Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 11 – To Nuke or Not to Nuke Kenosha That is the Question

Spoiler Alert! WordPress puts up the blogs on the home page in the order I write them. So if you want to start your read from the Chapter One – The Loneliest White House click the link!

Meanwhile, when we last visited the alternate Trump universe, one timeline away… Trump’s harebrained insurrection succeeded in a wonky as hell overthrow of the rightful US government.

A gruesome house to house battle, dubbed The Blue Civil War, erupted to put the rightful President, Joe Biden, into the Oval office. And has so far cost 396,423 American lives.

Furious his son Don Jr. perished in the opening minutes of the Battle for George Floydland (formerly known as Kenosha), Trump has done the unthinkable — even for him — and ordered a strategic bomber to drop a North Korean tactical nuke, gifted by Kim Jung-un, on the Blue state of Wisconsin.

We now join…

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – Chapter 11 – TO NUKE OR NOT TO NUKE KENOSHA THAT IS THE QUESTION

A strategic bomber glides the starry skies over Lake Michigan beneath the full moon. In the bomber cockpit a heated argument rages between the pilot and co-Pilot.

“Orders are orders!” shouts the pilot.

“Not when the fucking order is to nuke a city on American soil for a delusional illegitimate president!” bellows the co-pilot.

Pilot and co-pilot reach for their pistols. BANG! Both shot through the forehead, the dead pilots slump over the bomber’s blood splattered controls. The bomber nose dives into Lake Michigan and sinks for the murky depths.

The desperate bomber crew wrestle to open escape hatches as the cabin rapidly fills with water.

Water flows from an ornate sink tap. Trump brushes his teeth, drowsily gazing at himself in the Presidential bathroom mirror. Trump almost jumps out of his orange skin when his reflection stops brushing and says, “Stop your compulsive brushing and listen up.”

“Not listening! La-la-la! Can’t hear you!” says Trump as angrily brushes his teeth, bleeding gums and all.

Trump’s body man Robert calls out from the bedroom where he is turning down the bed for Trump, “Everything OK, sir?”

“Peachy,” grouses Trump sticking his tongue out at his pissed off reflection and resumes brushing.

“Everything is definitely not ‘peachy’. You fucking ordered a nuclear strike on American soil!” says Trump’s reflection.

“Relax. The bomber sunk off the coast of Milwaukee. Zero casualties.”

“What about the bomber crew?” says the Trump reflection. As he waves his arms the bathroom in the reflection becomes an opulent Mar A Lago bathroom. “Here in my reality, where I bravely called off the insurrection to regroup and keep donations rolling, you’re making me glad about my peaceful strategy. You’re a moron!”

“Who you calling a moron, Moron? Your aborted insurrection was a way, way bigger dud than my sunken bomber.”

Robert finally pokes his smiling Black face into the bathroom, “Damed Adderall’s making you talk to yourself again, sir. Gotta listen –“

Trump yanks Robert into the bathroom and shouts as points to the mirror, “Look! Look with your big Black eyes! See him! There! There’s the pathetic loser Trump from another universe who got his fat ass thrown out of the White House!”

Trump’s reflection laughs spitefully, but all Robert sees or hears in the mirror is himself and the manic Trump beside him. Robert hoarsely whispers, “God blessed the USA tonight when that bomber crashed into Lake Michigan.”

Ignoring Robert, Trump spins hearing Blue State President Biden’s voice coming from the bedroom TV flat screen and he shoves his way past his befuddled body man.

“My fellow Americans, the illegitimate ruler of the Red States, dubbed Trumptopia by the mad king himself, Donald J. Trump launched a nuclear strike on George Floydland, formerly known as Kenosha Wisconsin, tonight. Fortunately, through divine providence, the stealth bomber carrying the nuke crashed 15 miles off the coast of Milwaukee before delivering its North Korean supplied dirty bomb,” says the fuming Biden.

“Dirty bomb? How dare he!” says Trump to the emotionless Robert. “Kim’s beauty was a Neutron bomb that only kills people. All the real estate would have been left intact.”

Robert mutes Biden and slowly twists to Trump,saying loudly, “‘Only ‘kills people’? You mean like my brother and my whole family who live in Kenosha?”

“George Floydland. Uh, Kenosha is now called Geroge Floydland. Why’d you people name it like that, Robert?” says Trump patiently waiting for an answer.

“No idea and I frankly I don’t give a fuck, sir. Lemme ask you a question. You mind, sir?” says Robert.

“Seems like no matter what I say you’re gonna. Knock yourself out,” says Trump tugging on a fluffy red robe.

“Did you actually believe that shit in your speech tonight, about that nuke, might be able to end the civil war quicker? Or was that something you just made up, just doing your thing?”

“Thing?” puzzles Trump.

“The thing you love to do. You know, lying about shit so hard you can smell it,” says Robert quivering with rage.

“Don’t get smart with me. That is unless you want to be the first nigger lynched on the White House lawn.”

Robert pulls Trump’s gold plated .45 from from under Trump’s heavily embroidered pillow, “Fuck this! I am so done actin’ the house nigger with you, you faded frat boy!”

