The White House Landlord

I wish I was the landlord of the White House. I would call up the President at least three times a week and yell at him. “This is your landlord! I keep hearing loud noises over there! What are you doing? Are you dropping bowling balls on the floor? Do you have a dog? You’re not supposed to have a dog! That’s on the lease! You signed it!”

I know there’s no such thing as a White House landlord. I assume Trump doesn’t know it so he would go along with it because he doesn’t know any better. Of course, his staff knows there’s no White House landlord and I’m surprised they haven’t tried this yet unless they have and it hasn’t hit the press yet.

I can see Sarah Sanders totally trying this. Trying to disguise her voice calling Trump’s personal number from an unlisted phone. But she wouldn’t do it well. Her father is not very funny and that’s hereditary. “This is your landlord. Is your Prince Albert in cans?” She would mess even that up.

Seb Gorka would try this probably. “Mister President, if your toilet is running why don’t you catch it?” Then he’d bust into laughter like Jimmy Fallon, forgetting that he’d blown the entire setup of the prank. These people are stupid. It’s embarrassing.

Hope Hicks has a giant bush.

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