Meet the New Ambassador to Greenland

 

Well, technically, I'm not the ambassador to Greenland because we still don't have one. However, we have a special envoy: Louisiana Governor Jeff Landry, a man most famous for his petroleum-based chicken gumbo recipe and banning same sex marriage among crawfish. However, President Trump has seen fit to make my most fervent dream come true: a job in his fabled administration (And, let's face it, everything that's come out of the White House this past year has been a fable or another).

    So imagine the look on my face when I got a phone call from President Trump yesterday in my Manhattan office announcing he was creating a new position just for yours truly.

      "Cyril, I've created a new office just for you: Secretary of Coercive Annexation of Minerals."

     After telling the president that spelled out S.C.A.M., he said, "I know it does. That's why I love it so much. Lutnick thought of it but I'm grabbing credit for it."

     So I'm writing this beside a lantern that burns whale blubber in the capital of Nuuk, which just makes President Trump love this place even more because it reminds him of the word "nuke". Not far away is my baby brother, Cecil, who's mumbling Justin Bieber lyrics and tossing and turning on a cot here in the Ambassador's residence (at least that's what the locals call it while seeming to laugh up their fur-lined sleeves), which used to serve as a weather observation shack.

 

    Occasionally, poor Cecil murmurs, "Oh, Justin, why did you have to get married?" before falling back asleep. Poor boy. It's been an adjustment for him.

     So, the president outlined for me what I needed to do as S.C.A.M., namely getting Greenland to let us have their minerals. So I said this to the Eskimos, who kept telling they aren't Eskimos, even though I know better. They insisted the extraction of the minerals was extremely difficult if not outright impossible because of the permafrost of the terrain, otherwise it would've been done already.

     They also said building the infrastructure would cost billions. Perhaps I spoke out of turn when I said we could afford that because when I conveyed this to the president via satellite phone (the only way to reach America from here aside from nuclear-powered homing pigeons), the president erupted over the phone.

     "Cyril," he said, "no one knows infrastructure better than me. After all, I used to talk about it all the time whenever a scandal was brewing. And, with the help of Polish laborers, I built Trump Tower for just under $1000."

     "Mr. President," I said, "I think building mineral extraction infrastructure is different than adding a few stories onto an existing tower."

     The conversation kind of went downhill from that point on, with the president calling my brother a boy diddler who cavorted with Jeffrey Epstein at Mar a Lago.

    As for our special envoy, he hasn't been to Greenland, yet, even though the governor plans on attending a dog sled race sometime in March, which Gov. Landry insists will automatically make him an expert in all matters Greenlandic. No doubt, he will make a great addition to our team.

     By way of ensuring success for our mission, the president had sent his namesake, Donald Trump, Jr., to Greenland to hand out plastic tubes of his branded styling gel ("A Little Don Will Do You") that the natives use to grease the bottoms of their sleds, which seems to work quite well.

     All things considered, we're making the transition to Greenlandic life quite well, even though a horny walrus keeps sneaking into the Ambassador's mansion/weather observation shack and pinning Cecil and me under its bulk.