A Complete Fabrication by FakeNews:
The following publication is a genuine copy of the Late Donald J Trump’s Autobiography as was originally submitted in-person to Fake News Corporate way back in mid-October of 2019. It was hand delivered by Trump’s then political adviser, and the only current imprisoned US Senator, 75-year-old Roger Stone of Florida. Records show that Stone was 67 at the time he signed an authenticity statement certifying the Autobiography’s content as being drafted for the most part by “The Donald”.
For obvious reasons, Fake News elected not to print Trump’s Autobiography at the time, as we felt it an obvious attempt by “The Donald” to obtain flattering “free press” via the Newsletter’s vast circulation! A decision that has haunted Fake News since.
Never-the-less, in a transparent attempt to recover thousands of “The Donald’s” grief-stricken, inconsolable followers who actually can read, we humbly submit this authenticated copy of the 45th US President’s Autobiography as only “The Donald” himself could tell it! And yes, it’s an Exclusive Report:
I was born on June 14th of 1946 in the Jamaica Hospital in Queens, New York City. I was the fourth child of a Bronx-born real-estate developer; later in life I come to realize his name was Fred Christ Trump.
Dad was a wealthy self-centered disciplinarian who give me a hard time until I was old enough to mimic his shady real-estate deals within parts of the city. We both finally realized I loved real-estate gigs, particularly those of high risk, and a bit underhanded, so we became fast friends . . .
Mom was sweeter and kinder than dear ole Dad, and I must admit, she allowed me to do about anything I wanted to do throughout my pre-teens － for example, she swiftly “covered” for me when the back-yard neighbor lady caught me throwing rocks at her kid. She (the neighbor) had foolishly placed the dunderhead inside a neat little play-pin, which made me a near perfect target. Had the kid not started shrieking so loudly after my first few throws, the little brat may have been hurt worse.
Never-the-less, Mom attempted to control me during my youth by buying me anything I could think-of, no matter the cost. Such behavior by the two of us, continued throughout my pre-teen years.
The only time Mom ever questioned my actions was when I took my younger brother Robert’s building blocks. You see, we were playing together when I was suddenly inspired to create a tall building or tower, so tall that I couldn’t finish it with just my blocks. So I took his blocks to complete my tower. I recall loving that damn block building, so much, that I glued it together － yeah, that put an end to Robert’s building ambitions, for years, by the way. Anyway, Mom didn’t say much, except that I was “clearly a chip-off-the-old-block”－a phrase I didn’t come to understand until some years later.
In-any-event, to be honest, Mom, for the most part, lived within her own little structured world. Everything from her hair to her high heels had to be just so-so, and I think I’ve said it before, “she always had a passion for the dramatic and the grand”.
As for myself, while a young kid anyway, I had damn near everything. For example, I had this really amazing train set; it had all kinds of special buildings, gadgets, and gates with switches and stuff! It was more expensive than anything I’d ever seen at that tender age. Fact is, it was my “go-to” toy for making my so-called playmate friends green with envy － it worked too!
I may have said a bit earlier, during my youth I lived in Queen’s and yes, I had a reputation for being an especially difficult kid. Because of several so-called behavioral problems in school－such as repeatedly pulling girls’ hair, using pencils as darts, passing notes and talking out of turn － Good ole Dad jerked me out of the fancy little prep-school, Kew-Forest, where I’d been since Pre-school.
He forced me to leave our posh home in the uppity Jamaica Estates neighborhood and enroll in the New York Military Academy, which was a private boarding school.
It was seventy miles north of Queens in upstate New York and wouldn’t you know it, in those days it was an all-Boys School. Worse, for the slightest hint of misbehaving the instructors were permitted to strike students repeatedly and the rules even included daily inspections and a strict PM curfew! . .
I was only thirteen and had just finished seventh grade so the first few years without girls was not a serious problem. However, by the end of my Sophomore year, “no girls” and an early (10:00pm) curfew was a real pain in the derrière. Regardless, I managed to survive by applying all my energy on diversions, such as Baseball, Football and a very, very promiscuous off campus girlfriend during my senior year.
Anyway, she always claimed an uncle brought here to this country when she was only two or three years old. The story she told was that Joseph Stalin “had it in” for her for some crazy reason, but who cares what the real truth might have been. I know I care less now than I did then. But she was taking care of my teenage “needs” so I pretended to care back then. 
Looking back though, I guess the worst part at NYMA was the cruel name calling I had to endure by my classmates. A few of the milder, less offensive names included “Donny,” “The Trumpet,” “The Donald” and “Flat Top” (for my hair-cut). I hated them all, except one: “The Donald” － which I came to prefer to my given name cause it was my “lover’s” pick! . .
Anyway, perhaps a little more background might lend a bit more insight into why I figure Dad suddenly decided to maroon me in a place so far away from home － you see, back in 1958, when I was 12, me and a buddy developed the habit of regularly boarding the E train bound for Manhattan, you know the place, it’s the little Borough west of Queens, at least, I think west is right . . .
