is it in, sweet Donald?”

“Yes! I don’t like teasing. Teasing is for the weak!” Donald struck Adolf’s behind with his big fingers.

“Could you slap me harder? I like a real man.”

Donald was confused. He had used all his might. He supposed Adolf was powerful, but he didn’t even feel his dick, nor his slap? This had never happened before with his paid women. Clearly, Hitler was playing hard to penetrate. Two could play that game, Fuhrer!

“I won’t slap you. That’s where I draw the line. I’m out of here.” Donald didn’t mean it. But he started walking out the door. One step, nothing. Two, nothing. Seven steps, and Hitler hadn’t said a word. Fuck!

Donald reached the door and grabbed the golden handle. Please please please make me come back and fuck you, Adolf…

“WAIT!”

That’s what Donald thought! Donald always got his way with dictators. Ask Kim Jong-Un how their “Candy Crush” games go. Speaking of Mr. Un, he’d totally be hot if he had a Hitler stache.

“You are a real man. Come here and fuck me into submission.” Hitler said from his knees, trying not to beg, but totally begging, with those puppy-Nazi eyes.

Donald approached the Fuhrer. His eyes were cold, dead,sexy. It was weird. On the first level, he could see the power. And then right beneath it was a scared, cute little boy, that Donald just wanted to hug, get to know as they grew old together, and then fuck him into submission (when he came of age).
Donald was in love. Wait, awe. Not love. Who said that? Donald Trump put his right hand on Hitler’s left cheek, and spoke truthfully. That was weird. He never did that.

“You are a beautiful man. Has anyone ever told you that?” “Believe it or not, no.” Adolf said. Donald couldn’t believe it.

“I know this is weird, but I see myself in your eyes. It’s hard to explain. But it’s like, I see myself on the playground at three years old,being pushed into the sand by that bitch, Sally! ‘Leave me alone, Donald. Nobody will like you, Donald! You’re a mean and ugly person, Donald!’ ”

“Women! Kill zem all!”

“Well, I like women.”

“Vat? Of course I like women! Are you fag?” Hitler looked angry. And kinda hot.

“We both like women. I think that’s obvious.”

And then Donald did what he had been waiting to do. His right hand still on Adolf’s coarse left cheek, he leaned in,closed his eyes the remaining millimeter, and kissed Adolf deeply.

Donald’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Adolf’s lips were so hard, so tough! Donald felt like he was kissing himself, and vanished into nothingness.

The kiss felt like it never stopped. But when it did, Donald went right to it. He undid his gold belt and whipped it out!

His penis, that is. ‘The Big Trumpboner.’ It was like a TRUMPet, but bigger, like a Trombone, but with his name, and big and rock hard. Do you get it? But he called it “Big Donald” for short. Wait, for long! For girth!

The thing was, most people called their penises ‘Little (Their Name),’ because their penises are smaller than their bodies. But Donald felt that was poor branding. Sure, his penis was smaller than his body, but people needed to know it was big! And it was! “Big Donald” was big! Big, he told you, BIG!

Adolf leaned on his faux-gold desk, and dropped his tight trousers, opening his butthole for entry. “Oh, Donald. Put zee penis in Adolf’s bumhole!”

Donald had wanted this his whole life. A powerful man asking him to enter him deeply. It felt so right. It felt so straight.

“Tell me how much we love women, Adolf!” “Women are so beautiful! I love having zee sex with zem!” Donald was rock hard. He didn’t need any lubrication, because he could see Adolf Hitler’s butthole soaked with some sort of ejaculatory moisture. Donald wasn’t sure where it came from, but it only made him more aroused.

Donald Trump put his rock hard penis into Adolf Hitler’s tender asshole, and the rest was history.

He thrusted once. Twice. Thrice! Into Hitler’s butt. The pleasure was tremendous!

“Oh, Adolf! Your butthole is so moist. It reminds me of when I stick my fingers in my ass!”

Donald thrusted and thursted, and ohmygod it was so good, and then, yes!

“Vat vaz dat?” Adolf didn’t sound happy. Donald Trump had jizzed all in Adolf Hitler’s already-moist asshole.

Nobody dissed The Big Trumpbone’s spew!

“What was what? I fucked the shit out of you!” Donald felt good.

“I did not even feel anything! And zen you came all in my butt!”

“Was I not supposed to?” Donald was confused.

The beautiful Fuhrer’s furor lit Big Donald’s fiery pubes ablaze, figuratively. It was hot. “Of course you vaz! But not in 12 seconds!”

Donald didn’t think it had been only 12 seconds. And that wasn’t so bad! What was this beautiful Nazi talking about?

“You’re very hot, Adolf! I will fuck you again in two days when I am recovered.”

“It takes you two days to recover? And where is your dick? I didn’t feel it!”

Donald was confused. He’d had sex with a few girls, a few times, after taking dozens of viagra. And paying them a small sum of money, a few million or so. And they had never complained about his penis. His powerful penis! The Trump name means power!

OK, he had never actually fucked one, but they still loved being paid to pretend!

“You didn’t like The Big Trumpboner?”

“Vat iz Big Trombone? You haz little piccolo!”

“That’s my powerful penis!” Donald held it in his hand to show Adolf.

“I see nothing!” Adolf looked serious.

What? “Fuck you! You’re as mean as you are beautiful.”

Donald squinted into Adolf’s eyes.

“I can not be satisfied by a man with a boy’s dick! Get out of my office!”

Adolf still looked serious. Was this more teasing? Donald didn’t like teasing! It reminded him of Sally on the playground. And Daddy at home. And all of his friends that Mommy made for him. And most of his business partners. And the media. And the people he met on the campaign trail. Donald was getting angry! And when Donald got angry, he peed.

Donald Trump wet himself.

Gold pants didn’t hide yellow pee, apparently.

“Did you just vet yourself? You child!”

Donald didn’t like Adolf anymore. He was hot and powerful on the surface, but clearly, he wasn’t a truly powerful man if he didn’t respect The Big Trumpboner for its power.

Donald did what he did best when feeling compromised. He attacked Hitler with powerful words. “You’re bad, and a big meanie!” That one had worked on Ann Coulter.

“Zat’s all zew got?” Hitler didn’t seem fazed. Donald would have to up the ante.

“You know what? I come from the future, and there are Jews there.”

Adolf grew furious. “Zere are no Jews in zee future! I kill zem all!”

He slammed his fist, then squealed in pain for four minutes. As Adolf cried, Donald brought out his secret weapon. A picture of the Maccabi Games — the Olympics for Jewish American youth.

“FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING JEW!” And then Adolf Hitler’s tears multiplied fourfold, into pieces of hail, rattling against the desk, stripping it of its cheap gold-painted exterior. Donald knew this was his chance.

He approached Hitler, and spoke softly. He had broken him down, now he would slide right into his heart. That was Donald’s game, after all, and what he’d do to America.

Read the entire book on Amazon if you’d like to cringe more.