Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 7 – Weekend at Trumpie’s

Meanwhile One Timeline Away… in a universe not very far away… an obese President Donald Trump, very much like our own, living on a parallel Earth, very much like our own, lays intubated, deep in a Covid coma.

Steve Bannon paces the White House presidential bedroom that’s been converted into a hospital room for the unconscious lump of Trump.  Running his stubby hands through his unruly mop of salt and pepper hair, Bannon stops pacing to stare in disbelief and despair at his pal Trump through the clear plastic wall the separates them.

Losing her small amount of patience Ivanka says, “Well, Will you do it, Steve?”

Bannon hesitates for long beat before answering coyly, “I need time, Ivanka. He’s in a damn coma. How am I supposed to run a campaign with him fucking unconscious?”

Jared chuckles offering, “Ever seen WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S?”

“No.” say Bannon and Ivanka in unison.

“You guys are no fun,” says Jared, sounding high as a kite on something.

“I’VE GOT IT!” shouts Bannon, frightening Robert, Trump’s Black aid, who is replenishing Trump’s IV bag. It falls to the floor and bursts on the makeshift tiles.

“Quiet. Respect for my father-in-law,” scowls Jared.

“Respect from the WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S guy? A movie where Bernie is dead and some freeloaders use Bernie’s corpse to stretch out their free ride?” says Bannon sternly.

“No fair, Steve. You said you hadn’t seen it,” says Jared sheepishly.

“I lied to save you the embarrassment in front of the President’s wife.”

“Don’t you mean daughter?” says Ivanka.

Bannon remains smugly silent.

Robert slips on the fluid spill and falls to the floor, sending a tray of instruments flying. A flying scalpel impales Trump’s forearm but the trio of plotters are so engrossed they miss Trump’s impalement.

“So what do you have, or got, Steve?” asks Ivanka.

“And please don’t say Covid,” half-jokes Jared.

“Overdoing the Zoetis again, darling?” ask Ivanka, her cheeks flush with anger.

“Maybe…”

“Knock off the jokes. My father’s, and our, political futures hang in the balance. Go ahead, Steve. We’re all ears,” says Ivanka, oozing sex appeal to get her way by pinching Bannon’s ugly cheek.

Bannon swats Ivanka’s cheek tweak away, distracted as he watches Robert bandage a blood spurt where Robert pulls out the flying scalpel. Bannon takes a long breath and grunts, “Either of you familiar with deep fake videos?”

“We sure as hell are. A porn deep fake of me fucking a donkey while Ivanka rubs her ample breasts in the donkey’s happy face has 10 million views and counting,” says Jared drowsily with a yawn.

“Ew. Disgusting.” says Ivanka, nodding rapidly in agreement.

“Well, minus the donkey and the sex all we need to do is get a great voice actor with the same build as Donald.”

“Why would people want to see a video of Donald fucking a donkey?” ask Jared incredulously.

“Silly, the donkey is the mascot for the Dems, ” says Ivanka, proud of her political acumen.

“Enough with the donkey shit. We do this legit.  An impassioned speech from his sick bed! We make a deep fake video of your father coming out of his coma to rouse to the base with a red meat attack on the old fuck Biden,” offers Bannon.

“Genius! I’ll never know why Daddy fired you,” says Ivanka kissing Steve on the cheek.

“Wasn’t fired. I quit, ” brags Bannon.

“Ha. And Nancy Pelosi is really Q, ” jokes Jared.

Ivanka gives Jared a shot in the arm as she says, “Zip it. Go on, Steve.

“The Q balls love the sexual dirt. So in his deep fake speech let’s have Donald’s double accuse Biden of having a S&M affair with Kamala,” Bannon says dryly.

Ivanka hugs Bannon so hard and he get a little boner and tries to hide it with a Wall Stree Journal.

Jared jealously look on and says, “The security risks are enormous. Where can we find a Trump imitator we can trust?”

“Simple. We just use them for the deep fake and then kill them!” cheerfully offers Ivanka.

Bannon pulls out his cell phone and dials, “No. We need to keep the imposter alive long ’cause we need more than one Trump deep fake video. And I know just the man to help us. The Man!”  Bannon waits a beat as his phone rings an unknown caller who finally picks up. “Vlad?”

“Steven, we speak alone?” says Putin on Bannon’s cell phone speaker.

“Uh, yeah.” says Bannon motioning for Ivanka and Jared to keep quiet. “Remember that double guy we were going to murder in Donald’s place, if Donny boy would have been impeached, then smuggle Donnie boy out into Mother Russia for amnesty?”

