Dieber (a Donald trump and Justin bieber fic)

Chapter 8

I look outside the window of my spacious Oval Office which I share with Putin and Justin. Putin has the big desk. Then on the left of his is Justin's medium sized desk, and next to Justin's desk is my tiny desk with miniature pencils, pens and paper for my abnormally tiny hands. It's been a few weeks since I got inaugurated and I'm loving every minute of the presidency. Satan is my VP, Hitler is my Secretary of State, Justin is my Secretary of Treasury, and Putin is my secretary of defense. I haven't decided on any of the other cabinet positions quite yet.

I finally decide to use the most reliable social media network in existence: The Tweeter. Basically, it's this remotely unknown platform where you can write WHATEVER you want and NOBODY will ever see it. I like to write ridiculous political shit on there that would make America hate me if they saw it. But fortunately, nobody will ever see it. Lol I decide to write about the "Easy D" and pretend it's in relation to traffic. And by traffic I mean the line there is of people who want to get into my pants, obviously. Maybe Harry Styles from One Direction will see it and come to the White House. I finish typing my tweet, click send, and then I head down the large White House refrigerator for a mid-morning snack.

I have a bone to pick with the White House kitchen staff. They're always trying to force these fancy five course meals on me. But after a long day of bitching about refugees with green cards, I just want to kick back, watch Gilmore Girls and eat KFC with a fork on my comfortable, fifteen foot long couch until I fall asleep.

I walk into the ginormous kitchen and grab a bag of Cheetos. I like to use the dust left over from my orange snack to powder my face when it gets too oily. It's a great way to look tan in February. #LIFEHACK #$3Tan

Anyways, I have to go piss off some more Americans who voted for me. Have a fucking terrible day everyone!
Donald J Trump, signing out.