
“It’s a witch hunt!” yelled Trump at his assistant, peeking his head in the door. “Sir, I was just wondering what you’d like me to order for lunch.”
“Oh, I feel like Mexican.” The assistant turned to leave. “And make the foundation pay for it!” Trump yelled out the door.
“So they got Weisselberg, I don’t think that’s wise at this time.”
“Witchhunt.”