by William Thomas
When President Donald J. Trump walked onto the raised dais in the gymnasium where he'd ordered the White House Press Room relocated, the high-school echo-chamber resounded with babble and bedlam as reporters raised their hands and shouted for attention, like Wall Street traders trying to get their bids in at the opening bell.
Trump, as always looked resplendent in his long red, penis-pointing tie. Standing behind a podium emblazoned with an exaggerated presidential seal framed by the words, TRUMP INC., the Donald raised his hand for quiet.
"I just have a brief statement to read," he began and stopped, waiting for the laughter to die down. "But it's too long and I didn't bring my glasses, so I won't."
Trump held up his pudgy paw again, this time imperiously. "It's 'Mr. President' to you," he said coldly.
"No sir," said someone he couldn't quite see in the back. "You ain't acting like no presi-dent. In dat ol' white house, you just a resi-dent!"
General laughter, nods, high-fives, even some light applause from the displaced White House press corps.
"How did you get in here?" Trump demanded. "What paper are you with?"
"I's with de waste-paper! I is yo' janitor, bitch."
"Why are you talking like that?"
"Just jerkin' yer chain, Chuck. Thought I might get on one a’ them late-night comedy shows. You want in? You could get paid extra for bein' so stoopid. If I painted a door on a wall, bet you’d try walkin' t'ru it."
“Yo, dude!" a young man seated closer to Trump called out. "Why did you move your press briefings 150 miles south to Virginia Beach when then same distance north would have put us in your tower in New York City?”
Trump glared at the assembled reporters. “I don’t want any of you stinking up my place.”
While everyone was processing this, the president pointed to a demurely-dressed reporter seated near the front. "I can tell by the size of your breasts that you are a woman worth knowing. Go ahead."
"You're the one with your fly open. Sir."
Trump looked confused. Then he looked down.
“Gotcha,” said the journalist.
“You ought to have more respect for your president,” Trump pouted.
“You’re not my president,” the reporter retorted. “And I only give respect to those who earn it.”
This time, the applause was less restrained.
"Meta – what did you say?"
"Metaphor, sir. Some are suggesting that stumbling around in the dark unable to find the lights in the White House is an accurate representation of the general cluelessness you and your billionaire buddies from hell have exhibited to date. Do you think that's a fair comparison? Or do you think at all?"
"You're saying that some rich bastard smart enough to dodge taxes for years, default on creditors by declaring bankruptcy four-times, stiff his own campaign staff, head-fake every unemployed white-collar worker and cracker with a negative IQ, and pile up two-billion dollars in highly-leveraged debt is... incompetent?"
"You're the one admitting it. I am just wondering, to switch metaphors if I may, that if the United States of America is like a jet airliner with three of its four engines flamed out in your shitstorm, if you should be allowed anywhere near the cockpit?"
"Shows what you know, little lady. For your information, I've flown Air Force One."
"You... piloted... Air Force One?"
"Sure. Just yesterday. Coming back from wherever, reality maybe – doesn't matter. I went forward looking for the bathroom and the air force major up there let me take the controls."
"Have you ever flown before?"
"Lots of times. Of course. I’ve even handled some knobs in my perv pal Jeff’s Lolita Express. But I've never actually flown a plane. If you get the distinction."
"I think I do. And how did that work out?"
"It was great! I did great. Because I'm..."
"... very smart."
"I'm glad someone else is clued in around here."
"You actually flew Air Force One, by yourself, your first time at the controls of an airplane?"
"I did and it was great. I'm great. When the major took the controls away from me – I mean, back from me – he said I'd done things with that plane he'd never thought possible. And he's a former Thunderbird stunt pilot!"
"I don't think they call themselves, 'stunt pilots' sir."
"Whatever. Anyway, just like I don't have any experience with how government works, I learn fast. Hands on, you know. Do you have an actual question?" he asked the reporter whose chest he kept ogling with what woman contemptuously call, "that lingering gaze".
"Like most people around the world, hundreds. But let's start with just two," she icily resumed. "Is it true that you dictate most of your tweets? And is it true that you never read your daily briefings, legal documents, contracts, reports, or the executive orders you've been signing like some vacuous celebrity, because you can't? Read or comprehend beyond a 4th-grade level, that is.
"Of course I can read! Finding Dory. Heard of it? I watched it with my family while all those misguided women were getting paid to protest. You know what? I take back my compliment. You're not even a five. Next…" pointing to an older gentleman, who appeared surprised since he didn't have his hand up.
