My name is Donald Trump. I am 71 years old. I live in the White House in Marlago in Bedminster

and in Trump Tower in the Penn House. Paul Manafort has the 43rd floor. Guida Limbardi

is on the 62nd and 63rd floors. I don't believe in taking care of myself because I don't

need to. I mean, I just grabbed that pussy. I eat McDonald's, KFC, and have zero exercise

routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I'll put on a frozen Trump steak

while tweeting. I have 38 million followers now that includes the sex spots, white supremacists

and a lot of Macedonians. Great people. They love Trump. After I remove the Trump steak,

I use a half a container of Vaseline mixed with a little gasoline. In the shower, I use

an old spice gel steel courage. Then I apply a bright orange facial mask, which I leave

on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use a primer coat with

little or no alcohol because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look like Carly

Fierena. Then the first coat of spray bronzer, then Melania's anti-aging eye balm, followed

by a final coat of orange, number seven. And don't forget the anti-baldness medication.

That's what makes me nice and crazy. There is an idea of a Donald J. Trump, some kind

of abstraction, but there is no real me. Only a collection of emotional states assembled

into the illusion of a human being. And though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake

my small hand and feel clammy flesh gripping you. And maybe you can even sense our lifestyles

are probably not comparable. I simply am not there.

This is intercepted.

I'm Jeremy Skahill coming to you from the offices of the Intercept in New York City. And

this is episode 28 of Intercepted. If the righteous many do not confront the wicked few, then

evil will triumph. Donald Trump appeared before the United Nations General Assembly this

...