“Da.” says Putin warily.

24 hours later…

A naked Yuri Yakov, who could easily stunt double for Trump, slips into a hospital gown with the seal of the president printed on the chest. Yuri says to the nervous looking Bannon, “Relax, Commrade Bannon. –”

“Call me, Steve please.”

“How about Steverino?” says Yuri imitating Trump.

“Steve!”

“When we go live?”

“Never. This shit is taped so I can add in the deep fake in later. Doing the damn edit myself.”

“Relax, bro. Can’t be too hard to make a deep fake if kids on the internet are making these damned things.  Haha! I love the one where Bill Hader turns in to Tom Cruise. How ‘ bout you, comrade Steve?”

“Just, Steve! Cut the chi chat, Yuri, and study your fucking lines!”

“Comra  — Ah Steve, why so tense, my brother in this deepest of deep fakes?”

“Melania’s due back tonight after cutting her month long sabbatical short. So we need to wrap this up pronto and get her bedroom back to normal in…,” Bannon pauses to read his watch and adds, “Exactly seven hours.”

Meanwhile at the grand stairway…

An exhausted Melania slumps her way up the stairway to the presidential residential quarters. She’s spotted by a shocked Ivanka and Jared, standing guard for Bannon.

“Momma! You’re home 7 hours ahead of schedule. How nice!” shouts Jared rushing down the stairs to intercept Melania.

“Jared, you have never called me Momma before. What is wrong?! Donald dead?!”

“No, no. Of course not. But he’s in no shape for visitors now.” says Ivanka nervously.

“Fine. I need a bath. Bad weather. My flight was as exhausting one of Donald’s accursed rallies or protests or whatever he’s calling them to lure these fools to the deaths.  Such stupid people Trumpies.”

“Let me treat you to coffee, Melania!” says Jared yanking Melania down the stairway.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Cocoa then?”

“Why are you keeping me from my bedroom, Jared?”

Jared panics into silence but Ivanka takes over. “Redecorating! They are redecorating your bedroom, Melania, and it won’t be done for several hours. How’s an OJ sound?”

“Fuck off the both of you! Decorating of the White House is my department!” Melania storms past Jared and Ivanka up the stairs. They shrug to each other, not knowing what to do.

Meanwhile on the set that’s been built in Melania’s First Lady bu dour…

Yuri is doing a very convincing voice imitation of Trump, “Q is saying Kamala first dines on babies before bull whipping a naked Biden –”

Bannon shouts, “Cut!”

“Ghost of Khrushchev! What was wrong with that one, Comr — Steve?” sobs Yuri.

“Be stronger. Trump may not be bright but he’s an amazing leader,” says Bannon, getting up in Yuri’s face.

“Agree with you… on the not bright part. Haha.”

“I don’t need your fucking opinion. I need a stronger Trump!”

“Before I do take 20 here, answer me a question, or no more takes.” coyly offers Yuri,

“What?”

“I noticed, Steve, that you were fired on — ”

“Quit not fired.”

“OK, so you quit August 2017 and then, presto, October 2017, Q makes their first post on the web.”

Bannon sighs in frustration and says, “Totally coincidental. Now –”

“And then there are clues in your name.”

“My name?”

“B-a-n-n-o-n.”

“I know how to spell my fucking name!”

“Replace the B in your name with a Q and you have QAnnon!”offers Yuri, immensely pleased with his conspiracy theory.

“QAnon is spelled with two Ns after the A, not three, Cocka.”

“There’s no need to call me a dummy in my mother tongue!”

Bannon pulls a gun and shouts at the trembling Yuri, “The script! Stronger! Action!”

Melania burst into her bedroom and Bannon spins to see who has barged in and his pistol accidentally goes off. BANG!

A rapidly spreading dot of red blood appears over Melani’s heart on her pristine white dress.

Melania softly says, “Ouch.” and then she falls to Steve’s feet.

Steve takes Melania’s pulse, “Dead as Trump’s brother Robert. Fuck me…” says Bannon, dropping the gun to the floor.

END CHAPTER 7 – WEEKEND AT TRUMPIE’S

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 6 – Mt. Rushmore and the Bunker Rebels

Welcome to my Covid writing therapy project. Hope you’ve read chapter 1-5.

It’s weird, – and what isn’t these Covid days ? – but have you ever noticed how many things written as fiction actually come to pass? For example the 2000 Motorola flip phone was first imagined by Gene Rodenberry for the 1966 premiere of STAR TREK.

