Trump wanted to give himself a Medal of Honor: Don’t we all deserve one?

“As president,” Donald Trump said last night, no trace of bulls— dripping down his chin, “I wanted to give myself the Congressional Medal of Honor, but they wouldn’t let me do it. I’ve always wanted that, but they wouldn’t let me do it. They said that would be inappropriate.”

Apparently the reason he felt he deserved a Medal of Honor has to do with a trip he made to Iraq as president.

The landing was a bit bumpy, as he told the story, and he actually invoked the name of Brian Williams as he went on, which is a tell that he was embellishing, but the easy tell that Trump is embellishing a story is that his lips are moving.

To the award, though, I mean, we all get it. Awards are nice, the bigger, the shinier, the better, and if we can’t earn them, for example, because of bone spurs, or just in general, being a gigantic pussy, we should be able to give them to ourselves.

Recently, I felt like I deserved, you know, something, for the five hours that I had to endure in the back seat with the dogs on the trip back from the beach.

Somebody had to sit back there with them amidst the luggage, the beach chairs, the sand, everywhere.

And just the other day, on my 45-minute Peloton ride, there were 19 people on the live ride, and I finished second.

OK, I wasn’t first, but the guy ahead of me is in his 30s, according to his profile.

Let’s see that guy put up 574 kj when he turns 50.

I mowed the grass the other night – front and back yard.

It was 91 degrees, and the back yard didn’t have much in the way of shade.

And just last night, scary story here. My friend Scott, a couple of weeks ago, was taking trash out around midnight, and encountered a bear at the trash cans.

Scott, telling me the story, said he doesn’t remember how he got back inside the house safely.

Fast forward back to last night: I had to take the trash out at midnight, knowing that there could be a bear waiting for me at the trash cans.

There wasn’t, and I live nowhere near woods, have no good reason to fear that there’d ever be a bear waiting for me at my trash cans, but in any case, I thought about Scott’s story as I made my way out of the garage, and let me tell you, I was in the throes, man.

Tell me I’m inappropriate all you want, but where are my Medals of Honor?