Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 2 – The White Hospital

Welcome to my writing therapy and I hope your reading therapy. This blog series is a science fiction parody about a dark future, perhaps coming into sad reality due the “too painful to watch” daily show of Trump’s inability to lead during the coronavirus crisis.

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If you are just joining us on the blog here’s a link to read Chapter one if you’d like to enjoy the whole science fictional parody as it builds.

When we last left a feverish President Trump it was May 2022 when he was just dumped buck naked in the thorny bushes of the Rose Garden by a mysterious giant time traveling cosmic butterfly.

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM

CHAPTER 2 – THE WHITE HOSPITAL

Trump’s former young black personal attendant, Robert, dressed in a hospital gown and mask, helps a badly scratched Trump from the rose bushes to his shaky feet and says,”Whoa. Last time I saw you, I rushed out your bedroom to get the doc. When I came back your were gone! Where’d you go for two whole years? And why are you naked as a Jay bird on the 4th of July?”

Too distracted to answer, Trump notices every window in the White House is brightly lit and wonders, “Why the hell are all the White House lights on?”

“Put on my spare mask and gown on and I’ll show you,” says Robert handing Trump both.

“I’m immune to the virus. Don’t need this junk!” shouts Trump, drawing attention from a masked security guard.

“Sorry. President Cuomo’s executive order of 2021 makes wearing of gowns and masks law,” offers Robert grimly.

“President Cuomo!” shouts Trump. Spotting the masked White House security, pulling out his pistol, Trump angrily complies. As he struggles to gown up Trump says, “Cuomo?! Why isn’t Mike president? He dead?”

“Pence ain’t dead yet… but he’s eating himself there.”

“Eating?” says Trump.

“To appeal to your Trumpers ol’ Pence took over your brand of eating all American fast food. But that shit got way outta control. Last report Pence’s gained 130 pounds since he was ousted from the presidency.”

Trump laughs wickedly and says,”Ousted how?

“Senate unanimously impeached him for slipping ventilators to all his PAC backers. Mikey, never even made it to the elections. Your yes man was lost after you vanished.”

“What happened to Biden?”

“Gone with the Covid. Sweet guy. Don’t think he’d have been much of president in any case.”

“And Bernie?”

“Virus killed old Bernie same day as Moscow Mitch. But not before he gave his spot to Cuomo. Bernie that is,” adds Robert.

“Who’d Cuomo run against?” says Trump in angry wonder.

“Jared. Epic landslide.”

“Surprise!” says Trump dryly. “So who’s Andy’s VP?”

“Chris, his –”

“Brother, I know. What a fuck fest! Totally illegal.”

“The Senate, they changed them laws to permit sibs in office,” says Robert, trying not to show his happiness.

The gowned and masked Trump stomps for the White House, “Enough. I am gonna tell Cuomo face to face to get the fuck out of my oval office.”

“America’s hero, um, President Cuomo, he don’t work from here no more.”

Trump stops dead in his tracks and spins to ask, “What? Why?!”

“President Cuomo, you see, he made the White House into a coronavirus hospital. We call it the White Hospital now. I still work here. Trained nurse now on the front line,” says Robert proudly

“So where do I find the Cuomo brothers’ HQ?”

“You ain’t gonna like what I gotta tell you, sir,” says Robert kicking at the poorly mowed White House lawn.

“Stop fucking around and give it to me,” says Trump grabbing Robert by his hospital gown.

“The Cuomos brother, you see theyt work from the repossessed Trump Tower.”

“Fuck me.”

“After all the lawsuits for your — ahem — handling of the virus, well, it was your baby Ivanka’s only option,” says Robert warily.

“How’s Ivanka?!” asks Trump and then adds as an afterthought, “And the rest of my kids… and Melania?”

“Brace yourself… condolences,” says Robert hanging his head. “All dead except your boy, Barron.

“All my kids except Barron dead! Melania dead? But they were all in great health. The greatest.” says Trump with surprisingly little emotion.

“Wicked virus keeps mutating. Now it’s letting the Boomers alone. Been killing mostly peeps age 30 to 50 now. Eric, well, he went just last week. But not of the virus.”

“No?”

“Eric bowed out on a hunting trip trying to extinct the last Rhino. Rhino got him. So sorry, sir,” says Robert gently patting Trump and the back.

“Don’t be,” says Trump waving off Robert’s sympathy.

