It started as a joke. Or at least, that’s what everyone thought.
The rumors began circulating in late February—something about the to be former President Trump, facing mounting pressure from all sides, planning to “shake things up” in a way only he could. By the end of the month, it was official: the new White House Press Secretary was a chimpanzee.
A Sudden Vacancy
The previous Press Secretary had finally had enough. After months of being grilled by reporters, dodging scandal after scandal, and spinning stories with the finesse of a circus act, she walked into the Oval Office one afternoon and simply said:
“I quit.”
Trump barely looked up. “Great. You’re weak. Get out.”
And then he did something no one expected.
Instead of appointing another sycophant to stumble through daily press briefings, he turned to Mr. Bananas, a rescued chimpanzee from the National Zoo.
“You know what? This guy’s gonna do a better job than any of you idiots. He won’t have a clue how to answer questions. Perfect. Nobody can say we’re lying if he doesn’t say anything!”
And just like that, the most powerful nation on Earth had a primate as its chief spokesperson.
The First Briefing
Journalists packed the White House briefing room, bracing themselves for another round of nonsensical statements, deflections, and outright lies. But this time, as the cameras rolled, the podium was empty.
A few moments later, a Secret Service agent wheeled in a large metal cage. Inside, Mr. Bananas sat contentedly, peeling and eating a banana.
The room went dead silent.
Then the first question: “Mr. Bananas, can you clarify the administration’s stance on the economy?”
The chimp looked up, tilted his head, then threw the banana peel at the journalist.
“Better answer than most,” someone muttered.
Another reporter tried: “Does the President plan to address concerns about foreign interference in the election?”
Mr. Bananas scratched himself, let out a loud shriek, then proceeded to fling something considerably less pleasant across the room.
Gasps. Screams. Chaos.
But up in the Oval Office, Trump was watching on a screen, grinning from ear to ear.
“This is the best press briefing in history. Nobody can say we’re corrupt if nobody understands what’s happening! It’s genius!”
The New Normal
The days passed, and Mr. Bananas continued his daily press briefings. Journalists learned to bring raincoats and face shields. No answers were ever given. The public remained in the dark. The approval ratings stayed the same.
And just as Trump had predicted, no scandals could be pinned on an administration that literally refused to answer questions.
By mid-September, Trump himself was starting to check out. “I’m done with this,” he told his advisors one evening. “Maybe I’ll just wave the white flag in a few weeks. Let Jamie Foxx deal with this mess. But first, we need to get Mr. Bananas a bigger cage. The guy’s a star.”
And so, as America spiraled further into absurdity, the President prepared to bow out. But his final legacy was now clear:
He had finally found a spokesperson as clueless as he was.