Since April I’ve been developing TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM and, sure enough, some parts of the story are really coming to pass. Ultimately, will Trump eventually contract Covid-19 as in the premise of this strange tale, one that would be a comedy were the real life tragedy of Trump mismanagement not so sad?

Not that I’d ever wish such an ill event on our wannbe king, but we can dream can’t we that his catching the virus, not likely as he has the testing we all dream of, might awaken his long lost conscience? Indeed, anything is possible in a world where Trump fans, gathered in the middle of a pandemic, cheer a drink of water.

CHAPTER 6 – Mt. Rushmore and the Bunker Rebels

Dr. Faucci makes a deep incision in Trump’s throat in the exact spot where Trump was shot in the throat by his conscience in his wild west fever dream.  Blood trickles, crossing the orange tan line where Trump’s bloated chest meets his saggy neck.

Faucci says, “OK, I’ve successfully made the incision to avoid the President’s damaged throat tissue from his drinking bleach. Now you make the insertion of the ventilator tube, Dr. Edwards.” Dr. Edwards takes over the operation,

Ivanka, sporting the latest Paris fashion Covid mask, rises to her feet along with the mask wearing Jared when Dr. Faucci exits the surgery room. She asks nervously, “Doctor, is my Daddy going to pull through?”

Dr. Faucci sighs deeply and wipes sweat from his forehead, “A tracheotomy is an relatively easy procedure. My real concern is that your father hid his catching virus for too long.”

“That’s no answer, Tony!” blurts Jared, his normally high pitched feeble voice nearly inaudible beneath his red, white and blue mask.

Dr. Faucci ignores Jared and addresses Ivanka, “Your father’s odds of a recovery are quite low. And if he does ever recover, he may be in a shape where can no longer serve as president.”

Ivanka spins to sob on Jared’s tiny chest.

In the adjacent operating room, dead to the real world, Trump does not stir on the operating table as Dr. Edwards inserts the air tube in Faucci’s tracheotomy incision. The operating room fades from view as the White House Bunker fades into view…

Nestled safely in his bunker, the real world a forgotten memory, Trump does his best presidential poker face as his advisors wrangle with a new series of more violent protests.

Larry Kudlow gasps as on the big screen array of BLM protestors use a stolen city bus to flatten the White House fence. The angry mob charges the heavily armed Secret Service Agents.

Barr says, “Relax, Larry.  Our secret troops learned in Portland how to put these dogs to sleep.”

“Relax? This is revolution! And we all know what happens to the player in an old regime, especially one as cruel as ours,” croaks Larry.

Trump laughs at Larry and says, “Chill, Larry. Theses walls of this vault are 6 feet thick, or something like that kinda thickness. Tremendously thick walls.  And we have all the comforts of home here. The best champagne.  The best caviar.  Bobby’s secret service troops are handpicked for their –”

On screen the Federal Troops lay down their weapons and the angry mob races past them.

“What in Holy Hell?” shouts Trump, cracking one of TV screens with his tiny fists.

The Director of the Secretive Service, James Murray, calmly says to the gasping Trump, “Not to worry, sir. Like you just said, in your genius way, the rioters cannot possibly reach us down here.”

“Right. The lowlifes have zero chance, sir!” shouts Miller, almost making a Nazi salute, which he fakes into a stretch.

“Let’s get back to talking about my new fantastic Mt. Rushmore monument to the greatest presidency ever! Mine!” says Trump imperiously. “Tell me about getting head, Kayleigh.”

The men all laugh at Trump’s sexist joke, while Kayleigh does her best to hide her disgust She rolls a model of Mt Rushmore into the bunker conference room. “Mr. President, I afraid the Rushmore survey ream has determined that there is not enough structural integrity to the surrounding rock to add an your incredible face.”

“I am not happy about this, Kayleigh!” grumps Trump, folding his arms across his big belly.

Screen Shot 2020-08-09 at 5.03.13 PM

“It’s OK, Mr. President. We have a solution…” Kayleigh loses her train of thought as on the big screen a mass of militant protestors take baseball bats to the badly outnumbered Federal troops.  Many protestors fall and die under heavy gunfire from the troops, but an endless stream bat and machete wielding protestors take their place in the bloody battle for the White House.

“Go on Kayleigh. Don’t worry about the losers up there. Nigger scum.” snarls Steve Miller.

“The losers can’t reach us. Go on, Kayleigh. Give me some head!” chuckles Trump.

