The cabinet meeting turned into story time with President Donald Trump, who waddled up to the big-kid chair, puffed out his chest, and launched into a three-hour babble-fest that had more detours than a stroller ride through rush-hour traffic. He started with bold claims about building toys and factories “bigger than Manhattan,” veered into grocery-store prices like a toddler demanding Cheerios, and circled back to NATO juice boxes without ever stopping for a diaper change. Cabinet babies sat wide-eyed, pacifiers dangling, as Trump mixed nap-time stories, snack updates, and playground trash talk into one giant baby bottle of policy.

He started with the toy soldiers. “We rebuilt the greatest military in the world,” Baby Prez declared, shaking his rattle like it was a saber. His chubby cheeks puffed as he bragged about shiny new tanks, planes, and missiles, all lined up like action figures in a playpen parade. To prove his point, he banged the rattle harder on the highchair, as cabinet babies nodded like they were watching the biggest block tower in the sandbox.

Then came the scolding. Trump wagged a tiny finger at the “older babies” who had left “some of the toys” behind in Afghanistan. He huffed that no one could explain why they gave away the goodies — as if someone had left Legos at a rival daycare. The room went quiet, little eyes blinking, pacifiers bobbing, as Baby Prez made it clear: the toy chest was his now, and nobody better misplace the blocks again.

From there, he poured juice all over NATO like a toddler who discovered the lid was loose. “They were supposed to give two sippy cups, now they’re giving five!” Trump bragged, puffing his chest like the biggest baby in the sandbox. “We’re not spending; we’re making money!” he squealed, slurping so loudly that even the cabinet pacifiers rattled.

The other babies around the table clapped their pudgy hands, impressed by the math skills — even if nobody could quite explain how trading juice boxes for toy missiles made bedtime safer. Still, Baby Prez made it clear: America wasn’t sharing its blocks for free anymore. If NATO wanted the good stuff, they had to cough up extra milk money.

On the economy, Baby Prez insisted blue-collar babies were getting the fattest bottles in 60 years. He said groceries and eggs were down (thanking his “egg lady”), gas was down to “two bucks a gallon” in the playpen, and factories were “booming like never before.” He promised even more when the shiny new toy plants — auto factories, steel mills, and AI playpens — finish construction.

To prove his point, he waved around a giant picture of a mega-plant Zuckerberg is building. “This is the size of Manhattan!” Trump drooled, pointing at the page. “And he’s making four of them!” Cabinet babies gasped, though some wondered if Baby Prez knew how big Manhattan really was.

At one point in the marathon cabinet playdate, Baby Prez paused his bragging about factories and cheap juice boxes to lob a pacifier straight at Senator Chuck Schumer.

“I saw this poor stupid Chuck Schumer, the guy. He looks like he’s aged a hundred years,” Trump squeaked, smirking through his drool. Then, with a rare flash of baby modesty, he added, “I don’t like getting into looks… looks don’t mean anything, right?” before immediately getting back into looks.

Cabinet babies giggled and clapped, happy to see the boss baby tossing teething-ring insults. Trump wasn’t done, though. He lumped Schumer in with what he called “slobs” and “bad governors,” grumbling that critics didn’t appreciate his tough-guy act on crime.

Then came an energy tantrum. Trump pounded his tiny fists, calling windmills “ugly bird-killers” and solar farms “big black blankies from China.” He insisted the crib runs best on “clean coal,” nuclear bottles, and “lots of fossil fuel.” “Windmills make houses worth half!” he squealed. “Ugly! Very ugly!”

The meeting had its dramatic moment when Iris, a reporter baby, shared her scary daycare story: a masked bad baby pointed a toy gun at her face, then hit her when she refused to give up her bottle and blankie. Trump shook his head, saying only his “tough, not politically correct troops” could keep DC safe. “Spit, we hit,” he declared, handing toy shields to his soldiers.

By the end of the cabinet pow-wow, the playpen was littered with building blocks, half-chewed pacifiers, and big promises stacked higher than a diaper tower. Baby Trump had covered everything from toy soldiers to juice box economics, from blue-collar blocks to banning windmill pinwheels. Every topic got its turn on the changing table, even if it meant a few spills along the way.

As the meeting closed, the cabinet babies clapped their sticky hands while Baby Prez leaned back in his big-kid chair, pleased with his marathon babble-fest. Whether you bought his bedtime stories or just needed a nap afterward, one thing was clear: the playpen is now officially Trump’s nursery, and he’s not letting anyone else hold the rattle.

Babies who clapped their hands said Trump’s show-and-tell proved the sandbox is safer, the toy factories are back, and the juice is cheaper. To them, Baby Prez is the caretaker who finally remembered to share snacks and stop bullies from stealing blocks. They drooled with pride at talk of more jobs, more toys, and less “big mean windmill monsters” spoiling the view from the crib.

Babies who threw their blocks saw a different story. They grumbled that Trump’s babble-fest was more sugar rush than solid snack, stuffed with tall tales and toys that may not exist yet. The promises of endless factories, miracle-priced groceries, and armies of toy soldiers felt like playpen dreams, not reality. To these skeptics, it was less “grown-up leadership” and more “baby talk with extra spit bubbles.”

Mock the mighty, help the tiny

We roast political babies for laughs—now let’s help the real ones. This fundraiser supports St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, where families never pay a dime for care. Every dollar helps a child fight cancer. Laugh loud, give proud. Babies Helping Babies.