What Medical Proof Exists to Declare Trump Legally Insane?

(A Fictional Satirical Medical Report from the Institute of Presidential Peculiarities)

According to the Internet Psychiatrists — you know, the ones who earned their degrees from the prestigious University of “I Saw a Meme About It” — The Don’s social‑media posts depicting himself as Superman, Jesus, the Pope, a dystopian sci‑fi warlord, and a larger‑than‑life military commander are “proof”he’s insane.

These fantasies often involve destruction. Over Labor Day (Sept. 2026), he portrayed himself masterminding space command, pressing buttons on a console to detonate nuclear bombs.

Well, he is the fictional guy with the nuclear codes — shouldn’t he be practicing? You never know when he might need to send Iran back to the Stone Age or deal with that alleged cesspool of commie‑pinkos in San Francisco.

Finally, some agreement.

In another fantasy, he’s leading a futuristic army of androids and killer robots. Neither safe nor sane, he shrewdly nudges these fantasies toward reality — his fictional administration is accelerating deployment of experimental nuclear reactors and pursuing autonomous killing robots programmed to operate without real‑time human direction.

But what’s the big deal? Is there really a difference between The Don and the Catholic Church of yesteryear during the humanitarian Crusades?

Yeah, I knew you’d catch the similarities.

The Don’s fantasies are sometimes “official,” communicated directly to the American public under White House insignia. And they don’t come one at a time — they arrive in waves. Over Labor Day he indulged in 37 of them.

Damn. I bet he was tuckered out.

Probably reinvigorated himself with two Quarter Pounders with Cheese, a large order of fries, a medium Papa John’s pizza (owned by fellow racist John Schnatter), and — with a wry lack of humor — topped it all off with a six‑pack of Diet Coke.

Later that night, around 2–3 a.m., after a round of burping, passing gas, and taking a dump, he topped off his “healthy” meal by devouring a large dish of See’s Candies, politely delivered by his recently appointed manservant, Obama.

And lacking any sense of decency, he was reportedly wearing a size 4XL T‑shirt and 10XLT underwear, all manufactured by Omar the Tentmaker.

Lastly, it was reported that sitting on his nightstand was a catalog of men’s G‑strings and slingshots, with a post‑it note in The Don’s handwriting that said:

“Why in the hell don’t they offer any petite sizes.”