The President and the Terrific, Honorable, So Good, Not For My Birthday Parade

By guest writer President Donald J. Trump (not really)

It was the most perfect Flag Day anyone's ever seen. The biggest, most tremendous display of American strength — possibly of any strength — in the history of strength. People were crying. Strong men. Crying. But let me be clear: it was NOT for my birthday. Even though, coincidentally, it happened to fall on my birthday, looked like a birthday party, and felt like a personal gift from the American people to their favorite President. That’s just Flag Day for you. Incredible timing.

Now, during the parade — and I don’t like to name names, but let’s just say it rhymes with “Pete Hegseth” — certain commentators wouldn’t stop giggling. Giggling. He kept whispering about machine elves and the “geometry behind my energy field.” Very distracting. Very weird. I don’t know what kind of supplements he’s on now but he kept saying the tanks were “sentient” and that my aura was “a Fibonacci vortex.” I told him to tighten up. He just laughed and said, “The flag is a portal, bro.” Totally lost the plot.

Meanwhile, Melania — who looked stunning, as always, possibly even glowing, though not in a romantic way — was, let’s say, not in the best mood. Probably hormonal. You know how they get. And she kept texting her so-called “tennis coach,” Raoul. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure this guy’s ever held a racket. And what kind of tennis coach sends shirtless selfies during a military parade? Disrespectful. I didn’t ask, but the texts were coming fast. Real fast. Like, she had two phones going. Probably checking the scores. I’ll be charitable.

Now — the parade. The tanks were glorious. Except for one — Squeaky Steve, we called it — with a wheel that let out a tiny high-pitched eeeeek every rotation. And wouldn’t you know it — it woke me from a very short, very tactical nap. Just fifteen minutes of ultra-rest. My sleep is so efficient, I age backward during it. I woke up and looked around — and instantly, the soldiers knew. They adjusted. They marched softer. Not one foot out of sync, but quiet. Solemn. Respectful. Alpha Recognition Behavior. None of them made eye contact. Not one. That’s how you know.

When I rose — very gracefully, people said it looked choreographed — the F-35s screamed overhead in formation. "USA." But maybe also "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SIR." Some are saying that. Some of the top aviation people. And honestly, I felt it.

At the climax — the fireworks. Massive, thundering explosions, red-white-and-blue showers of liberty. People screamed, people hugged, one guy passed out from excitement. They say it was heatstroke, but I think it was just too much patriotism at once. Overloaded his circuits.

At the end, I stood there. Arm up. Hand on heart. Looking majestic. Melania behind me, texting Raoul. Pete Hegseth muttering something about the third eye and "sacred geometry of the constitution." And me? I just smiled and nodded, because I know.

This was not for my birthday.
But it was.