To a couple of 12-year old’s, Manhattan, was a distant land filled with cool prospects. We explored all of Central Park, watched tough looking Black Guys playing basketball on courts along the East River and discovered the Panhandlers and Hustlers in Midtown.
Of course, Times Square was a big attraction over their too; it was full of the neatest novelty shops. There, we bought cool stuff like stink bombs, hand buzzers, fake vomit and real Switchblade Knives! We bought the Switchblades because at the time “West Side Story” was a big hit on Broadway, and we imagined ourselves as a couple of tough gang members from Queens － the knives were just a nice touch to fit the part.
Exactly how Dad found out about the Switchblade, I guess I’ll never know for sure, but I strongly suspect it was that little fink, Peter.
Odds are he was still pouting over those damn Blocks of his I confiscated for my tower when we were just little bitty kids.
Anyhow, Dad pitched one hell-of-fit about the Switchblade; forced me to “give-it-up” and before I knew it, I was on-my-way to the New York military Academy (NYMA)! . . End of story . . .
The gods had to know I immediately despised that place; an impression I expect I’ll always hold; but I think I excelled during my “internment” there mostly to spite Good ole Dad.
You see, my older sister, Maryanne, wrote me a letter about two months after I was abandoned at NYMA and told me “Mom was giving Dad a really hard time” for shipping me up-state. Sooo, I’m sure, by not begging to Mom or Dad to “come-get-me,” I was punishing Dad’s sorry ass.
My life at NYMA was tough, and I rarely admit it, but I do realize I was a wise guy in those days and Dad probably just wanted to get me in line. Thinking back, it probably was a positive influence; I was difficult as a child and I’m difficult as an adult － without the five years of internment at NYMA, I might have been lots worse now.
Never-the-less, when I look back at myself in the first grade and I look at myself today, I’m basically the same. The difference is as a youngster, I guess you could say my main focus was “creating mischief ”－as an adult, I’m totally devoted to “creating chaos” . . .
I graduated from NYMA in ‘64 and because as a kid I so loved the Theater on Broadway, I was sure I wanted to be a big-time movie producer, but when my application to attend the University of Southern California was rejected, I reluctantly agreed to attend Fordham U over at Rose Hill, just over in the Bronx Borough.
I say reluctantly, because, at the time, to my amazement, Dad actually talked me into it. He said it was a highly regarded “Business School” and he made me lots of promises about how he would help me financially to get a head-start in the “building racket.” But only if I’d learn the basics of the Business while in College and work with him and Grandmother during school breaks.
That was the first time I recall having a worthwhile talk with Dad. Suddenly, it seemed, he actually was making me a proposal that would be of benefit to me and my future. In hindsight, the phrase “building racket” that he used was probably instrumental in my swift acceptance to attend Fordham U. All I could think of was how much I’d enjoyed taking little Robert’s Building Blocks years earlier and building that fantastic tower.
Regardless, soon thereafter, I came to realize four (4) key things. First, I loved the Building Racket, as Dad liked to call it. Second, to succeed, lots of money was absolutely a must. Third, Dad had lots of money and with Mom’s help, I knew I could get a big part of it. And, forth, it had become clear to me that Dad and I thought alike, which was evidence enough to me, he wasn’t such a bad guy after-all . . .
Anyway, I quickly learned that Fordham U was not my style, and too, I had this deep need to get a little further away from home. Not too far, mind you, but far enough to avoid Dad’s growing shadow.
I’d picked-up from him (Dad) that in Real Estate and Building －Image was very, very important. At about the same time, I’d overheard this “brainy” classmate telling another kid that he had wanted to attend the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania, but he had been turned down twice and he had “settled” for Fordham U.
That’s when I remembered that my older brother, Freddy, had recently boasted that his closest High-school buddy (Jamie Nohan) was an admissions officer at Wharton. I even remembered when I was just a kid, I sort of liked him when he visited Freddy at our house during the summer breaks from school.
I guess he must have kind-of liked me too because when I skipped Fordham U classes a couple of days so I could slip down to Philadelphia to visit the Wharton Admissions Office and talk-to “Mr Nohan” in person－lets just say I had a very friendly interview. To make a shady story short, I barely graduated from Wharton in 1968 with a B.S. in Economics & Real Estate.
Needless to say, while at Wharton, I learned what I thought was needed, and skimped on the rest. To be clear, I was a guy that was not particularly interested in school; in fact, I can’t recall ever reading a single thing in its entirety (not even this). For everyone that knew me during my collage years, the assumption was that I had terrible grades and was at best a rather dull student, but everybody agreed that I was a first-class braggart! . .
Oh yeah, long after graduating, and to my great personal satisfaction, “Fake News” repeatedly reported that I was a brilliant student and that I graduated “first in class” from the Wharton School at Penn which was news to me. Not surprisingly though, the 1968 program for the commencement ceremony which lists the names of students who graduated from Wharton with honors — makes no reference of me. Nor is my name ever included on the Dean’s List published in 1967 or ‘68 by the Daily Pennsylvanian, the independent daily student newspaper of the University of Pennsylvania. But then, why argue with Fake News when it’s beneficial? That’d be plain stupid, Right? . .
