Original subtitles

You're watching "60 Minutes."

Here's Anderson Cooper.

Her birth name is Stephanie Clifford,

but elementary‐school history books

will forever refer to her as Stormy Daniels.

In 2006, she allegedly had sex

with a recently married Donald Trump,

his chin dripping with

a Lipitor/bull hormone/ cookie‐dough milkshake.

Then she accepted $130,000

to stay silent about what Americans already

instinctively knew in their amygdala hindbrain.

Here now is President Trump's side of the story.

Stormy Daniels is lying.

Unless she says I'm a wildcat in bed,

in which case it's all true.

If this didn't happen,

why did she receive $130,000 from Michael Cohen, your lawyer,

who always looks like he just realized he ate some bad clams?

The money was consolation for missing out on the most intense

orgasmic sexual awakening of her life.

I approach love‐making like I approach the breakfast buffet ‐‐

me first and always a guy nearby making omelets.

Do you plan to pay back your lawyer? Nope.

Stormy Daniels claims

you did not sign the non‐disclosure agreement.

I was too busy planning Space Force.

Isn't it great that cops,

teachers, and astronauts are now militarized?

Hey, IRS agents!

Get ready for calculators that shoot 20 rounds a second!

Does Stormy Daniels have

compromising pictures and videos of you?

And how much are you looking forward to seeing

Mike Pence's face after they're released?

I've seen the photos, and it's clearly not my penis.

No part of me appears on camera without several ladles

of Maybelline Super Stay foundation.

Sir, this allegedly occurred

one year after you married Melania.

She's the foreign one with the brown hair...?

Right, but me and my pregnant wife

hadn't really defined the relationship.

Even at the wedding, we were like, "Where is this going?"

We've obtained audio of an alleged encounter

between you and Miss Daniels.

Go to 60MinutesOvertime.com

to watch Donald Trump explain

why Rex Tillerson, the former CEO of Exxon,

was too much of a goody two shoes for him.

Wow! What is this? A thousand letters?

Forbes Magazine loves you so much, Donald!

Now give me filthy rich. So good.

Now give me vain, glorious, syphilitic boy‐king rich.

You've done this before, haven't you?

Now give me "blissfully unaware

that people won't stand for this much longer" rich.

We got the shot.

We actually got it hours ago, but you told me to keep snapping

so you wouldn't have to go back to work.

What the hell is an honorable mention?!

I told them I'm richer than God, and they demanded proof!

When God shows His tax returns, I'll show mine!

I'm sure it was just an honest mistake.

Must be. I'm not gonna spend another minute

thinking about this stupid list.

That's good, Donald.

You do have a country to run, after all.

Number 70, Harold Hamm...

number 69, Masayoshi Son...

number 68, the Hinduja brothers...

You listen to me, you son of a bitch.

I'm always on the list!

I was on Forbes' Richest 70 over 70 list

when I was 65!

Was that the editor‐in‐chief?

Prime Minister of Indonesia.

He was calling about an earthquake or something,

and we got sidetracked.

You know, sir, there's really only one list that matters.

Playboy's list of hottest women without a father figure?

Saint Peter's list!

The list that determines who gets into the big "H" upstairs

and who takes the haunted hayride to hell.

Eh, you're right. No one reads those dumb lists anyway.

What's all this? Did Jeff Sessions die?

Oh, I won't die for a long time. I got work to do yet.

Sir, we heard the news about Forbes.

We, of course, wanted to pay our respects

to your waning personal fortune.

Oh, my God. Do you think I care

that Forbes said on page 25 that...

"a tough real‐estate market, costly lawsuit,

and expensive Presidential campaign"...

reduced my wealth $600 million?

‐Yes. Absolutely. Yes. ‐Wrong.

I am 100% secure with my net worth.

Speaking of, guess how much it really is, Nuch.

Three... four... Twelve billion trillion?

Exactly!

Three, four, twelve billion trillion.

Now tell everyone how many feet of crap is in your pants.

Sir, if you do need some cash,

we started a GoFundMe for you and your family.

I don't want your charity. Give it to Mike Pence.

He's so poor, he believes in God!

Mike's so poor, before he offers a penny for your thoughts,

he has to refinance his house!

Pence is so busted, he's never chucked a Ford Fiesta

into a lake just to piss off some fish.

Material wealth is secondary

to the wealth of an unflinchingly righteous heart.

Although, now that you mention it,

I would like to see what electric can openers are all about.

Forbes is full of it, but on the off chance

that something slipped through the cracks,

I need to check my accounts.

You know the drill.