“Huh? I know you’re tough, sir. But that’s cold.”

“Not cold. It’s fine,” says Trump with a maniacal grin.

“Fine how?”

“Ha. This is all just a fever dream.” says Trump with a delerious chuckle.

“Wow. Love that shit. But sadly this is all too real, Donald, I mean, sir.”

“Believe what you want. I’m outta here,” Trump storms off for the White House

“Where you goin’, sir?” says a bewildered Robert.

“Back to my bedroom to wake the fuck up!”

Robert shrugs and lets Trump storm off to the White House to learn for himself.

END CHAPTER 2

 

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 1 – The Loneliest White House

Preface

To be up totally front with you, dear reader — think of me as a lost spirit brother to Governor Andrew Cuomo who likes to tell it straight too, warts and all — I’ve not been a Trump fan since his “co-written” 1987 Bestseller THE ART OF THE DEAL. What a shit he showed himself to be in that book. How he ever got to be president with how he treats everyone like a sucker is beyond me.

To think I had put all my Trump fears, built up over decades of seeing his antics in the media, aside to meditate in DC, along with my love Elizabeth, for the best possible presidency, for the world’s sake, at his Inauguration (see photo below).

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That’s my love Elizabeth in the penguin hat.

Welp, it was a short honeymoon because Trump was already steamrolling over the Standing Rock tribe by green-lighting the Dakota Access Pipeline within days of his dismal swearing in, even before Elizabeth and I headed back to Sedona.

And so, my Trump bias fully disclosed, I proudly present my parody… drum roll please…

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – #TrumpsFeverDream

Chapter One – THE LONELIEST WHITE HOUSE

A shabby shadow of his former self, President Trump aimlessly roams an abandoned hallway of the White House, now an empty ghost town. The leader of the free world, his bizarre mop of hair even more of a mess than usual, shuffles to an abrupt stop before an oil painting of JKF and vents loudly, “You had it easy, Jacko. The Cuban Missile Crisis was Jack shit compared to being a conservative running this liberal leaning country during a fucking pandemic!”

A Mexican cleaning woman wearing a surgeon’s mask leans her head out a conference room and quickly ducks back inside again. She takes a small cross on a chain from her blouse, kisses it and prays, “Jesus protect us all from the Anti-Christ.”

After glaring at JFK’s glorious image for an inordinate amount of time, Trump flips off the Kennedy painting and slumps away, a rumpled embodiment of depression.

A short time later, ny the light of FOX NEWS playing Sean Hannity broadcasting from his elegant home, Trump wolfs down half a Big Mac in three bites. He glibly washes the Mickey D down with a long noisy draw his straw dipped into an idiotically large plastic cup of Diet Coke.

Sean Hannity seems to speak directly to Trump from the big TV screen,”Hey Bud. Don’t listen to the commie loving liberals. You closed all travel from China the day you learned about the Chinese Virus, all way back in January. Your bold action was swift, decisive and all-American! If Pelosi and her corrupt Democrat Congress had not distracted you with their hoax impeachment we would never have lost so many precious Americans!”

“Hell yeah!” cheers Trump so loud it sends him into a coughing fit. Between coughs he desperately gasps for air. Trump finally regains control of his coughing and wipes sweat from his brow with a monogrammed DJT hanky, smeared with orange tan makeup. “Shit. Gotta get tested again. Nah. Probably just a budding ulcer this bullshit’s giving me. Fuck this. I give ulcers, not get them! I’m fine. I’m fine. ”

A short time later Trump brushes his teeth before the presidential bathroom mirror. Done, he grins smugly at his reflection, “Looking good, Donnie.”

The Donald in the mirror dryly answers back, “Like hell, loser.”

Trump drops his electric toothbrush clattering to the marble floor and leans to the mirror. He makes strange faces at himself, mimicked perfectly by his reflection. “Seeing things. Must be one those Covid hallucinations that fuck Fauci warned me about, or was it Jared?”

“Jared’s a buffoon’s buffoon,” says Trump’s perturbed reflection.

“Who the hell’s doing this shit? Gotta be a TV monitor behind the mirror doing some kind of deep fake!” growls Trump at his smirking reflection.

“Never thought you had a conscience, eh asshole?” says mirror Trump.

“Screw you. The FBI will figure this out for me and nail your sneaky liberal ass!”

