Melissa-Mindy Trump-Hiltonâ„¢: American Royalty

As you undoubtedly already know, having chosen to seek out and pay tribute to my home page, I am a member of the super prestigious Trump-Hiltonâ„¢ family.
The Trumps came over with Columbus in the Santa Maria, while the Hiltons came over with the Pilgrims on the Mayflower. Or was it the reverse? Whatever.
When the gene pools of these two leading families eventually merged, miraculous things happened -- some of which had to be surgically removed.
In addition to my extraordinary lineage, I have been blessed in a second fortuitous way. For you see, I have had the good fortune to have seven separate and unique Voices in my head: Marvin, Tiffany, Joanne, Mr. Quickly, "Weather Traffic Renee," Georgette, and The Nameless One.
As you can imagine, having so much interior dialogue can make my life extremely hectic, especially when it comes time to make love. One of my Voices will cry out to my love-making partner, "Too fast!" while another will cry out that he is moving "too slow." Another will loudly and derisively characterize my partner's instrument as being "way too small," while a fourth will cry out, "what are you trying to do, split me in half?" Even worse, if you can imagine, at the end of an evening of lovemaking, Joanne, the sentimentalist, can be counted on to cry out, "I love you." (Even though I have asked her countless times not to!) Which can sometimes lead to awkward situations, especially in cases of a one-night stand whose name I have yet to ascertain. And I admit, it can be very unnerving for my sexual partners, who seldom stop by for a second whack at it. But I get by. I really do. I do get by.
What else? My love for birds. I'm known throughout the city for my love for birds. And New York is a dangerous city if you're a bird, let me tell you. An unexpected gust of wind can send you careening into a 50-story skyscraper, skerplatt! Luckily, many of these wounded birds find their way into my hands, and I nurse them back to health in the many little nests I have scattered throughout my very comfortable, airy apartment. The worst offender in this regard locally is the Hotel Gansevoort, and I have started a petition in my neighborhood to get it torn down. Many local celebrities have signed, including both Olsen Twins, so I am confident of my eventual success. I am also a board member and past vice-chair of the prestigious Trump-Hiltonâ„¢ Foundation for a Brighter Tomorrow, the goal of which is to make tomorrow "just a little bit brighter."
As a Trump-Hiltonâ„¢, of course, there is no need for me to work. Oh, others in the family have chosen to do so: My brother Cupid runs a little toy store called Random Toys down on Bleecker and Seventh, and my sister D is launching a Trump-Hiltonâ„¢ line of drug-influenced clothing and jewelry a bit further down the block that she is calling her "Pharmaceutical Line."
With the name Trump-Hiltonâ„¢ on the lapel, there is no doubt her couture line will be a major success.
At birth, a prestigious soothsayer predicted that I and my two siblings would each marry into royalty. I firmly believe this will come to pass. But for now, we are all still single. (And a big shout-out here out to my homie, Prince William. Call me?)
Excuse me a moment -- I feel an argument coming on and need to lie down.