Donald Trump fearful of eternal soul’s fate, wants to ‘prove to God’ he deserves heaven – We Got This Covered

Donald Trump sometimes seems omnipresent and eternal. Like him or loathe him, you can’t escape his face and voice, which is festooned across every newspaper, magazine, 24-hour news network, and social media feed.

But remember, he’s mortal. Arguably more mortal than most: he’s a 79-year-old man who doesn’t exercise, subsists on cheeseburgers, and appears to be quietly undergoing various medical crises. I’m not saying Trump’s going to drop dead tomorrow, but let’s just say the Grim Reaper is stood on the White House lawn impatiently tapping his scythe with his bony finger and checking his watch.

Trump’s death is clearly on his mind. Back in August, he told journalists, “I want to try and get to heaven if possible“, indicating that he knows his hourglass is running dry and the “sins” column in his ledger is looking kinda full.

Two months later, and he’s clearly still worrying about what happens when the lights go out. In comments in the Oval Office, Trump told reporters:

Trump: “I want to be good because you want to prove to God so you go to that next step, right? So that’s very important to me.” pic.twitter.com/RIlpiakrxQ

— Aaron Rupar (@atrupar) October 6, 2025

“I want to be good because you want to prove to God that you’re good so you go to that next step, right? So that’s very important to me.”

For Trump, we imagine heaven looks a lot like Mar-A-Lago: an opulent club where all his best friends hang out, populated by beautiful women, with massages available on tap and no pesky allegations to kill the vibe.

Yup, they’re putting him downstairs

Unfortunately, all evidence suggests Trump is heading… downstairs. Let’s take a look at the seven deadly sins and see which ones Trump has committed. So pride, greed, wrath, lust, and gluttony are kinda givens, right? Envy is also a safe bet, given how upset he gets when someone’s more popular or draws bigger crowds than him. Sloth? Well, he certainly spends a lot of time golfing…

That stuff – combined with the teetering mountain of extraordinarily un-Christian acts he does daily – means his chances of getting into heaven are… let’s go with slim.

When Trump strides up to the Pearly Gates, we expect St. Peter to run his finger down the lengthy “sins” list, stroke his beard in thought for a moment, look up, and then coolly say “You’re fired” as he pulls the lever that opens the diabolical trapdoor to hell. As the flames lick up for a moment and we hear a Trumpish squawk of surprise, Saint Pete might just calmly murmur. “Oh, and the “fired” was literal”.