The Covfefe Code

“Despite the constant negative press covfefe”

— Donald Trump, via Twitter

- - -

Robert Langdon awoke slowly.

A telephone was ringing in the darkness – a tinny, unfamiliar ring that screeched through the night like the moans of an alley cat in heat. Langdon fumbled madly with his bedside lamp.

He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

There was a pause. A long pause. A maddening pause. The man on the other end was clearly toying with him. Playing with him. Leaving a breadcrumb-trail of clues that only an expert puzzle-solver could decipher.

Fortunately, Robert Langdon was that expert puzzle-solver.

As well as being a ruggedly handsome Olympic-level water polo player, Robert Langdon was also the esteemed Professor of Religious Iconology and Symbology at Harvard University. Which is definitely a real department at Harvard.

If anyone was going to solve this riddle. It was going to be him.

“Is anyone ther-”

But then, right as Langdon was about to finish the word ‘there,’ the voice on the other end of the line spoke. Silently. Gruffly. With purpose.

“Covfefe.”

Landon paused. The time on his Mickey Mouse digital watch read out 12:06 AM, but it felt later. Far later.

Too late for something like this.

“I’m sorry… what did you say?” Langdon gasped into the telephone like a fish gasping when it is no longer in water.

“Covfefe,” the voice whispered. Smooth as silk. Cold as night. Dark as sin.

“Are you saying ‘confetti’?” said Langdon. “Are you saying the word ‘confetti’?”

“Covfefe,” the voice said again. Louder.

For the first time in his life, Robert Langdon, esteemed Professor of Religious Iconology and Symbology at Harvard University… was stumped. A chill ran through his spine like a bull running through a corn maze.

“Do you have any more context behind the word ‘Covfefe’?” whispered Langdon, fearfully. “Like, is it related to the Priory of Scion? The Freemasons? The scientists at CERN I once investigated back in Angels and Demons?”

The voice paused, then inhaled deeply as if trying to digest a large thought. A very large thought. Too large for a normal man’s comprehension. Finally, he spoke:

“Despite the constant negative press covfefe.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Despite the constant negative press covfefe.”

Langdon paused. Fearfully. He chose his next words very carefully.

“Listen. Is there, like, a comma between the word ‘press’ and the word ‘covfefe’?” stuttered Langdon, “like, are they two separate phrases? Or are they just… one long phrase? Is there a period at the end of the statement?”

“Despite the constant negative press covfefe.”

“THAT DOESN’T HELP ME!” screamed Langdon into the receiver. “IF ANYTHING, THAT MAKES ME EVEN MORE CONFUSED!”

“Covfefe” said the voice. Louder.

“PLEASE! GIVE ME SOMETHING! JUST A LITTLE, TINY BIT OF CONTEXT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING! IT COULD BE ANYTHING! IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!” Langdon shouted hysterically.

“Covfefe” said the voice again. Not as a question. Not as an interjection. Simply as what it was. A statement of fact.

Langdon paused. This was not like the cryptex device in The Da Vinci Code. It could not be solved through simple, menial guesswork. Clearly, he had some thinking to do.

“OK. Maybe I’m not hearing what you’re saying” said Langdon, with an unexpectedly optimistic renewal of hope. “Are you saying ‘coffee’? Do you need caffeine?”

“Covfefe.”

“Is it the word ‘karate’? Like with ninjas?”

“Covfefe,” said the voice again. Louder. More insistent.

“‘Stiletto’?” moaned Langdon. Grasping at straws.

“Covfefe.”

“‘Go FIFA’?”

“Covfefe.”

“‘Eczema’?”

“Covfefe.”

“‘You’re heavy’?”

“COVFEFE,” screamed the voice. The voice was angry now. Or pained. Or happy. Or lustful. Langdon could not tell. The important thing is that it was filled with emotion and that that emotion was traveling thousands of miles over the phone and into Langdon’s desperate, uncomprehending eardrums.

“Despite the constant negative press COOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVFFFFFFFEEEEEEEEEEFFFFFFFEEEEEEEE”

“BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” screamed Langdon!

There was silence. Maddening silence. Extending for seconds and centuries into the very abysses of infinity. A man could go mad, staring into the maw of that undecipherable chasm. But then. Suddenly. Kneeling at the very precipice that lies between madness and comprehension, Robert Langdon suddenly stood up, alert. Every nerve in his body tingling with anticipation.

“Wait… did you say covfefe?” said Langdon slowly.

“Covfefe,” repeated the voice on the phone.

“Covfefe?” asked Langdon again.

“Covfefe.”

“Covfefe,” said Langdon with confidence.

“Covfefe,” said the voice.

“Covfefe,” said Robert Langdon.

“COOOOOOVVVVVVFFFFFFFEEEEEFFFFFEEEE” they both screamed.

Simultaneously.

Langdon was about to say the word ‘covfefe’ again when he heard a faint ‘click.’ The mysterious man on the other end of the phone had hung up.

And then, Robert Langdon smiled.

He still had no fucking idea what ‘covfefe’ meant.