Resident of the White House Donald Trump, who lives there for some reason, has declared, as he lets his fingers run through his beautiful hair, that he must be a god of some sort and had been able to live his own life and live the childhood that made him happy, where he ran through Golden Fields of wheat with his goat friend Arliss. It was dark like in his estimation, and he dreamed only of being there. He knew he must be a god of some sort, and that the life he imagined was a history of god parentage. He knew somehow he would have to leave this body of his and return to his home in the clouds.