"Jake Kimberly, Missoula Morning News," he announced, climbing to his feet.
"Is that 'mourning' as in so sad?" Trump asked.
"No. As in sunrise," the reporter said. “After a long night."
"Oh," Trump said.
"But we may change it. Picking up where my colleague left off, is it true that your white-supremacist chief strategist – a self-professed admirer of Dick Cheney, Satan and Darth Vader – is crafting all of your executive orders? Including your Muslim ban? And that you are signing them without reading them?"
"We've already covered that. Yes…" singling out a young man who looked like he had wandered into the seriously wrong room.
"Me? Are you pointing to me? Regarding your reference to 'hands on', I was just wondering about those 13 women who have come forward so far saying you sexually assaulted them, and all those video clips and photos going viral online of you putting your hands all over your daughter Ivanka and lap-dancing with her when she was 15 and always pulling her tight against your body and trying to kiss her and creepy shit like that.
“Plus, all the remarks you've made on-air, agreeing with Howard Stern that you are a sexual predator and that your daughter Ivanka is ‘a piece of ass' and to TV host Wendy Williams that what you have in common with your first daughter is sex. Is this why the New York Times calls you the ‘Groper in Chief’? I'm wondering if you'd care to clarify..."
"You little... Just because I'm the world's number one gentile-grabber and always give my hottest daughter much more attention in public than my wife, what makes you think I won't sue your ass for five-million buckaroos for suggesting..."
"I'm not 'suggesting' anything. You're the one who's always been suggestive. I'm just asking the question everybody in this country is thinking but is too chicken to ask."
"Who the hell are you?"
"My name's Peter ‘Layup’ Lamar. I'm a forward for South Central High. This is our gym. We got practice in a half-hour."
"Is anyone out there a real reporter? Yes, you. Go ahead. The guy over there who's been flapping his hand like he's got Parkinson's." (mimics a palsied hand)
"Ran Blather. NBC Suit."
"NBC? Don't you mean, News?"
"No, sir. Nuclear Chemical Biological protection suits. All us reporters are carrying them now. Everyone's afraid you're going to try to access the coffee machine in the Situation Room and press the wrong button."
"Well they're just going to have to wait and find out, won't they?"
"Oh, they are, sir. They are. But people are beginning to pass out from holding their breath so long."
"So you're a comedian, too. Is there a question? Or are you just trying to take attention away from me? News flash: Very bad idea.”
Duterte's death squads at work in Davau, Phillipines
"During your first two weeks in office, you've praised ‘Death Squad’ Duterte, given phone to Putin, and allegedly boasted that North Korean dictator, Kim Jong Un is, quote, 'no longer the craziest world leader'.
“You've also threated to invade Mexico, put Iran ‘on notice’, and insulted Australia’s Prime Minister and virtually every other head of state in the Western world, as well as China and our allies in the Middle East, who have been assisting us in our war on terror and now want nothing to do with us. Kind of like being seen in the wrong company. Scratch 'kind of'."
"Virtually every world leader? Did I miss someone?”
illegal migrant workers used to harvest America’s food
"My question: Do you think this is wise foreign policy? What happens after 70% of all our farmworkers, who are undocumented and used to pick most of our produce, exit the USA ahead of your current roundup? What happens when our environment and the economy linked to it completely collapse and the U.S. needs its friends?”
"We don't need any goddamn friends!" Trump snapped, waving both fists. "We need countries to respect us because they fear us. And do what we tell them to do!”
"But sir, no one respects America with you in charge. Nations are making deals over energy and trade and defense and we aren't even being invited to the meetings.
“The president of Mexico cancelled his scheduled confab with you. And even though the Queen thoughtlessly invited you for a photo-op at Buckingham Palace, the British Parliament has forbidden you to speak there. Or even set foot in the place because of your, quote, ‘racism and sexism’.”
Sixth Extinction -Elizabeth Kolbert/Business Insider
"On a sinking ship – I'm referring here to the accelerating Sixth Mass Extinction taking place just beyond your reality tunnel and everyone else's smartphones – is our best move to really try to go it alone?"
"It is if it's our spaceship."
"What? Excuse me. That doesn't make any...."
"Yes. The butch-looking lady over there. If that is a lady. Ha ha. Not some LNG."
"Mr. Resident. Margaret Sinclair, Lake Ponchartrain Times. My hair looks like this because I am undergoing chemo for cancer my surgeons say was likely caused by some of those chemical plants and other polluters you're about to completely deregulate.”