Mastering her outrage Kayleigh says, “Well, it’s simple. All we have to do is re-chisel one of the four heads into your amazing image, sir.  All that remains is for you to pick who you want to replace. Who shall it be, Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt or Lincoln, sir?”

Trump relishes at this historic decision making moment, spinning around and around in his larger than anyone else’s leather chair, and finally decreeing,”Q-Anon calls me the greatest civil rights leader of all time. Lowest unemployment for blacks ever, before the Covid started killing them off like flies, so I pick to replace the head of Abraham Lincoln be replaced by my very own much more handsome face. My base will love it and my haters can eat shit and die.”

Barr offers obsequiously, “Brilliant choice as always, sir!  It’s true you have supplanted Lincoln in the hearts of the people after all!”

The gathering of white men plus one frustrated woman in Kayleigh give Trump a standing ovation.

For a split-second Trump is back in the real world as surgical team tech turns the breathing machine on. Trump heartbeat stops on the monitor. Dr. Fauci takes up shock paddles and shouts, “Clear!”

Shocked back into his bunker fever dream Trump point at the security monitor and bellows, “What?! The niggers are in my Oval offices!”

Trump and his team watch helplessly as security TV screen shows a rush of protestors of all races and creeds swarm into the Oval Office

Trump demands, “Murray, set off the self-destrust bomb and blow the fucking Antifa anarchists off the face of the earth!”

Murray pleadingly turns to Barr who coldly nods for him to carry out Trump’s command. “You heard the president.”

Turning to the monitors, where the Resolute Desk is set aflame, Murray anguishes and finally croaks, “I respectfully decline to carry out your orders to blow up the  protestors, sir. You have my resignation.”

Trump spins to Defense Secretary Esper and roars, “Esper, wipe out these fucking terrorists!”

“These are American citizen’s, Mr. President. I respectfully refuse and resign as well,”

“Where are our Portland shock and awe troops?!”shouts Miller

“In transit to Milwaukee,” answers Barr.

“Well, get them here it DC pronto! Seen this Tweet?” says Trump, jamming a cell phone in Barr’s saggy fat face.

The gaggle white men crowd around Trump’s cell phone that reads:

“Lynch the #BunkerBaby!

“The bastards are still calling me BunkerBaby again, even after I crushed them in Lafayette Square!”

“Um, sir, my mom taught me sticks and stones may break –”

“Shut the fuck up! Sageant Cosco, escort these traitor my bunker!”

“Name’s Rosco. Mr. President, and I am afraid Mr. Esper and Mr. Murray cannot leave as we’re sealed in.”

“Look, COSCO. No one’s in the hallway!” shouts Trump.

“Now. But, sir the 2 ton door operates slowly by the time we see rioters we could –”

“Break the seal!” demands Trump.

“– be fucked.” finishes Sergeant Rosco feebly. “I will remind the president that there is angry mob right outside the vault door! Open it and you could kills us all.”

Trump defiantly pushes the open button and gloats, “Fuck off. Want something done right you, um, something something. ”

Miller takes charge, “Seargent Rosco remove, Mr. Esper and Mr. Murray from my bunker or you’re facing a firing squad for disobeying your commander and chief!”

Trump beams and he proclaims ,“All clear! As Winston, uh, Church-something, the Brit guy,  once said we have nothing to fear but, ah, fuck it –”

Gunfire erupts as mob of rioters race up the long hall for the open bunker door.

“Seal the bunker! Protect the presi –” Sergeant Rosco falls to the marble floor, bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

Kayliegh shouts to the mob, “Power to the people. I am not with the dictator sexist, racist Trump anymore!”

The protestors get such a kick out of Trump’s sad reaction to Kayleigh’s betrayal they let her slip away.

An angry Black man races up to a screaming Trump and raises a bloody hatchet.

Trump begs on his knees, “Black lives matter!  Praise Jesus! Black live matter! Spare me and I’ll sign any law you want!”

Trump curls in a ball and weeps like a baby sucking his thumbs, eyes slammed shut waiting for a death blow.

The angry black man laughs saying, “Pathetic!” as he plant the axe in Trump’s orange head.  Blood gushes and all goes black.  Faintly the beep of a life monitor gets louder and Trump’s eyes flicker open.

Thrilled to be back in the real world where he on life support, Trump peeps open his eyes to see his loyal personal Black attendant Robert reading the newspaper beside his hospital bed. Trumps bloodshot feverish eyes close.

We see the Robert’s Washington Post’s headline reads:

PRESIDENT CONTRACTS VIRUS. LIFE HANGS BY THREAD!

