Official Guide to: Shithole Countries by President Donald Trump


Some people have a natural instinct; a gut feeling that simply tells them when they’re right.  That’s how I am about most things.  I’m lucky, I know it.  I’m right all the time.

Lot’s of people hem and haw, they can’t make up their minds.  I’m not one of them.  I decide before I know the facts.  People pay psychics a lot of money for this gift.  I’ve got it.  Once I know, I know.  Facts get in the way of making a decision.  I’m never wrong.  People doubt it the first time they see me in action but soon they are complimenting me.  They say, “You are the Amazing Trump.”  While people around me are sweating the facts, being thoughtful and considering all the options, I am already on teeing off, cool and refocused.  I don’t know anyone like me.  I guess you could say I’m unique—one of a kind.  Leaders aren’t born every day you know.

They say you inherit more than just DNA from your parents.  Though, let me tell you here and now that I’m self-made.  I inherited some start-up money from my father but the rest is all me.  From my mother I got a meatloaf addiction—just love that recipe, could eat it every night.  I have the White House chef whip up a batch 2-3 times a week.  My dad gave me his appreciation for white people.  In the 20’s he joined Club KKK to be with them as much as possible.  My grandfather was German so it comes naturally in my family.  Later, when I joined him in business, he taught me the art of selectivity—how to rent only to white folk.  We were pretty tricky until the Feds caught us twice.  That was a little expensive but we still got to pick our neighbors.  

Dad was pretty direct and I guess I’m blessed that he left me with a few life lessons.  The one I use daily is, “I don’t like color, I don’t like accents, I don’t like Jews.”  That always serves me well.   Others are more nuanced, “ Can I schmooze them, can I use them, can I abuse them?”  As a New Yorker, I can keep Jews at arm’s length but I can’t keep every Yiddish word out of my speech.  Schlep, bagel, schmuck, chutzpah—all American words now.  Dad’s little sayings keep me so focused.  Even if I like someone, I naturally find their weak spot and go for the kill.  Eat or be eaten—rule of the jungle.  It’s the reason I have temporary friends.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  It ensures a new face at the dinner table.

Speaking of the jungle…I have some rules that can make anybody an expert on quickly identifying shithole countries:

What makes a shithole country?  It’s the people.

1) Anyone from Africa expect whites from South Africa.

2) Muslims except if they’re rich and have (crude) oil stains on their clothes.  

3) Anyone whose skin is not really white unless they’ve just come off

a Florida golf course.  Tan is good.  Check their wrist where their

watch was.  If it’s white, they OK. 

4) Central Americans—Jesus, just go home and take your babies with


5) Anyone with an accent unless they’re young, female, built, 

beautiful and came from Eastern Europe.

6) Jews.  They used to make really good tailors but they’re dead.

I use them as my accountants and money people.  They make

great money changers and an occasional lawyer.

7) Asians.  Can’t trust slanted eyes except in my Melania.  She has

great eyes especially when she’s angry which is most of the time


Use this simple guide and you too can bring homogeneity into your home.  I do.  I composed a really clever poem.  Use it as your mantra:

White is bright.

White is light.

White is right.



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