Just to reiterate, I do have additional space on my scrotum.

Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.

Looks like someone's been making questionable decisions

with my money for the last five decades.

You've got to be loaded to keep that wife of yours.

What does this have to do with Melania?

Women only care about one thing ‐‐ money.

Whereas all I need from a date

is absolute silence and combative eye contact.

Honey, do you think

my designer‐shoe Ferris wheel

should go here or here?

Melania, imagine I was poor.

Would you still be married to me

if I could only afford a normal‐length, poor‐guy tie?

Come on, Donald. What would I do if I left you?

Live with the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia,

who already promised me a Lamborghini

with gel doors you can step through?

Now, where should this big diamond go?

I usually use it to poke open my FAGE yogurt.

Hey, Kare Bear?

Say I got incredibly rich

and we could have everything we ever desired.

Would you still want to be with me?

I don't put much stock in material goods.

The only thing Adam and Eve had to wear

was a pair of turtleneck sweaters,

and they did just fine.

I have everything I need.

Well, almost.

It's Jerry. You miss him, don't you?

He was our first little angel piglet.

And I'll always regret

the way his life was cut short.

I didn't mean to knock him off the window sill.

I just wanted him to see the first snowfall.

But I'm gonna do my darndest to provide for us,

to fill that Jerry‐sized gap in our hearts.

So many average Joes out there.

They all love me.

They think, "Hey, I'm just like Donald Trump,

except he's rich and therefore a million times better than me."

But no one loves a loser.

That's why I'm asking for help from you,

the most average man in America,

"Fox & Friends" host Brian Kilmeade.

Thank you, sir. As requested,

I've conducted a top‐secret focus group of Fox News viewers,

consisting mainly of elderly white men

waiting for diners to open.

Don't hold back. I can handle it.

I have thick, ram‐like skin.

Why haven't you responded to what I just said? Do you hate me?

We asked respondents what they would do if you were poor.

The most common answers ‐‐

withdrawal of support, violent uprising,

and use your body to find out what happens

when a human steps outside of a Space Shuttle.

My God. I can't ever let them know.

Listen to me, Brian. You were never here. You don't exist.

You're just skin wrapped around a gooey core.

That's what Ailes used to say!

All right, boys, we're gonna show this nation

that I'm still superduper rich.

Step one, add helicopter propellers to all my houses.

I don't want to contradict you,

because you're my father and I fucking love you,

but, like, some of The Trump Organization numbers

are not looking good.

The office manager said

we couldn't have the Christmas party

and the K‐Keebler Elf tree!

Pull it together, E‐Roc!

We're in the clear so long as we don't spend too much money

on dumb crap, like wolf blacklight posters.

Actually, that poster is cool.

Dad, I need that wolf!

Come on. Stop crying, you two.

Wealth isn't about how much money you have.

It's about how much money you rub in people's faces.

And right now this nation needs to believe

that my wallet is stuffed with something other than

gastroenterologists' business cards!

This poor, backwards country wants to live vicariously

through an insanely rich leader,

so let's give 'em what they want.

Let me ask you ‐‐ how do you two robber barons

flaunt your spoils?

Real billionaires don't talk about their money.

They just use it to print textbooks

that say God invented dinosaurs in 1956.

People don't always know I'm rich when they meet me.

A lot of them just assume I'm their dentist.

That is, until I flash this baby.

Say, that's a nice timepiece.

Really screams, "I looted your pension fund."

Thank you!

Gift from my wife, what's‐her‐name,

after I threw her an insanely expensive wedding.

Hmm!

Hannity!

Welcome back to Hannity,

where the conservative guests are hot

and the liberal guests

are weathered tires made to look like people.

On to my new segment, "Rich Guys"!

We're joined today by the richest guy I know,

President Donald J. Trump.

And "J" stands for Jackpot. Am I right?

I think I know that much. Donald Trump.

Hey, Sean. It's a pleasure to be here, in between

my enormously expensive habits and princely dealings.

So, what's the next rich thing

for America's favorite rich guy?

The very unfair Forbes Magazine

launched some untrue accusations about my wealth!

And to the haters, I say this ‐‐

Would a not‐rich guy do this?

Mrs. Melania ‐‐ S? ‐‐ Trump...

will you marry me again?

Only, this time, at the most expensive

wedding in world history!

When we come back, I, Sean Hannity, as Melania Trump,

describe the feeling of being the happiest girl

in the whole wide world!

Here she is, the most prized Pence family heirloom ‐‐

my great‐great‐grandmother Fern's antique squirrel catcher.

