Trump’s Last Stand: MAGA-Laager

On 22 December, Trump retreated to his Winter White House/ Winter Palace, Mar-a-Lago for the final Christmas of his Presidency.  In this blog, my brother Blaine, provides a wacky look deserving of the wacky lame Donald Duck.

“Vot chu mean?  Chu going to play vit your little ball on golf course?  Ve chust got here.  I haven’t even unpacked new ‘I actually do care (sometimes)’ jacket.  Vun day you go sleep, I put Novichok on your teddy.  Your pal, Vlad, he give me some.  He show me how to use, big time.”

“Aw, come on Melanie. I’ve already got my Maga cap on and my tough guy glove on my left hand like that pedo singer.  I want to annoy the Fake News guys from lamestream media by playing golf – you know, like Nero.”

“Ok, chu vant be hero.  Chu go play vit little stick and little ball but chu don’t grab me by pussy when you get back. I know chu after chu lose.”

“Aw jeez Melanie, I love it when you talk dirty with your porno Slav accent. Watcha say I don’t play golf but I sink a hole-in-one right now with my 1-wood?”

“Ne, ne.  Chu vant pussy, chu phone cheap whore, Stormy.  She only cost $150,000.  I expensive whore – cost you plenty, plenty.  Remember prenup.”

“Aw come on baby.  Don’t start with that again.  You’re worse than Ivana, always …”

“Don’t chu dare say Ivana in room vit me.  She just a cheap Czech whore.  She like Donatella Versace – too much lip filler and bad surgeon.  She look like goat’s bladder.  Bad enough I have to see that – vot’s the word I heard other day, ahh, simpering airhead – Ivanka every day to remember me of that beetch.  She like other airhead, Diana.  All Bambi in public, but behind curtain, ho, ho, ho.”

“Aw come on Melanie.  At least Ivana put out sometimes.  With you I just got Barron and then you shut the porn shop.  I don’t even get a hand job.”

“Pah! I don’t give chu hand job.  Chor willy like stovepipe.”

“Hey, thanks Baby.”

“Chu fool.  Not so long, chust so fucking dirty!  I no touch no more.  Chu vant me touch chu?  Maybe put Novichok on little boy when sleep, da.”

“I give up.  I’m going to play a bit of golf.  Also cheat a bit.  OK Melanie do what you want, just make sure there’s plenty of Big Macs for the good old boys when I get back.  Hey! Lindsey!  You finished polishing the golf cart?  Huh?  Ok, let’s go.”


“Mr President, I think that’s your ball over there deep in the rough.”

“No Lindsey, that’s your ball.  This is my ball right here on the edge of the green.  Hey Lindsey is that my phone ringing in the cart?”

“Yes Sir.  It’s yours.  It’s playing Sweet Home Alabama.”

“Well, what you waiting for?  Go fetch it!”

“Yes Sir!”





 “Hey Mitch.  What’s the hap in Congress.”

“What!?  You’ve agreed to cut the checks? “

“Whadya mean the checks are gonna be $600?”

“Ok, Ok. I know we agreed to that.  But it’s Christmas and I want to play Santa and give the great American People $2000 from the greatest American President.  I’ll make a great Santa.  In fact, I’ll be the best Santa the world has ever seen.  Ever.”

“Come on Mitch.  Don’t be like that.  Barr screwed me on the Hunter investigation thing and Pfizer screwed me on the jab.  Don’t you screw me out of being Santa.  I’m biglier than him”

“Mitch, what you’re saying about the evangelicals?”

“They won’t like it?”

“Come again! It’s what?  An anagram of Satan?  … What’s an anagram?”

“Ok, Ok, I get it. So, we drop the Santa costume bit, but I still want the $2000.”

“Hey Mitch!  Here’s my brilliant idea.  How’s about we only send the checks to Republicans?  Isn’t it a great idea like my chloroquine idea.”

“Ok, Ok Mitch. Keep your hair on.  By the way I’ve got a great new hairspray product for you.  It’s called Stay in Place by Trump and it’s got FDA and CDC and FAA and EPA approval and all.  You name it.  It’s got it.  It’s gonna be bigger than chloroquine, bigger than fracking.  Very bigger!”

“Sure, Ok.  Include the Commie Democrats.  Just make sure it’s for $2000.”

“Whadya mean that you can’t cut a deal with them?  Just read my book, Art of the Deal.  Yea, the personally signed hard copy that you bought from me for $10,000.”

“The line’s bad here in Florida, I think a hurricane’s coming.  Whadya say – you can’t?  Are you a wussy?”

“No, no Mitch!  I didn’t call you a pussy.”

“I swear Mitch.  I didn’t call you that.  Mitch, Mitch are you there?”

“Jeez, Lindsey.  Mitch is past it.  That chinless wonder must grow a pair.”

“What’s that Lindsey?”

“Oh yea.  I forgot.  Elaine keeps them in a jar by the door.  Such a tough cookie that one.  Speaking of tough cookies, …”




The scene slowly dissolves into

complete irrelevance

and a steaming

dog turd.

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