“Right. The FBI loves your fat ass. Don’t they?” laughs mirror Trump.

Nervous as an orange tabby facing down a German Shepard, Trump rushes to turn off the light switch.

Mirror Trump quips, “See you in your dreams, killer.”

Trump scurries off to the bedroom, slamming the door to the bathroom behind him. He picks up a phone.  “Danny. — Shut up and listen. I wanna sweep done of my can. Someone’s hijacked my mirror.” Trump listens for a beat. “I don’t need a doctor. I need you to do what I fucking tell you!” Trump slams the phone down and angrily begins to tear his grungy outfit off.

Later, still shaken by his dark vision, Trump jams his chubby legs into his too tight red silk pajama bottoms.

A young black male servant, Robert, sporting an elegant, if there can be such a thing, surgical mask, pokes his roguishly handsome head through the presidential bedroom door and says, “Will there be anything else, Mr. President?”

“Nope. Those two Big Macs and fries will tide me over nicely.” Trumps says, punctuating his sentence with a, “Burp.”

“Night then, Mr. President,” says Robert doing his best to hide a shudder of revulsion.

Trump’s fluffs his pillow without acknowledging the kindly servant. He leaves Trump to his own rantings, gently closing the big paneled door.

“Robert?!” shouts Trump, loud enough to be heard through the soundproof door.

Robert peers his head back inside the door inquisitively.

“Come in, Robert. I need some, uh, advice,” says Trump with a pinch of boyish charm.

Robert apprehensively takes a chair that Trump offers by the crackling fireplace, tilting his head to the side to avoid Trump’s mask-free breath. The gorgeous smell of the roaring fireplace fills Robert’s nostrils. His big brown eyes close in bliss for just a moment and then he hides his feelings, straightening his butler jacket’s red vest.

Ever the salesman, Trump notices Robert’s blissful sniff and brags, “Tonight’s fire is genuine redwood from California’s National Redwood Forest. Gift from the lumber industry. Chopped me up 10 cords. Great guys lumberjacks. They will sweep the forest floor.  Biggest forestry contract ever!”

“You never fail to amaze me, sir,” offers Robert politically.

“Robert, here’s what I wanted a fireside chat about: Today Jake Tapper said everyone on my White House personal staff hates me.  This despite of the extra I pay I slip all of you huge bonuses under the table, 100% tax free I might add,” says Trump somberly.

“Well, we don’t always sees things eye to eye, Mister President,” says Robert, breaking into a warm reassuring and absolutely genuine smile you can see only in his eyes about the mask. “But ya know I love the fact you say exactly what’s on your mind!”

Without returning Robert’s kindness, Trump says, “Robert, how’s it make you feel when someone calls you nigger?”

“Why, uh, terrible. The worst sir.” says Robert, pain written on his angelic face.

“Well, that’s how I feel tonight, terrible in the nigger worst way,” says Trump dropping his head into his hands.

“About that N word, sir. I wish — ”

“Pence wants me killed.” whispers Trump, cutting Robert’s complaint off. “Keep your voice down, Pence might have my bedroom bugged.”

“Mr. Boy Scout? What makes you think that, sir?” asks Robert respectfully.

“Mike’s pissed I made him my fall guy for the ventilator shortage not Jared. But Jared’s is my son-in-law goddamit. Family comes first!” says Trump staring into the fireplace flames as if looking for answers.

“Amen to that. But relax, Vice Prez Pence wouldn’t hurt a fly, sir. Let alone you,” says Robert reassuringly.

“Wrong. It’s the quiet ones you gotta worry about, Robert. Pence wants me out of the way. He wants me dead so he can pin all the blame on all the Americans stacking up in mass fucking graves!” bellows Trump. “Robert, you’re the only guy I trust. Starting tomorrow I need you to make my McDonald’s runs personally.”

“Happy to but why, sir?”

“Poisoning. That’s how the sneaky boy scout is going bump me off. Try to. Will you do this for me, Robert. Can I count on you, brohiem? Did I say that right.  Am I hip.”

“The hippest, sir. Now, if you don’t mind –” Robert notices a trickle of sweat leave a traces of white skin at Trump temple. “May I, sir?”

“May you what?”

“Take your temperature,” says Robert pulling out a thermometer from his jacket.

“I’m fine. Just stress. No fever,’ says Trump unconvincingly.

