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Baron Trump's school backpack is just a briefcase. "Dad, I need a new backpack." "Here, take this, it's called a briefcase. It's like a backpack, but for important 9-year-olds.
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Baron Trump is like a time traveler from the 19th century with that name. I can imagine him introducing himself at school like, "Hello, my good chaps, I am Baron Trump. No, not from the history books, just the weird kid in your math class.
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I imagine Baron Trump's playdates involve negotiations and diplomatic talks. "Mom, can Tommy come over?" "Sure, but only if he agrees to a trade deal for his LEGO set.
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Baron Trump is so wealthy; his tooth fairy probably leaves him stock certificates instead of cash. "Congrats on losing a tooth, here's a share of Amazon. Sweet dreams, Baron.
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You know you're rich when your pet dog has a personal trainer. I heard Baron Trump's dog has a fitness regimen that includes fetching gold-plated tennis balls.
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I bet Baron Trump's piggy bank isn't filled with coins; it's filled with stock options. "Daddy, I want a new toy. Buy me some Apple shares!
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You ever notice how Baron Trump's life is like a real-life version of "Rich Kids of Instagram"? I mean, his bedtime story is probably the stock market report.
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I bet Baron Trump's bedtime routine includes a butler reading him the latest economic trends. "And now, young sir, let's discuss the global market fluctuations as you drift into dreamland.
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Baron Trump probably thinks "middle class" is a new flavor of caviar. "Ah, yes, quite exquisite. I do enjoy my sandwiches with a touch of middle class, please.
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