I hate to part with her,

but Karen and I can no longer subsist

on just my meager public‐sector salary.

My wife is gonna get such a kick

out of this real piece of Americana.

She's never been to real America.

Doesn't have the proper shots.

Wow! $200!

I shouldn't have looked at the amount. Now God knows I know.

I can't wait to walk into that church

wearing my million‐dollar suit.

It's gonna make Jesus wish he were dead.

I cannot wait, either!

It will be nice to get married again,

this time knowing full well what I'm getting myself into.

But are you sure we can afford it?

Am I really the kind of guy

that sinks millions of dollars into bad ideas?

Now, what do you think about having a walk‐in cake?

Michael, are you sure we can afford

the California Pizza Kitchen?

I mean, this place has pizzas and flatbreads.

I feel like the Marquis de Sade.

And I've got one more surprise.

Jerry?!

How could it be?

It's Jerry's son, Jerry Jr.

He's young and full of fight. Do you like him?

He's beautiful!

But, uh, I got to know,

how much is this gonna set us back?

No more money talk tonight. In fact...

Waiter! Another round of CPK lemonades

for me and wife, Karen Pence!

And, sir! We'll take all the napkins you can carry!

Ooooooooh!

So, after I arrive at the ceremony in a silver sleigh,

I'll roll on golden billiards to the altar.

Right. And at the reception, we'll serve an edible line

of Ivanka Trump cocktail dresses.

Uh, hate to be the buzz slayer, but it is my fiduciary duty

to inform everyone that from a business standpoint,

your wedding is shooting money out of its hairy ass.

Exactly. See ya at the reception.

Hold up, Dad! The vendors are demanding cash

and threatening to kick my ass.

It doesn't help that I keep getting ripped off

by bogus swan wranglers! Don't worry, fellas.

If there's one thing I know how to do,

it's to pull myself out of a money pit using

the world's most sophisticated business techniques.

You've seen the red MAGA hats,

the white "Build the Wall" hats,

and the pink "Lock Her Up" hats

for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

But today I present the next generation of MAGA must‐haves!

First, the official Donald J. Trump step ladder!

This thing is a real beauty.

That's gold for ya, folks.

Next up, a sack of MAGA‐brand oysters aged to perfection.

Ben, how's that taste?

Like the damp underside of the boardwalk.

Tremendous! All of these products are available

on my website, whitehouse.gov.

Remember ‐‐ every dollar you spend

is a dollar that gets to attend my wedding!

$3.99 at Michaels?

Two Yankee Candles?

That can't be right.

Karen, our identity has been stolen!

Don't be silly, Michael.

I just swung by the mall for a couple Kare Bear necessities.

That reminds me ‐‐ I'm heading to JCPenney

to pick up some earrings that look like little pumpkins.

But you already have those earrings

that look like little jingle bells.

Since I updated my wardrobe,

Steve Mnuchin's wife no longer clutches her purse

when we ride the elevator.

And Betsy DeVos doesn't direct me

to the nearest winter‐coat drive.

Things are finally coming up Karen Sue Pence!

All right. You go to Penneys.

Thanks, sweetheart.

Jerry Jr. and I love you so much.

He whispered it to me when I was brushing his teeth!

Melania, you should've seen the way

those people ate up my merch.

They all wanted a piece of Mr. Luxury himself.

That's me, by the way. I'm trying that name out.

Stick to the name "Trump."

It's synonymous with high‐quality.

Have you or someone you know

been injured by a Donald Trump brand MAGA product?

If so, you may be entitled to mountains of money.

Hi! I'm Ted Cruz!

And I am working to get you the cash you deserve!

Call today! I'll answer on or before the first ring,

as I'm often mashing the answer button already,

just in case someone calls and then regrets it!

Well, that is the last time I try to do something nice.

I don't usually fraternize with environmental lobbyists.

So, what's the offer?

You spare 2,000 acres of deciduous forest preserve,

and this $800 goes to your super PAC.

Dear God, I know you had those acres

earmarked for copper mining,

but I have to give Karen the life she's always dreamed of ‐‐

multi‐colored scrunchies and all.

Ted, I can't keep settling your lawsuits.

Sorry, Donald! I'm a shark!

And not just due to the license plates in my stomach

and the fact that people put up "Beach Is Closed" signs

whenever I'm spotted near a vacation town!

What do you even need the money for?

I always wanted to be a rich dude ‐‐

cuff links, socks, deodorant...

get that fallen oak tree removed from my living room,

a separate room for my wailing, invalid, ghost granny.

