All the presidents do them.
No books for starters. He doesn’t read them. Never has. Says he doesn’t have time.
The magazines on his desk at The White House are only the ones with his picture on the front. He won’t read a report unless it has a quick three-line executive summary.
Everything would be gold, of course. Building and all. Like that solid gold Sikh temple in India.
In the entry, a 1987 first edition of “The Art of the Deal” would be in a hermetically sealed glass box with gold leaf detail. A velvet roped area for viewing.
The librarians would be under thirty-five in gold-flecked hot pants. Remember when he said that thirty-five was the pinnacle of a woman’s life? After that it was all downhill?
There would be a fake news section on the library’s left side. With empty wooden racks. And on the right, a video library of all “The Apprentice” shows.
There would be an interactive area with a bunch of iPhones for tweeting. Maybe an ongoing ticker tape of his personal favorites circling the perimeter.
Where should it be located? Inside Mar-a-Lago where he spends most of his time? Outside Tulsa where David Duke was born?
You’d certainly need a readers’ section on Putin. A hair and makeup section. A Dotard Decimal System. Wastebaskets for deplorables.
It should be coal-fired.
You could have a wing devoted to what didn’t happen while he was in office. NFL players still on their knees. Obama wearing a Hawaiian shirt holding his birth certificate. Hanging stethoscopes representing the number of times he tried to kill healthcare. Strings of multi-colored paper dolls hung like prayer flags of all the people he wouldn’t let immigrate into the country.
Pictures of him with all the leaders he’s dissed. The prime minister from Montenegro he pushed out of the way to get to the front of the NATO line. The awkward photo op of him not shaking Angela Merkel’s hand. The impaired reporter he wildly imitated.
An empty photo of him not meeting with the president of Mexico, who cancelled because he refused to pay for the wall. Squabbling with the Pope. Attempting to drown the mayor of San Juan in insults while tweeting from his dry land golf club.
And, in the ladies’ room, there would be holograms of Rosie O’Donnell, Megyn Kelley and Hillary Clinton telling you to get out while you can.
The Trump presidential library.
It could single-handedly end a tradition that’s been gracing our country since Franklin Delano Roosevelt built the first one on his estate in Hyde Park in 1941.