“Well, I am going to get the White House doctor on the phone just in case,” says Robert picking  up a red phone. “Odd. Phone’s dead. Lemme get you into bed and I –”

” I AM FUCKING FINE!” roars Trump in defiance, going into a coughing jag.

“Hang on, Mr. President! Be right back with help!” Robert races out of the bedroom.

“Why is no one fucking listening to me?! I am fit as a fucking — “Trump falls like a tower of fast food to the plush carpet. The room dissolves into the form of a giant butterfly floating amidst a galaxy of stars.

Trump hollers in fear, awakening astride said giant butterfly.  Trump hollers again, seeing he’s totally naked.

The butterfly dive bombs for Washington DC., banks upside down and dumps Trump on the White House lawn. Naked, Trump tumbles to screaming halt in the thorny bushes of the Rose Garden.

A flashlight sets the spectacle that is naked Donald Trump aglow. Dressed in a bright yellow hospital gown, Robert, now sporting a goatee, tosses aside a cigarette and shouts, “Who goes there?”

“The President!” shouts Trump, hiding in the rose bushes.

“That you, President Cuomo?” says Robert with a puzzled squint as pulls on his surgical mask.

“President who?!” shouts Trump.

“Cuomo. Wait, what the, that you Donald?”

“Donald?!  Shut it and get me some clothes, Robert,” says the shivering Trump.

“But you’ve been missing 2 years now, um, former President Trump!” says Robert in shock. “Where you been?”

Trump’s orange face goes as white as his ample ass.

END CHAPTER ONE

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled?! – A Cosmic Parody

Happy evening of 11/11/19. I hope you will enjoy this somewhat humorous quantum meditation look ahead two days into one possible timeline. A fantasy that will not happen exactly as I write about here, but one that may paradoxically happen precisely in this way somewhere in the infinite multi-verse or later in this universe.

Take a deep cleaning breath, in through your nose and out your mouth five times. Congrats. You’ve just time traveled in your mind, breaking the speed of light, to the fateful first day of the Trump Impeachment hearings.

11/13/19, 6:30 AM AZ Time

I awaken groggy and ready for coffee. The first sunbeams light up the autumn leaves to the west out our bedroom windows in gorgeous Sedona. Not yet married 2 months, my love Elizabeth and I are still on our blissful honeymoon. At 67 years of age I have never been happier in my long life.

My beautiful bride has a delightful ritual of snuggling to start each day. But today I separate from Elizabeth’s well toned arms and silently slip from bed.

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I am as excited as a six-year old on Christmas morn because it’s Wednesday November 13th, the first day of the public Trump Impeachment hearings. I feel a twinge of regret leaving our love nest, but I know Elizabeth finds Trumpy stuff a YUGE time waste. She worked in Special Forces during her 17 years of military service to America and she feels quite sad about the low grade civil war we seem to be mired in.

Our little rescue dog Lincoln snores beside Elizabeth, keeping her company as I make my escape. Throwing on my trusty warm robe I close the door softly behind me and turn on the kitchen light.

Wow. Today’s the first live Impeachment hearing since I was in college during Watergate.

7AM is too early for popcorn while I devour the hearings. So I drop a frozen waffle in the toaster just as Elizabeth steps from the bedroom, pulling her white bathrobe around her lovely figure. Rubbing the sleep from her beautiful blue-green eyes Elizabeth says half asleep, “Why’d you leave bed without hugs, Ken?”

Lincoln hops against my plaid PJs as I say, trying not to sound like a guilty little boy, “Trump’s impeachment hearings start in –”

“Ken, I thought you said you weren’t going to watch the live hearings,” says Elizabeth playfully poking me in my all too Trump-like belly.  I welcome Elizabeth’s gentle scolding because she’s suffered through my serious Trump news addiction for 4 years now, sharing a small home office.

Elizabeth takes me into a forgiving hug. She’s without a doubt one of the greatest huggers on earth. She looks deep into my eyes and says,”I’ll make tea. Get the circus going.”

I flashback to the Trump inauguration Elizabeth and I attended with the support of our fans. Our mission: Hold a space of love and hope in the feisty red-capped crowd for  Trump’s first and hopefully only term in office. It was a hard thing for me because I’ve not been a fan of Trump’s brash style and the harsh way he treats people who serve him since the 1980s.

