The Trump Travels, Part One.

Ivanka was a twenty-two-year-old female, widely-adored for being married to a guy who looked no better nor smarter than the average guy (and thereby restoring the beliefs many men had once held that they had a shot with their shared dream women), and widely-believed to be smarter than her father (not that he set the bar that high).

Today, she found herself on a break from college (closed due to Coronavirus), and instead aboard "Air Done". (Someone had tagged it with the extra letter, though she was admittedly unsure if it'd been a fan paying tribute or a Democrat acting on their own wishful thinking).

Either way, she knew that she was on the plane, and the trip had been arranged and scheduled by her father. That is why she found herself on the phone now, calling for more information.

"HellObama," said his voice.

"Dad?!" she replied, confused.

"Ivanka, Sweetie. Yes, it's me. I just find if I say that quickly when I answer the phone, some get confused and feel better."

"Makes sense. Well, I just wanted to call you before we land, and see if you could tell me anything more about this trip."

"I certainly could," he replied with more confidence than he'd ever had on a TV show not filmed in Trump Tower.

"OK then," Ivanka said, practically rubbing her hands together. "Then why don't you tell me?! Where am I going? Am I meeting anyone else? Is this a conversation, or will I be doing all the talking...".

Suddenly, Papa President cut her off.

"Ivanka, honey, I told you I could answer your questions, and I could," he reassured her. "However, my advisers here have informed me things go terribly when I speak, and they're agreeing with me that you can learn all of those things when you land. I'll talk to you again when it's all over. This has been your PresiDad."

Before she could say anything else, she heard the sound of a hang-up. She lowered her head, only to realize she'd done so seconds before the landing gear made contact with the ground.