“Hey T, what is that?”

T leant forward and looked down at the pink salmon man wearing that hair and gesturing at the area of question…

“… is that a sporran or loin cloth or what is that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t make it. It just is,” answered T.

“You know I’m Scottish, you know that don’t you? It’s so beautiful in Scotland. Oh, that’s a fine sporran. I did wonder if you were wearing pants or as we say underpants; you know, doing the Emperor without clothes thing, hanging loose? That’s quite a sporran.”

“Thank you Mr. President…”

“T, call me Donald. There’s no fake news CNN cartoon news network or BBC Jon Soapytale out here. We can be informal. There’s no one listening, well, MI6’s Russian agents will compile a dossier on my talking to a sporran, but that’s what they do; you know I’m generally a germaphobe and still they write about golden showers… I’m more into the golden ration myself, you know the architectural and building kind. Beautiful, the golden ratio is pure beauty, not BBC another fake beauty, but real beauty.”

T understood the President’s frustrations and let Donald let it all out, “Jerry Poxman called me marmalade face. Not a nice person, not a nice thing to say. Can you imagine if they’d called Barak Marmite face? An artist on the BBC radio show Only Artists declared he bought more orange paint upon my election win. I can’t remember his name, but can you imagine an artist buying more brown or black paint for Obomba? The social justice warriors and Antifa would have gone crazy. I’m apparently a xenophobe married to a foreigner who speaks English, French, Italian, German, Serbo-Croatian and her native Slovene…. so, I tolerate being called a white supremacist and other silly names. Silly people, silly rude people, but what can I do?”

Donald and T talked life, love, art and a deal…

p.121