Gonna build a tower next to your tower, Don,

slap the name "Ted Cruz" in pea green right on the front!

Thinkin' 900 floors!

Adabba, dabba, dabba, dooba, dabba, dooba, dabba, dooba, dabba, doo!

Speaking on behalf of the National Arbor Society,

we celebrate this oak sapling, who only stands here today

because of the conservation efforts

of Vice President Mike Pence.

That sapling better keep its mouth shut!

Michael!

Don't ruin such a lovely occasion.

Especially when I'm looking sporty

in my new Chico's denim utility vest.

Because I got the store credit card,

I get 3% off, plus a free bookmark on my birthday!

May God and the Koch brothers have mercy on my soul.

So, to discredit all these people

in Ted Cruz's class‐action lawsuit,

we did like you said and took out full‐page ads

attacking their character in their hometown newspapers.

I think it's really working,

because now they're all suing you for libel.

‐Whew! ‐I don't feel well.

I'm starting to sweat through my undersuit.

I need the calm, soothing voice of Hannity.

Everyone, shut up!

Welcome back to Rich Guys: Bad Boy Edition.

Rich Guys! Bad Boy Edition.

I'm here with the newly minted multimillionaire Ted Cruz.

And, boy, Ted, I've got a bone to pick with you.

Get him, Sean!

It says here ‐‐ Hold on.

You made your fortune by pilfering from the coffers

of the richest man in history, President Donald Jackpot Trump.

What gives?

Yep, yep, yep, yep. That's true.

That's true, Sean. That's true.

But we live in a country where no one‐percenter

should ever have to justify

why or how he obtained his massive fortune!

Can't argue with that. Wow. Ted Cruz, you won me over.

Now that you're not just barely rich

but you're actually fantastically rich,

I love everything about you.

Can I just look at you?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just like that.

Ooh! Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

‐Aaaaah! ‐Eeaaaah!

That's a lot of nutmeg, Karen.

Oh, so, now you're the nutmeg police?

Karen These cost $4.99 apiece at Food Safe!

Come on. Get seasoned, Daddy.

Ride the nut with me, Mike.

What's next? Rosemary?

You're too late, baby. I done did it.

Karen! No!

Give it to me! I need it!

Mamma's gotta nut!

Oh! This is all my fault!

I should never have bought Jerry Jr.!

I should have let what's lost stay buried.

But it ends today!

N‐o‐o‐o!

It's for your own good, Karen. You've become an unruly woman.

So, that's how you want to play it, Michael.

Please! Not Jerry Jr.!

He doesn't understand what's happening!

He's just a little baby.

Look at you, standing there all high and mighty,

with a shiny, new wide‐toothed comb in your pocket!

It was free!

With a $5 shampoo at Great Clips!

You hypocrite!

No! He can't wind up like his daddy!

Goodbye, Jerry Jr.

And goodbye, Michael.

I can't believe I sprained my hand grabbing Eric's scalp.

How could you do that to me, Eric?!

You're right, Dad. I shouldn't have ‐‐

What did I do, exactly?

Dad, these vendors are literally kicking me in the ass!

I got sucker‐punched by a fucking florist!

You'll need more money if you want to pay for this wedding.

And a new crop of bogus swan wranglers.

Also, I fucked up the hot‐tub filter really bad ‐‐

shit‐ton of egg whites in there now. Heh‐heh.

Where is my girthy groom hiding?

Everybody, shut up.

When Melania comes in here, do not mention

anything about M‐O‐N‐E‐Y

dollar sign, dollar sign, cha‐ching, cash, awooga!

Hello, sweetheart.

So nice of you to check on me. Bye‐bye now.

You're acting weird.

And why is your hand in a cast

and Eric missing half of his hair?

Just your run‐of‐the‐mill pre‐wedding bone snaps and head trauma.

Are you excited for the cocktail hour,

with redirected asteroid fly‐over?

I nixed that. SpaceX wanted a $3‐million deposit.

And when I didn't have it, Elon Musk laughed my ass

straight out of his rocket factory!

Ohh! Elon!

Ever since the Forbes came out,

he keeps sending me heart‐shaped Mars rocks,

so maybe I could call him and ask for a discount.

No. Absolutely not.

I've never said this before,

but, Melania, we are paying full price.

Okay, great. I invited my 100‐year‐old nana

who may survive one flight but definitely won't survive two.

Dad, I love you,

but you are so fucked.

Mike, I'm gonna need to stay with you for a while.

Money's a little tight.

Had to Airbnb my place to Mnuchin.

He wanted to show his wife, what's‐her‐name,

a piece of real American history.

