He hoped to soothe himself by watching peaceful protesters being manhandled by the illegally summoned, unwanted forces he deployed. But, alas! A freak lightning strike had knocked out power to much of DC, and another had fried the starling terminal his former friend had placed on the top of the White House..
Unable to hear the soothing screed of Faux News or ONAN, little Donnie threw himself on the floor and screamed and screamed.
Unfortunately, all the fluffers, house elves and bootlickers who usually surrounded him were absent. They were all busy scurrying about trying to realize little Donnie’s executive order. He had demanded that Mother Nature be arrested or indicted for conspiracy to ruin his big day.
Desperate now for some attention, Donnie pulled out his cellphone and tried to call his wife Melania. After all, she was by his side by contract. When the reply came, it went to voicemail. “Sorry, Don-old, I haf no time to retoorn to White House. Only scheduled appearances with photo-op. Ees in pre-noop.”
Alone now, and in darkness, Donnie collapsed in his big chair behind his big desk. Surely, ha thoughts, there must be a flashlight somewhere in this place. Why, oh why, he pondered, did I not pay attention to the briefing on emergency procedures. After all, his staff had put brightly colored cartoons and drawings of boobies in them to capture his attention.
Now little Donnie was forced to rely on his own resources. Uncharacteristically he began to think. Maybe Gavin Newsom was right. After all, Newsom was taller and thinner and could pronounce words properly.
Maybe it was a vulgar display for fat Donnie from Queens. Maybe he wasn’t a stable genius. Donnie repeatedly mumbled “Man, woman, camera, TV…” but he couldn’t remember the last word. Was it taco?
Had his very fine brain betrayed him with a DEI word?
As he began to panic, the cocktail of drugs he was given daily were wearing off. Without his constant IV drip of flattery and hatred to sustain him, his organs began to fail one by one. The brain had been fired for disloyalty moments before, and there was nothing to manage the rest of his anatomy. Arteries, occluded by years of overcooked steak and fast food slop, clogged like the streets of lower Manhattan before the congestion charge was implemented. The spleen, which had stored Donnie’s hatred over the years, went mad and started attacking the liver and kidneys. The last to go was the stomach, puffed up with two scoops of the ice cream of vanity, made our last effort to inflate, then crumpled like the weather balloons
downsized by DOGE.
As he made one last attempt to waddle out for help, he was barely conscious of a noise. A small group of protesters had eluded his brown shirts and GASP, they were singing! As the joyful strains of “We Shall
Overcome” reached his ears, widdle Donnie realized he was, ultimately, a LOSER and gave up the ghost.
Later found by the Marine stationed outside the Oval Office, one crepey hand still pressing the Diet Coke button.
With JD Vance being fatally wounded when the couch fought back (later ruled self defense), tiny Mikey being raptured by Satan and various cabinet members incapacitated by, Congress begged Barack Obama to lead an interim government. All executive orders issued under the previous regime were rescinded, and the WH basketball court was again in use.
Once government order was restored and staffed by competent people again, June 14th was declared a national holiday. No Kings day is celebrated with flags, marches and prayer services.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission continues.
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