“You should move. (smirks)
guards protect empty bleachers during Trump inaugural parade
“Where do you suggest? Every square-inch and every drop of fresh water in this country is going to be toxic before you are through. Maybe that's part of the reason why the bleachers installed along Pennsylvania Avenue for your coronation remained deserted. The next day, nearly three-million women filled the National Mall and cities around this country to denounce you and your policies. The biggest protest in U.S history was directed at you. How did that make you feel?”
"Well, Margaret – it is Margaret, right? You know how much I crave attention. Every time someone says my name – doesn't matter in what regard – it inflates my ego like a helium balloon. Get it? Calling me names just takes me higher!”
"But Mr. Resident, did you even hear what they were shouting?"
"Of course they were cranky. I get that. Everyone knows that when women get together in a group they you-know-what from their you-know-where."
"Sir, I find that remark deeply offensive."
"Of course it is. Why do you think I said it? Next. The person over there. Why are you dressed like that? I can't even tell the size of your bazoobies.”
"Amira Shisani, Al-Jaz. During your xenophobic, racist and misogynistic campaign – and especially since you've occupied the spotlight of America's leading example for personal conduct – hate crimes are spiking throughout the United States by young angry white men shouting 'I can do what I want, because Trump says so!'
“Ignorant haters are attacking East Indian people thinking they were from the Middle East, again referencing your name. School playgrounds have become bloody arenas for bullies beating up minority students.
Canadian PM Justin Trudeau grossed out by Trump-Kevin Lamarque/Reuters
“And it's spreading. In Ottawa – that's in Canada, a former ally, to the north – a professed admirer of yours shot and killed six people and wounded 19 others. Do you feel personally responsible for these attacks? And if so, what do you intend to do to stop this escalating violence?"
"First, if people insist on being women or from the countries I've banned and those I intend to bomb – I mean ban – it's on them. If other good, patriotic Americans are offended by your presence, that has nothing to do with me. Second. Everyone knows Islam is just another name for ISIL, ISIS or Seal Team 6, or whatever terrorists are calling themselves now. So, don't try to conflate them. You know, make them equal."
"That's my point, Mr. Drumpf. The religion you named is a faith observed by 1.5 billion devout followers of the Prophet – may peace be upon him – five-times a day. You have to admit that's an impressive reaffirmation of a deeply spiritual commitment to the compassionate laws of God.
“The second group is a bunch of crazed, women-hating, black-garbed maniacs formed in response to the nearly two-million Muslims killed – two million people, sir! – by U.S. terror bombing and child-killing sanctions. Starting, as you know, with then Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's ill-advised take-down of Libya and all the conflagrations that spread from there. ISIL defiles Islam with every breath they take."
"Women-hating you say? I might be able to work with them. (wags a finger) We need to hear from more swinging dicks. You…” (pointing) "The extinguished-looking gentleman in the white lab coat and goofy safety goggles."
"'Woe'. Pronounced 'whoa'. Bummers Without Recovery Journal. Would you characterize your presidency, two weeks in, as an abrupt discontinuity in U.S. and perhaps world history? A kind of collective psychotic break from all previously agreed reality that has left many millions, perhaps billions, of people and small animals permanently traumatized?"
(applauds) "Wow. Interesting how such big words are worth peanuts, while I get to ransack the national till using concepts as simple as brazen lies, brain-twisting self-contradiction, hate, fear and the last stand of the outnumbered white race - endlessly repeated, as the book beside my bed by a master mass-manipulator recommends. I would more modestly claim to be the originator of a brand new, post-modern history. Which everyone is already signifying with the prefix, 'AD'. For 'After Donald'."
"My point exactly. Though 'DOA' may more astutely describe what is sure to be your abbreviated reign. One way or another."
"Is that a threat?"
"Oh, goodness no. Just a shrinkly reality check. As in: reality trumps make-believe every time."
“I think you’re nuts.”
“Another projection perhaps?
“Next. You over there.”
"Mr. Trump, my name is..."
"Never mind all that," waving his hand. "I’m very busy, as you know. I've got to get back to the White House and catch Access Hollywood and Barbara Walters' '10 Most Fascinating People', Morning Joe and Fox & Friends, so I can tweet my response to what they’re saying about me."
"Yessir. Do you agree with everyone in your cabinet that just because the Earth has smashed all temperature records for three years in a row, while this country continues to shatter all previous records… and given the possibly-related facts that the ice sheets are collapsing and glaciers melting like blow-torched snowcones…
San Gabriel Reservoir, California
“… and that at least 10 U.S. cities are running out of water and crops everywhere are turning to dust or rotting in unceasing unseasonal rains… that seeming half this planet is burning, from South America to Africa and Siberia, and also that your own Pentagon is warning about a ‘dystopian future’ caused by climate change..."
