Dear Diary, it's me Donald

I get it. He’s a great entrepreneur. One of the best. And he gave me a lot of money. But he’s gotta go. The son of a bitch thinks he’s in charge. Who the hell does he think he is? You gave me the money. I got the job. Now run along and play with your rockets and gay little cars. I hear they can’t even drive themselves. That the Coreans and China are better at it then his Tesla mobiles. Even Ford is better then his cars. And who the hell wants a car that drives itself? Why? Hire a driver. Ridiculous.

I had him over for Thanksgiving and when YMCA came on this guy was barely into it. He was like faking it. If the music of YMCA doesn’t take over your soul, your whole body and force you to move then how could I trust you? Is he like a robot or something?

And of course Barron is like, Mr. Trump Dad President, Elon is soo cool. And Melanny… don’t even get me started about her. I had to tell her that she’s too old for him. She can’t get pregnant so he’s not interested.

I let him have his little doggy commission and now people think he’s important. He’s a fucking weirdo. I expect to catch him and JD having sex with the furniture. My life is so hard.

Gonna call Ivanka. Her voicemail always soothes me. Who knows, maybe she’ll answer.