Donald Trump’s “I Have a Dream” Speech

"I have a dream. That my sons will be oligarchs. And that your sons will work for people who work for people who work for people who work for them."

by Rich Herschlag

Four years ago Joe Biden stood somewhere around here and accepted the oath of office while I went back to Mar-a-Lago to play golf, continue to call for violent overthrow of the U.S government, and sift through classified documents on the bathroom floor. I was pissed off back then because the election was stolen from me and I had a triple bogey on the ninth hole. Today, I’m pissed off the Senate is giving some of my nominees a hard time. I’ve earned political capital, and now I get to spend it—on predator pedophile cabinet appointees. Appointees who when I stand alongside them make me look a little less slimy.

Anyway, some woke liberal just told me Martin Luther King’s birthday is this week, and this low IQ individual is going to be celebrating that instead of the biggest tiny indoor inauguration ever held. And that’s a disgrace. Because as everybody knows, the Blacks love me. And Martin Luther King is okay, but I prefer civil rights leaders who are alive. And everyone’s always talking about his “I Have a Dream” speech, which I also think he gave when he was alive. But no one ever asked me if I had a dream. I had one last night, and it involved Ann Coulter, Kimberly Guilfoyle, and Flo from the Progressive Insurance commercials. But I have a dream, too, and it goes a little something like this.

I have a dream. That my sons will be oligarchs. And that your sons will work for people who work for people who work for people who work for them. That Elon Musk buys MSNBC and fills it with Proud Boy talking heads and programming sponsored by Mike Lindell. That the January 6 rioters I spring from prison will owe me their freedom and their very souls so that they become my personal standing army of hitmen ready to lay siege to my next enemy, whoever that is, and act in the matter with real and utter impunity.

I have a dream. That Social Security is privatized and invested entirely in businesses held by the Trump Organization and its subsidiaries. That I buy Greenland with other people’s money, watch it thaw due to climate change, and on it build my biggest luxury golf course to date, also using other people’s money. That abortion is safe and legal for the women I forcibly and non-forcibly impregnate and for no one else. That contraception is available to the women I forcibly and non-forcibly impregnate and for no one else. That Rudy Giuliani just dries up and goes away. He is an embarrassment.

I have a dream. That people who work for me tell me whatever I want to hear. That people who don’t work for me tell me whatever I want to hear. That my two impeachments are be scrubbed from the history books. That Black folks have a role in the United States of America—the same role most had in the 1930s—weary, obedient servants of rich, white males. That Vladimir Putin burns the photos of those girls urinating on me along with all the other kompromat, especially that one lost weekend in July 1992. That Jeff Bezos blows me. Literally.

I have a dream. That Vladimir Putin, Viktor Orbán, Kim Jong Un and I routinely decide the fate of the world on the back nine. That the Constitution goes the way of the Edsel, the rotary dial phone, and the BlackBerry. That white and Black children live together—in fear of me. That I go on one very special date with Ivanka. That I fire more people than ever. Because I feel like it, and because it’s fun. That George Clooney’s house burns down. That for some strange reason my vital organs don’t fail.

I have a dream. That Elon Musk dies in a Tesla self-driving accident and I am the sole beneficiary named in his will. That Big Macs are counted as a vegetable by the USDA. Because I say so. That Jimmy Carter’s ghost stops haunting me. That my bedsores magically disappear. That Laura Loomer gets tested for HPV. That the Golden Rule is cancelled. Because it’s such bullshit, and it’s bad for business.

I have a dream. That Ivana’s body is exhumed in the middle of the night from my award winning golf course in Bedminster, New Jersey, because it’s really beginning to creep me out. I shot 11 over par the other day, and it was Ivana’s fault.

I have a dream. That the bigger the lie the more they’ll believe it. That Brad Raffensperger still finds those 11,780 votes in Georgia. That little white children and little Black children join hands to beat up little trans children. That I remember who I sold those classified documents to. That my new Roy Cohn is the old Roy Cohn. That my stool softens.

I have a dream. That dissenters and conscientious objectors all over this great land suddenly jump out of 18^th story windows. That someone in Jeffrey Epstein’s estate deletes all the videos. That Jeff Bezos buys another 50 left-leaning newspapers. That they give me extra sauce with my Happy Meal. That Mary Trump dies.

I have a dream. That my immunity is complete, unwavering, unquestioned, unconditional, eternal, and woven into very fabric of this great nation. And when this happens I will be able to sleep as many as three hours straight without getting up to nosh on a bucket of KFC drowned in ketchup, and I will finally say: Free at last. Free at last. Thank Samuel Alito, I am free at last!

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