Left of the Aisle, Right in His Heart

During our coverage of Mamdani’s first month in office, The Spectator did extensive research on his policies and relations with other politicians. So, it came as a surprise that Mamdani, with his left-wing politics and open hostility towards the president, had a shockingly cordial meeting with Trump in November. Determined to get to the bottom of both politicians’ sudden change of heart, our reporters physically got down in the dirt and searched for crumbs. We infiltrated City Hall through an underground tunnel, only to discover that no one was actually working. Then, we hid a camera inside a McDonald’s delivery, but it ended up in Trump’s intestines, along with two Double Quarter Pounders. We even hired George Santos as an informant to impersonate Melania, only for him to be completely ignored. Finally, after digging through the trash of Gracie Mansion and the White House, finding everything from Turkish Airlines tickets to souvenirs from Little St. James Island, we pieced together an epistolary correspondence between the current president and the sitting mayor. Thus, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, the Editorial Board of The Spectator has decided to release this saga to the public— now 100 percent redaction-free!

Dear Zohman Mamadooshi,

Ever since we met in the White House that fateful November day, I can’t stop thinking about you. As soon as you walked into the Oval Office, I felt my entire body go numb. Suddenly, I was filled with emotion, more than I had ever felt with Ivanka Melania. When you spoke to me with a stern tone, I felt even more turned on. Initially, I tried to resist your communist witchcraft, but I had no choice but to surrender to your firm and steady assault. As our conversation progressed, your serious attitude melted into intoxicating charisma, stealing my breath away. Your YUGE and infectious smile may have captured my heart, but your smooth-talking has seized my soul. 

Love,

President Donald J. Trump

The 45th, 47th, and rightfully 46th and beyond president

My Beloved Orange,

I can’t stop thinking about you either. When I visited for the first time in person, I couldn’t resist you. Even as I walked in through the opposite side of the room, your skin glowed like the brightest jack-o’-lantern, almost beaming in my presence. I tried to suppress my feelings behind a stoic facade of stern criticism and a firm attitude, but your beauty—the way your skin folds and bounces and those guilty puppy eyes—cracked my hard outer shell and opened up my vulnerable heart. Never have I felt more enamored with a person, not even Fidel Castro. Immediately, I wanted to talk with you for hours and get to know you better. I yearn to understand you beyond the horrible things I’ve called you in the past: a fascist, a despot, a threat. Please forgive me, my king, for I have changed.

Love, 

Zohran Mamdani

Dear Zohran,

All is forgiven, my dear mayor. How about we meet this weekend? I can take a little excursion to your wonderful island, or you can come to Mar-a-Lago. We can dress you up in a plastic inflatable; you’ll look just like Kristi Noem. No matter, I can’t wait to see you again. I can’t stand the hatred I’m getting from people and the liberal fake news media—everyone hates me! But you, Zohran, are the only one who understands. My heart longs for you. 

Love,

President Donald J. Trump

Dear My Beloved Orange,

I’m looking forward to our next meeting. See me at 11:00 p.m. behind the oak tree in Central Park. It’s a few blocks away from Trump Tower.

Love, 

Zohran

Dear Donald,

Words cannot express how hurt I am at what I discovered on your phone. Texts with Maduro?! Plans to visit the Metropolitan Detention Center the same weekend as our rendezvous?! How could you do this? I thought that we had a chance, that we could defy the media’s hostile portrait of our relationship? I guess not. So go, pursue the jailbird. I won’t be thinking of you anymore. Have fun in a city that HATES you!

NOT sincerely,

Mayor Mamdani

Dear Zooman Mamdaily,

From the moment Maduro stepped out of the helicopter, I fell head over heels, enchanted by his smooth, Venezuelan accent and thick, bushy mustache. I truly thought I loved him. But now, I’ve realized the horrible mistake I’ve made. Maduro seduced me with looks alone, but he failed to connect with me on a deeper level. He merely saw a get out of jail free card and thus stole my heart out of greed, not passion. However, you were the one who truly made an effort to understand me and not exploit my vulnerabilities, even amidst all the baseless criticism and slander of my name. So please, Zormat, come back. I hope one day we can rekindle our love. 

Love, 

Donald