"They won't be coming here! You can be sure of that."
"... do you still believe that climate change is a Chinese hoax to make this country even more non-competitive than we already are? Except in bankrupting weapons that don't work, and drugs that spread even more profitable chaos, of course.”
"I wouldn't put it past them. And fortifying their own dinky sandbars, while we have 761 military bases all over the planet. Who do they think they are? Don't worry. Me and Steve will be dealing with Gina soon. You know they stole all the jobs we outsourced there?"
"But do you agree with your head of the EPA that if all these major ecological and climatic changes really are happening everywhere all the time, then reality must be a hoax?"
"Reality is whatever I decide. Even though it changes hour-to-hour. Americans just have to believe that everything is going to be super-great again."
"Ben Schreckinger, Politico."
"Never heard of it.”
"Well, sir, you are about to. Picking up on that last point you ducked, I have in my hand a copy of a permit application file by Trump International Golf Links Ireland to build a two-mile-long seawall to protect your new golf course there from increased erosion due to rising sea levels and extreme weather due to, quote, ‘climate change'."
“So just last September, you told radio host Hugh Hewitt, quote, ‘I’m not a believer in global warming. And I’m not a believer in man-made global warming’. Do you agree with former South Carolina Republican Congressman Bob Inglis that given the rapidly escalating dangers the U.S. is facing from climate change that your personal/presidential double-standard is, quote, ‘diabolical’?"
"Not at all. I’m a businessman first, president… maybe second. Depends on who’s in the room, and how attractive she is.”
“Hey! My turn!”
Gumboots slapping the gym floor, a young woman in pink spiky hair wearing a skeleton outfit sprang to her feet. “With all that mega-heat-trapping me-thane starting to hippety-hop into the atmos-fear over the rapidly meltin' down Ark-tick – already up to 50-degrees hotter in the dark of winterrr – are you gonna make other moves to like, protect our nashun? Before we're all drowned or baked or frozen stiffs 'cause we jimmied the jetstream an' jammed the fridge door open?"
If it were possible, Trump looked even more bewildered. "Okay. Good. Next."
The piercing shriek of a whistle froze everyone in the room. Trump was the only one not looking frantically around to discover the source of that shrill alarm, which sounded like it might be signaling a police raid. A single shared thought-balloon instantly ascended toward the gym ceiling: Were they coming to get him at last?
Suddenly, a dozen or so dudes decked out in burgundy-and-white uniforms burst laughing and shouting onto the court, passing basketballs and elbowing reporters aside.
"Don't mind us," called out their coach, a tall spindly guy wearing coke-bottle glasses and a good-natured smile as he trailed behind his team. He waved a clipboard at Trump. "Ya'll go right ahead with your meetin’.”
On the dais behind Trump and his cowering cronies, a squad of impossibly young and innocent-looking cheerleaders started waving pom-poms. They leapt high in perfect formation, shouting, "Go South Central! Go South Central! Gooooo Pussy...
Trump looked around, startled...
Before the Trumpster could molest the closest cheerleader, the kid who had fired the most embarrassing questions let go with a long jumper from center court.
In unison, the cheerleaders levitated again. Legs scissoring, they let out an even louder cry as the ball swished through the net, nearly clobbering the Donald as it took out the podium, tumbling it down onto the court.
As Secret Service people reached for their weapons, fiercely dribbled basketballs drummed like tom-toms. Then everything went quiet as three more Spalding cannonballs arced high overhead from different corners of the court. All but one pair of eyes tracked the projectiles as they tipped into downard trajectories, accelerating like multiple, independent Trump-seeking warheads.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The dais shook under three rapid-fire impacts. The Trumpsters panicked, stumbling toward the exits.
“Stop cribbin' your game plan from Philip K. Dick – he did everyday surreal even better than y'all – and start acting like grown-ups," the coach called after their retreating backs. "But that don't look like it’s gonna be happenin’ any time soon. So go on. Git. We got this."
As the network cams rolled, in an ominous development far to the wicked chilly north, the facts-challenged, brand-hawking Chief Counselor to the Donald finished putting her latest hex on the White house – this time a “love you, too,” valentine to a white-supremacist: hashtags #WhiteIdentity, #Nationalist, and #SteveBannon.
Somebody call somebody…
Trump press adviser, Kellyanne-Conway -Mark Wilson/Getty