The End

 

 

THE WIZARD AND THE ICE FAIRY – Part One

“The notion that science and spirituality are somehow mutually exclusive does a disservice to both.”– Carl Sagan

By Ken Sheetz

Once upon an alternate universe, a wizard named Zlyph did battle with an evil green dragon who had slain his king and queen while he was on a quest to a far away land.

The master-less wizard fought the green dragon with a magical ice sword to the highest minaret of the castle.

“Why do you persist, wizard? Your king and queen are ash.  This castle is now my realm!”  bellowed the dragon, blasting a gout of green flame.

“Guilt for being far away when you made your sneak attack compels me, foul one.  Vengeance for King Ior and Queen Ilsa!” said the wizard Zylph.  But he tripped over a fallen knight’s armor and was knocked out.

The green dragon cackled as he loomed over the unconscious wizard, “Too easy! Farewell, wizard.”  The green dragon drew in a deep breath and prepared to incinerate Zylph.

But before the wicked dragon could strike a fairy queen made of ice leaped from the wizard’s sword.

“Dragon, you should be ashamed of yourself!” the ice fairy queen shouted.

The dragon reeled back a few paces and said, “Ashamed of what?”

“Ashamed of a rage and fury that has taken enough lives. Go now in peace and leave this wizard to mourn the loss of his tribe,” said the ice fairy queen.

“I, I’ve met none such as you in the worlds I travel. I sense no fear in you whatsoever. You have extinguished me rage, my flame… But I can still crush you in my jaws!” the green dragon snapped at the ice fairy queen but she simply turned to snow flakes that reformed a few feet away.

“Do not try my patience, dragon. You shall not have the wizard for he is a savior to my people. I guard him forever. Fly for your life now, or face my icy wrath!” said the ice fairy queen.

“I shall depart and leave this old fool to you. My work is done here. But before I take wing there is a price for my leave,” said the dragon.

“Ask and I will consider, dragon.”

“Your name, fairy. What is it so that I may curse your name in my exile from the castle I rightly won in combat?” said the green dragon.

“I am known as Antarcticania, queen of the Orions. But know this, dragon. Curse me and your belly will turn to ice and you will perish in an instant. Be gone. You waste my time. I must tend to the wizard Zylph, savior of my people. Fly!” said Antarcticania setting loose blizzard atop the castle.

The dragon leaped into the winter storm bellowing in rage, “You have not seen the last of me, witch!”

The wizard blinked his eyes as he awoke in the king’s bed. He rubbed the knot on the back of his head, remembering he had been knocked cold in his battle with dragon.

“How in King Ior’s name did I get in the king’s bed?” said the wizard, not expecting and answer and shocked when the ice fairy queen stepped through the door. But she wore an enchantment that made her look like a simple peasant woman, through which her inner fairy beauty shone through like the sun behind a heavy laden snow cloud.

“Please lay back on rest, brave wizard. You’ve had a nasty blow to the head and may be suffering forgetfulness of your amazing defeat of the green dragon,” said the ice fairy, taking no credit for saving the wizard.

“Last thing I remember was tripping over something and conking my thick skull,” said the wizard laying back down from dizziness.

“Perhaps, great one, you have cast a spell over yourself to cause you to battle when your wits are affected,” smiled the ice fairy.

“Where is my ice sword, fair one?” said the wizard.

“You impaled the dragon with the ice sword and he flew off in a rage of hellfire ice sword and all,” said the ice fairy, keeping the secret she and the ice sword were one from the dazed wizard.

“Hmm. I can be scrappy. I guess my instincts took over. But I would never drag myself to the royal chamber to slumber,” grumped the wizard.

“You passed out after defeating the dragon and I carried you here. I meant no disrespect to your king and queen, god rest their souls,” said the ice fairy.

“Who are you? And why are you here when all perished in the castle?” said the wizard, his suspicion growing by the second.

“I am Anna, a simple severing girl of Queen Ilsa’s. I hid deep in the castle’s secret chambers during the dragon attack, ” smiled the ice fairy queen, not revealing her royal standing.

As the ice fairy smiled, the walls of the castle melted before the shocked wizard’s eyes.  The wizard transformed into a 20-year-old college student, Kyle Rodger, sitting before computer screen where the green dragon was battling the ice fairy.

“Thanks, Mr. Rodgers, that will be all for today.  Don’t want to keep you from your classes,” said a lab tech as she removed electrodes from Kyle’s head.

End Part One