“A joke. I was joking, Robert!”

“A joke about lynchin’. Ha fucking ha. Now get on the fucking floor and get your tiny hands behind your thick skull,” says Robert, ignoring the pounding at the door and shouting of Trumptopia Troopers.

“Whoa, Robert. I know things have been a little tough on your people in the Blue States, but that’s no call to go all Samuel Jackson on me with the potty mouth routine,” says Trump using all his charm as he awkwardly lays face down on the floor.

“Huh. “Little tough’ on my people, motherfucker? 93 fucking percent of the casualties of the Blue — ain’t nothin’ civil about this motherfucking Civil War — are fucking Black. What a Goddamn shit show on both sides. I mean fuck Joe Biden up the ass too for his “Who’s the best Whitey War” while 3 times more of my people are still dying of the goddamn Covid than you white devils!”

“I don’t know where to go with that. I can barely understand you talking all jivey and shit all of sudden. Where’s my sweet Black pal?”

“Pal? A pal does not change your damn diaper. A pal does not have his brother’s family living in Kenosha threatened with a –” says Robert, annoyed to be cut off by Trump.

“George Floydland. Uh, Kenosha is now called George Floydland. Why’d you people rename it like that, Robert?” says Trump patiently waiting for an answer.

“You are so fucking losing it, Donnie boy. Asked me that dumb ass question two minutes ago,” says Robert tying Trump’s hands with the cords off the curtains.

“Careful with the curtains, they’re a gift from Putin. Come on. Tell me why Kenosha changed it’s name to George Floydland.”

“How the fuck should I know why the people of Kenosha, site of the first Red states attack in the USA that killed almost every Black person in mother fucking Kenosha, except my brother Freddie and his eight kids, all nephews, while Biden was busy in France –”

Trump tries to turn over and Robert pistol whips him, “Stay rock-still motherfucker! Now where was I?”

Breathing laboriously, Trump manages to say, “Outta your mind. My men will break down that door and shoot you, unless I make this… O-O-O-OK.”

Robert grins that Trump is having trouble breathing on the hardwood floor. “Perhaps, Mr. White Racist President, as you ain’t breathin’ so good layin’ on your big old belly, like George Floyd did — minus two cops layin’ on his back and one mother fuckin’ Chauvin perched on his neck — might help you to understand how it felt when your Nazi shock troops unleashed nerve gas on my Kenosha people and took their damn breath away.”

“That was General Bannon! Donald Trump had nothing to do with the gassing of innocent Blacks in Kenosha.”

“Don’t ya mean, George Floydland, Mr. Real President?” says Robert putting his knee to Trump’s neck.

“Sorry! Sorry, Robert! Don’t do this!” gasps Trump.

“Do what?” chuckles Robert.

Trump barely gets the words out, “Choke… me… out… like… Floyd.”

The sound of an axe hacking away at the secure door makes it hard to hear either man, so Robert raises his voice, “I ain’t choking you out, bro! Just helping you understand that maybe your Trumptopia Red troops asphyxiating 3,210 Black people in Kenosha coulda, you know, inspired the city council of mostly White crackers to rename Kenosha George Floydland.”

“Why would the hell would they do that?’ says Trump, his face starting to turn blue from Robert’s knee on his neck.

“Fuck you, Trump. Ya’all’s stallin’ ‘while your white boys knock that door in, ain’t ya? Get up, fatso!” shouts Robert yanking Trump to his feet just as the reinforced door bursts open. An elite swat team of three beefy rednecks bursts through the shattered door into Trump’s White House bedroom.

The blonde haired blue eyed Swat Team leader tries to take aim on Robert, but Trump is squarely in the way, so he shouts, “Release Real President Trump! Do it now. Do it now, nigger!”

“Chill the fuck out, Fritz Von Swat Leader. Drop all your God damn weapons or this old as fuck frat boy here gets it.”

The swat team look at each other in confusion.

“NOW, YOU PALE-ASSED MOTHERFUCKERS!” barks Robert, jamming the gold plated .45 into Trump’s mop of orange hair.

“Do what he says! Do what he says!” barks Trump. The Swat team all reluctantly drop their weapons.

Robert cracks a victorious smile and calmly says, “Nice work, boys. Now pay real good attention to what ya’all gotta do next.”

Half an hour later Robert, Trump in tow, exits the White House onto the smoke choked front lawn. They cross the White House lawn for the waiting Marine One chopper. Robert tosses Trump aboard and gives a bow to the pissed off swat team.

“Fuck!” shouts the swat team leader who watches helplessly along with dozens of soldiers as the chopper lifts off into the DC night sky… and EXPLODES

Sirens blare as the fiery twisted wreckage Marine One crashes into the Washington Monument.

Meanwhile 200 feet below the surface of Lake Michigan, amidst the floating bodies of the dead strategic bomber crew, a 24 hour countdown clocks lights up on the North Korean nuke.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 12 OF TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM

As always my handy disclaimer that this story is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers or for that matter the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

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