PANGLOSS TREATS TRUMP

I had a dream that President Donald Trump arrived at my office with an embarrassing problem. He had gone to bed and awakened the next morning with a penis for a nose. I felt like telling him that God had punished him for screwing so many innocent victims, but I refrained from the remark and comported myself professionally.

"Every time a woman walks past me I feel like Pinocchio after he has told one of his lies," began Trump. "Can you do anything for these woodies?"

I felt sorry for the President. Nobody should have to walk around a Christian country like ours with a penis dangling past his lips. I also needed to put his place in history in the proper perspective.

"Don't flatter yourself," I answered. "Pinocchio was a good friend of mine and you're no Pinocchio."

I had lopped off cancerous breasts, but this was a challenge beyond my capabilities.

"First of all, you need to stay away from Viagra," I said. "We could perform a circumcision, but I don't think reducing your penis a few centimeters will make much of a difference although the cosmetic change might enhance your appeal with the gals. They prefer pretty dicks."

Trump gave me that same forlorn look I've seen when someone refuses to say that he is the greatest, not Muhammad Ali.

"By the way," I ventured, unable to contain my natural curiosity, "is you nose stuck smelling your ass?"