but her emails

Dear Leader acquired the sprawling estate that cereal heiress Marjorie Merriweather Post had built in the 1920s in Palm Beach, Florida in 1995—transforming it into an exclusive golf resort and rather inclusive presidential retreat. Unlike with other properties that earned the distinction of being called the alt-White House, dues paying members were treated to the rather transfixing moment when their evening meal transformed from the usual dining experience to a bit of geopolitical dinner-theatre.
Informed that North Korea had just test-launched a warhead capable of delivering a nuclear warhead, Dear Leader and his table-mates which included the prime-minster of Japan—well within the reach of said launch, couldn’t be bothered to recuse themselves or have the other guests evacuated but carried on, consulting highly classified intelligence reports under candlelight, made easier to read when illuminated by the screens and torch-functions of an aide’s mobile phone—or the mobile phone of some random member of the wait-staff. Who knows?! Later, Dear Leader (not the North Korean one) said, “C’mon Shinzo,” and proceeded to take the Japanese prime minister over to congratulate a newly-wed couple that they’d encountered earlier that day on the lawn. The already priceless moment—priceless in the since that there’s nothing out of range for some—was made even better by Dear Leader’s offering to all and sundry that, “They’ve been members of this club for a long time. They’ve paid me a fortune.”