So, you put the squirrel bait in here ‐‐

cheese, peanut butter, some pert little acorn bulbs.

And then, bam, closes right on the little sucker.

That's gross!

Count of three, say what you're thinking.

One, two, three.

‐This place fucking sucks. ‐This place fucking sucks.

I'll take the bed. It's not an imposition.

And I don't want to hear another word about it.

Whatever. Nothing matters now that I've lost

the two most important things in my life ‐‐

my wife of 32 years

and my porcelain angel pig.

What'd you do ‐‐ have an affair

and then publicize it in a national newspaper?

‐No. We got into it over ‐‐ ‐Eh, it turns out I don't care.

Mediterranean Breeze?

Cherries in Snow?

Sage and Citrus!

A nasal mistress!

Ma'am. What are you doing?

You can't stop this candle train to Wax Town!

Aaaah!

Your Oreo cookies taste like crap, Mike.

Karen, it's me. Your husband. Michael Pence.

I'll buy you all the seasonings you want

and donate my comb to the church.

Just, please, come home.

I used to think it was men licking each other's thighs,

but the love of money truly is the root of all evil.

Look, Mike, money's great.

It's just hard to get rich and stay rich.

You should consider yourself lucky to be poor as piss.

That way, you never disappoint anybody.

Let's hope the ladies I meet in the dating pool agree.

Say, do women still like being taken to popcorn festivals?

Mike, get Karen back.

If she leaves you, you'll be dead by dawn.

Ugh! These Oreo cookies.

Yeah, you're right.

How do you maintain your storybook romance?

Melania loves me because I'm...

the richest man in the whole world.

And America loves me, too, right?!

Right, Mike?!

Tell me America loves me, you stubborn fucking asshole!

Of course, sir.

Your supporters don't love you because you're any old rich guy,

but because you act like how they would act if they got rich.

They'd have fast food delivered on demand,

they'd buy 20 TVs,

and they'd blame the world's ills

on those less fortunate than them.

You know what, Mike? You're right.

And you don't need three, four, twelve billion trillion dollars

to do those things.

When all is said and done,

all you really need is a billion dollars.

Pence residence. It's Sunday. You should be in church.

Heavens to Betsy! I'll be right there!

I knew women only cared about money!

Shut up, Stephen, or I'll tell Donald

that you sneak into our room to inhale his breath

while he sleeps.

What I do with your husband's breath

is none of your business!

Hmm.

Forbes Magazine. They do their research.

I had to restrain her for her own safety, as well as mine.

She bit my ear lobe pretty bad. Swallowed my gauge, too.

Oh, Kare Bear. What has become of you?

Ohh. I got carried away

with the idea of being a fancy woman about town,

walking out of Chico's with enough bags

to feel like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman"

after she found a store willing to sell clothing to whores.

I am so sorry.

No, Karen, I'm the one who should be sorry.

I tried to keep up with all those belt‐wearing hotshots

in the Cabinet Room,

and I endangered our union in the process.

Do you forgive me?

Can I keep the Chico's vest?

Let's compromise.

You can visit it in the store whenever you like.

Deal.

Uh, Dad, this fairy‐tale wedding

has turned into a fairy‐tale ass‐kicking!

It's time to pony up some cash

or admit that you can't afford this biatch!

I don't know, Don.

Can you fight off the vendors another day?

I mean, your legs still bend.

I'm not gonna tell you where the pastry chef

just put the piping bag, but now I'm a walking éclair.

He put it up my ass. So make a decision, dude!

One billion dollars

that I definitely do have.

Donald, I've been looking for you.

Melania.

Donald Trump's $1‐billion wedding has been canceled!

The president says he refuses to throw himself an amazing party

until our nation's borders have been padlocked

and the keys have been swallowed by a mythical sea beast!

Next up, has ISIS infiltrated the wedding‐planning industry?

We've got correspondent Donald Trump Jr. on the phone.

The answer is, yes, they fucking have.

ISIS fucked me up!

So, maybe we lost a few million in swan deposits

and a six‐story wedding cake with icing shutters.

But at least I saved Don Jr.'s life.

To be clear, I'm the one who canceled the wedding

without you knowing.

Yeah, but I'm the one who couldn't afford it.

Fine. You win.

Just stop lying to me about money.

There's only so many lies one woman can take.

I thought you said you'd never leave me over money.

Actually I said if I was ever going to leave you,

I would have done it a long, long, long time ago.

Although, if your net worth ever drops below $100 billion,

we will have to have a serious discussion!

Trump!