False positives
A robust leader with the mental fitness of someone very, very young
Just back from visiting the doctor. I’m sharing my medical results voluntarily, because transparency brings certainty and stability. My tariffs and my fitness for office will provide that certainty. Prices will continue to rise, the stock market will continue to fall, and our country will enter a recession. Absolute certainty. But that’s in the short-term. Tariffs take time to work. We’ve got time, according to my doctor.
Like the economy, health results require the long view. Over time, numbers self-correct. Take my physical, for example. At first, Doc said he’d found something. He ordered some tests. Put me on a treadmill. I threatened to fire him. He self-corrected. Came up with perfect scores in all areas. Smart doctor. Could be our nation’s chief epidemiologist if I hadn’t shut down the CDC.
My medical data confirms my youthfulness and vitality. If you look at this graph, you’ll see my weight has plummeted in just the last couple of months. Burned the fat, retained the muscle.
Whoops. Looks like the graph was incorrectly titled. Hand me that Sharpie, Elon. Thank you, Mr. Deputy President.
I’ll just cross out market index and write in body mass index. This same graph can be used to map my cholesterol and blood pressure. As you can see, both have dropped precipitously since I took office. Aren’t Sharpies great? Truth through the power of a pen.
My internal organs are all functioning beautifully. I have strong, beautiful organs. The heart of a fearless gladiator. The soul of heartless monster. As for my other organ, it too shows remarkable vitality. No blue pill for me. Use it or lose it, I’m told. So I stay active, even though the legal costs can add up. You can’t put a price on personal health.
After I coughed for Doc, he had me bend over. I don’t compromise often, but in that compromised position, I still held the power. I posted on Truth Social, letting my billions of followers know I’m good for a few more terms. Short-term pain for long-term gain. Fortunately, Doc’s hands are about the size of mine, so it wasn’t too unpleasant.
He reported no polyps. A few sesame seeds from a partially digested hamburger, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Doc thought it best to skip the mental exam. I insisted. I had to prove Joe’s got nothing on me. It was a simple memory test like fraud, judges, fired, loyalty, 2028. I don’t know what it means, but I aced it.
Doc said I have the mind of someone 70 years younger. Amazing. Probably from working with so many numbers. Take the number 145. That’s my tariff on China. No, wait, it’s my IQ. So many numbers to track.
Another important number: 125. At first, Doc thought it was my PSA reading. He quickly corrected himself, fortunately for him. The number 125 is how long I will live. That’s 47 more years. Eleven more terms. Twelve if I decide to die in office.
The last part involved updating my shot records. I turned down the measles vaccine. Measly measles. A minor outbreak in Texas, but RFK is on it. When I go there to tour our detention centers, I’ll pop some vitamin A for protection. As for a COVID booster, why? It NEVER happened. Just a Chinese conspiracy to shut down our economy.
So we’re moving in the direction of a very healthy economy. Incredibly healthy, like your president. Doc said give it time. Which I’ve got a lot of. Many more years. By then, the market will have rebounded, and we’ll have won the trade war. I love to win.
And if the numbers don’t right themselves, presidents can rewrite them. Now where did I set my Sharpie?
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