Donald Trump felt ready. It was the day of the big IQ test and he had crammed his ass off studying his addition, subtraction, colors and days of the week. He had yet to master his times tables, 5’s gave him a hard time especially, but he didn’t think the test would sink so low as to ask that. He had already learned so much on the job anyway. He now knew that Puerto Rico was an “island surrounded by water, big water, ocean water.” He knew words, he had the best words and he knew exactly how many inches tall Senator Bob Corker was. He was going to blow Tillerson away. “I’ll show that Eagle Scout who the real fucking moron is,” Trump thought jumping up with hand raised to get his test first from non-partial Gladys, 2nd sous chef in the executive kitchen.