Love Trumps Hate

Unfortunately, the Ukraine scandal has fired my Trump news addiction back up again. I worry that watching the hearings this morning — and the inevitable cycle of Trump’s feisty blowback — might be harmful to the peaceful energies of my idyllic life here in Sedona.

Little Lincoln pokes me with his paws again. begging for his forgotten breakfast. This snaps me out of yet another of my Trump spells. I pop open the refrigerator and pull out his dog food. I multi-task finishing my waffle, dropping Lincoln’s food in his green plastic bowl to the floor with a familiar little clatter and hurry to the living room.

“Tea’s almost ready” says Elizabeth cheerfully from the open kitchen as I fumble through the hollow book that holds our TV’s remote controls.

I surf to channel 53, CNN here in Sedona where Anderson Cooper is talking without sound. The CNN title card in this waking dream Trumpian fantasy reads:

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled!

“What the fuck?!” I shout so loudly Elizabeth drops her tea pot spilling to the counter.

“What?!” Elizabeth shouts as she rips off some paper towel. and quickly starts a cleanup.

“I don’t know. Somehow Trump has gotten his impeachment hearings canceled!”

Elizabeth races to the couch, “Where’s the volume?”

Diving to look under the couch on the floor I say, looking at dust bunnies, “Not here.”

I hear Anderson Cooper’s excited voice boom from the sound system that Elizabeth has obviously found first. Anderson says:

“… you just watched Chairman Adam Schiff announce the unbelievable: President Trump has stolen the thunder from today’s live Impeachment hearings in announcing he will resign the presidency of the United States of America, effective noon Eastern time on this historic November 13th 2019.”

Elizabeth and I leap to our feet and dance and scream for joy! Lincoln runs for his safety zone in our bedroom closet. I sweep Elizabeth into the pose of the famous New York kiss of the sailor and the young woman at the end of World War Two.

Can this really be happening (or happen in two days)?  Yes, on several timelines Trump resigns just as Nixon did. But not to avoid the shame, the man has none, but by shrewdly accepting the certainty that the Impeachment of Congress could go either way amid eroding public support. So Trump wisely cuts the deal of his life to be pardoned along with all his family and businesses in return for his resignation.

And now back to our Trumpian fantasy. About noon DC time Elizabeth and I stop working on shipping product for CoolestTechEver.com (shameless plug) to watch TV again. Trump shouts over the noise of the presidential chopper. His face beet red from the shouting, Trump goes on for what seems agonizingly forever. He rambles in a rally-like diatribe against the Deep State, Crooked Hilary and Obama, who he still says was born in Kenya, and more and more. Trump rails on:

“..in anyone’s book, even in Shifty Schiff’s, my Ukraine call was totally perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Truth is I only resign today because Mark Burnett and I have reached a deal for me to star in our new reality show THE WHITE HOUSE APPRENTICE, airing Monday 7PM Eastern on NBC. Filming starts right now!”

“Hail to the Chief” plays as Trump high fives his loyal staffers who line the White House lawn leading to the presidential chopper. Head held high, former President Trump proudly strides up to President Pence and bear hugs him off the ground. Trump is already miked for reality TV and so we hear:

“Thanks for the pardon, pard! They’ll be after your sweet ass next, Mikey.” says Trump with a winner’s grin.

“I know, Don. I know. Mother and I are ready to do battle.” says President Pence as  Trump walks away, not listening.

Clown to the last, Trump hurries up the little set of stairs, pieces of toilet paper stuck to both his shoes. Trump hams up the Nixon farewell pose as a gag to the laughter from many; but not Jared and Ivanka, whose plans for world domination have been crushed by ex-president Donald J. Trump.

Impeachment Hearings Canceled

Qanon tweets on 11/14.19 that the toilet paper bit was an intentional insult to the left-wing media to kiss his ass.

End fantasy meditation. We now return you to your present timeline.

Which timeline to which of endless possible futures are you actually on? Trump’s outrageous resignation visualized here? Trump’s rise to become the most outrageous dictator in our blue world’s history? Trump as a humbled man who mends his ways and becomes a surprisingly great president? Somewhere in between? Stay positive imaging please.

Oh and no imagining Trump starts World War 3 timelines please!!! You are far more powerful than you know.

Well, we’ll all know more about what this timeline you’re reading this blog holds on Wednesday. Good night, my fellow meditation fans.

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And here’s the promised audio version. Note that it’s edited to be shorter than the written version.