An Interview With Ivanka Trump– by Lance Akamai



I was contacted by a source who claimed to be close to the incoming Trump Administration. Due to concerns for his personal safety he wished to remain anonymous. I was a little incredulous but information has been hard to come by so I agreed to meet him outside a methadone clinic in Tacoma on a cold and rainy Tuesday night. Below is a transcript from that meeting:

Anonymous Source (hereafter known as Anon): Thanks for the egg salad sandwiches and coffee.

Me: No problem. So, what is your connection to the Trump administration?

Anon: You know all the toilets in the Trump Tower Penthouse are made of solid gold?

Me: I heard they were cheap plate, but whatever.

Anon: You know they don’t even go in the toilets?

Me: What?

Anon: Serious. They shit and piss on the floor next to the gold toilets so the help will have to clean it up.

Me: What?

Anon: No joke. Every so often I pay to clean up their bathrooms.

Me: You pay them to clean up their shit and piss off their bathroom floors? That’s insane.

Anon: No, no, I consider it a great privilege.

Me (at this point figuring I was out the cost of the sandwiches and coffee): Anyway, what else can you tell me about the Trump Administration?

Anon: Well, I can give you Ivanka’s private number for a Debbie Cake.

Me (in for a penny, in for a pound): Fine.


I called the number given to me by Anon. It turned out to be a 1-900 psychic hotline number. Below is a transcript of that conversation:

Fortune Teller, Madame Misty (hereafter referred to as Ivanka): Greetings,  this is Madame Misty, How can I help you?

Me: I was told this was the private number for Ivanka Trump.

Ivanka (Madame Misty): Wow. I can totally channel her for you.

Me: What the fuck. How much?

Ivanka: $3.95 a minute. I’m already plugged into her. I can tell you anything you want to know.

Me: Fuck me. Fine. What can you tell me about the Trump Administration?

Ivanka: Well, dad and I are doing the good cop, bad cop routine right now. Dad wants to set me up as the next in line to run the dynasty, which is where we’re going with this, although I’m playing dad in the long game.

Me: Excuse me? Can you be more specific, and kind of quick, I mean, $3.95 a minute is kind of steep.

Ivanka: Listen, I love dad and everything, but let’s be honest; he’s a ham-fisted low rent grifter. Trump University, come on. I’m surrounded by clueless, small thinking, arrogant men. It’s infuriating. Look, Jared, my husband? Gad-awful. In my circle these half-bright, self-important douches are a dime a dozen. Jared Kushner, ugh. If he didn’t come from money he’d be a fucking Fed-Ex driver, for God sakes.

Me: Oh my God. You’re a monster…

Ivanka: I’m a monster? You should try living with these men I’m surrounded by. Have you met my brothers? Stooges. Anyway, here’s my plan– I’ve got dad wrapped around my finger. I’m going to let him set this thing up– Kind of dictatorship-lite. He’ll do all the dirty work and I play the good cop, you know, I care about women’s issues the environment and that kind of horse shit, then once it’s all set up I retire dad…

Me: What? What are you talking about…?

Ivanka: Remember $3.95 a minute, Sport, just be quiet and listen. Anyway, retire dad and I take over. Jared and my brothers get some busy work to keep them out of my hair. If any of them get uppity, believe me, something will fall on them, and then I launch the Big Plan.

Me (horrified): Big Plan?

Ivanka: Right, the Big Plan. It’s simple math really. I don’t know exactly what the serf’s make a year, what do you make? Never mind, whatever, let’s just say it’s on the high end, I don’t know, Like $20,000 a year. Anyway, so then The State, that’ll be me, takes over water, food, hell, the fucking air, and bills the serfs their whole income minus 3%.

Me: Oh my God….

Ivanka: I know, right? And believe me, you won’t want to eat that food. I’d stay away from the water, too. And the air… ( she starting cackling)

Me: Oh my God…

Ivanka: It gets even better. You know those stupid peasants are going to start squawking about their rights. ‘Oh, my 1st Amendment rights! Oh, My 4th Amendment rights!’ And on and on. Well, I’ll let them pursue their “rights” for, say, 4% of their income. Hahahahahahaha… (then she just broke down laughing).

Me: Oh my God…

Madame Misty: Listen Sweetie, I got another call coming in but you have my extension, so call any time. You can interview anyone in the Trump Administration you like except Trump himself.

Me: Why not Trump?

Madame Misty: I tried channeling Trump once. Imagine a brain injured weasel on speed. I was in bed for a week. I won’t do it again.



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