Regardless of my college aptitude, I did very well, while still in college, and working at Dad and Grandmother Elizabeth’s Company, then known as E Trump and Son. With the subtle help of Mom, by the time I graduated from college in 1968, Dad had given me the equivalent of a cool Million Dollars a year in un-taxed “gifts.”
I finished College a few weeks short of my twenty-second Birthday; the next year at twenty-three, I caught that “Broadway bug” again; an extremely contagious disease which ended up costing me a cool Seventy (70) Thousand Dollars when my ego got the best of me. You see, I insisted on being a co-producer of that 1970 Off-Broadway comedy flop, “Paris Is Out!” It was a valuable lesson that I’ll probably never forget thank goodness the loss was all from cash Dad had dished out the prior month. Still, it was embarrassing because, I had foolishly bragged to Dad about my big venture.
To my complete surprise, when it became clear the Play was definitely a total failure, Dad would break out laughing-out-loud every time he saw me for more than two weeks. I never lost “my” money again in Business ventures unless you count those six (6) hotel and casino bankruptcies back in 1991 through 2009 . . .
After that, I sort-of took charge of Dad and Grandmother Elizabeth’s real-estate business in 1971 as its President; Dad, though, remained as its Chairman of the Board. Still, it was my idea to renamed E. Trump & Son to “The Trump Organization” in 1973, and to expand its operations beyond Queens and Brooklyn into Manhattan.
Early on, under my leadership the company built or renovated skyscrapers, hotels, casinos, and built golf courses in various parts of the world; all, with outstanding success.
And, during the mid 70’s, I hooked loans from Dad that actually exceeded fourteen (14) Million Dollars, but I later claimed the loans totaled only one (1) Million.
In 1977, I married Czech model Ivana Zelníčková. We have three children, Donald Jr. (born 1977), Ivanka, my favorite (born 1981), and Eric (born 1984). Ivana insisted on a divorce in 1992, after learning of my affair with actress Marla Maples. Miss Maples and I were married in 1993 and had one daughter, Tiffany, who was born latter that same year. We were divorced in 1999 and she moved to California or some such place with Tiffany; in spite of my half-hearted efforts to convince her I’m only half the “ass-wipe” folks that know me say I am. In the end, I came to realize she’d probably become a burden if she stayed in New York anyway.
Regardless, I managed to stay unattached until 2005. That’s when I married that crazy Slovenian model of Vampire descent, Miss Melania Knauss. We have one son, Barron (born 2006) , who, by the grace of the gods, has absolutely no Vampire traits . . .
During my “Borrowing Era” from Dad, back in the mid-seventies (70’s) or soon thereafter, I started a number of side ventures, mostly by licensing my own name. It took years, but eventually I became enriched enough to buy the Miss Universe brand of beauty pageants; that was in 1996, but, not with Dad’s money.
As I recall, I bought the Pageant gig about three (3) years after Dad had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. He suffered with that (Alzheimer’s) for the last six years of his life before the old “skinflint” fell ill with pneumonia in June of 1999.
Mom had him taken to Long Island Jewish Medical Center in New Hyde Park－he passed away at age 93 on June 25 with a Net Worth of around 300 Million Dollars.
Mom followed him in death a little over a year later on August 7th of 2000 at 88. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I credit Mom for “so much of what I’ve done and so much of what I’ve become”－yeah, I think that’s putting it right, and no, it’s not my quote, it was something Dad jokingly said many times, long before he died when doing one of his fake Shakespeare quotes. Anyway, the only good that followed Mom’s passing was learning that she had held on to most of the money Dad left her when he passed . . .
Though it took a few years to “get back on the horse” (another one of Dad’s sayings) with both my parents gone, I decided to try the entertainment business again, so I produced and hosted The Apprentice, a reality television show, from 2003 to 2015. － Yes, it was fantastic! . .
I’m not being modest when I say, I’ve done pretty damn well since. Case-in-point, on January 20, 2017, I was inaugurated as the 45th president of the United States. And in January of 2020, Forbes estimated my net worth to be 2.1 Billion Dollars; but trust me, they were wayyy low! . .
In summation, if Dad didn’t teach me anything else, he taught me the value of lying and how easy it is to “handle” when I was caught in a lye ─ by simply denying I told it! . .
Repeatedly, throughout my Presidency, I have been falsely accused of “hiding things” and “telling lies” by the “Fake News” media or should I say by “the Enemy of the American People!” For this reason alone, I have hired that completely unknown Junior Fake News Investigator, “Fact Checker” and writer “want-a-be”, TG Fugate, at no cost to US taxpayers, to investigate the false claim that I allegedly made during an interview with People Magazine way, way back in 1988:
THE CLAIM: “If I were to run, I’d run as a Republican. They’re the dumbest group of voters in the country. They believe anything on Fox News. I could lie and they’d still eat it up. I bet my numbers would be terrific”.
TG’s conclusion: “Though he and his staunchest advocates clearly wish he had said it, he did not”
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