Anonymous UK 🇬🇧

💥Welcome to another edition of #TrumpTales, where Donald #Trump isn't as welcomed as he thought he would be at The Pearly Gates. Enjoy, and please share if you like it! ------------------ ☁️☁️☁️The clouds parted like a badly tailored tuxedo, a golden escalator unfolded out of nowhere, and Donald J. Trump stepped onto the marble of the afterlife with both thumbs raised, as if Heaven had been waiting specifically for him and had simply been running late. The Pearly Gates were already smaller than he expected. “Tremendous turnout,” he announced to no one. “Biggest arrival in the history of arrivals. People are saying it. Angels. Cherubs. Very strong cherubs.” The angel on duty did not look like a cherub. He looked like a night auditor who had seen every excuse in creation and still had to count the towels. His name tag read GABRIEL, ADMISSIONS. In one hand he held a clipboard that hissed faintly when lies got near it. In the other he held a flaming sword that had been downgraded, after several incidents, to a flaming stapler. “Name,” said Gabriel. “You know the name. It’s on the building. Should be on the building. We can talk branding later.” Gabriel flipped a page. The clipboard made a sound like a tiny trombone being stabbed. “Purpose of visit?” “I’m here to get in, obviously. I’ve done more good than any president, maybe any person. I healed the country. I built the wall. I gave away so much money the poor were begging me to stop. I was, and I say this with great humility, practically a saint with better hair.” The stapler coughed smoke. Gabriel looked down. “Let’s take those one at a time.” Trump spread his arms. “The wall. Beautiful wall. Mexico paid for it. Cash. They loved paying. They said, ‘Sir, please, take more.’” Gabriel tapped the clipboard. A hologram appeared: years of appropriations fights, emergency declarations, partial fencing, and a very large invoice that did not say Paid by Mexico. “Mexico did not pay for it,” Gabriel said. “The United States paid. Contractors billed. Concrete happened in pieces. Your campaign promise was not a receipt.” Trump waved this off. “Details. Very nasty details. Everybody knows I donated my salary. Every penny. To the finest charities. The finest.” The clipboard grew warmer. “You did publicize quarterly donations of the presidential salary for much of the term,” Gabriel said, in the tone of a man reading a coupon that expired in 2019. “Heaven has the photos. Heaven also has the gap at the end, when the paper trail got shy. Heaven additionally has the Donald J. Trump Foundation, which New York shut down after finding it had been used as a political piggy bank and a gift shop for your own interests. You paid two million dollars in damages. Your children had to take charity class. That is not how St. Francis did it.” “Fake news foundation,” Trump muttered. “A perfect foundation. People said it was the most generous foundation. I gave a hundred million. Easy.” Gabriel’s eyes flicked. “You said numbers like that out loud. Investigators found a much smaller pile of actual personal cash, plus conservation easements, plus free rounds of golf treated like loaves and fishes. Other people put money in. You put your name on it. That is branding, not beatitude.” Trump pointed at the gates. “I saved millions of lives. Warp Speed. I invented the vaccine, basically. I said, ‘Go fast,’ and science said, ‘Yes, sir.’” For the first time, Gabriel’s face did something almost kind. “Operation Warp Speed existed. Credit is allowed. Then you claimed you personally did things no president does, and also told people to inject sunlight into their veins like it was a condiment. Heaven does not do notes on that.” “I was being sarcastic. Very sarcastic. The most sarcastic.” “You were being you.” Trump tried a new angle, the statesman angle, which sat on him like a borrowed tuxedo on a slot machine. “Abraham Accords. Peace in the Middle East. I alone could do it.... Continued.....