The Trump-Lincoln Ford’s Theater Luxury Casino

“They call you Lady Luck,

But there is room for doubt,

At times you have a very unlady-like way of running out,”

~ Frank Sinatra, “Luck be a Lady”

Read Episode 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |8

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The instructions by text from burner phone to burner phone were to look for the park bench with a white thumbtack stuck in it and sit down.

Seeing the white thumbtack in the bench, a Junior Deputy in the White House Communications Office slowly moved his head to look around, only seeing a dog walker a hundred yards down the path, the young man sat down.

On an empty, tree-lined path with a view of the Washington Monument to the south, it was 2:35 am at The National Mall. The weather was in the process of moving from fall into winter and the temperature was 48 degrees and dropping slowly. The White House staffer shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. The burner phone was in the left pocket. A few leaves fell from the trees and tapped onto the pavement.

Two minutes later, a reporter from the Washington Post who looked more like the real Bob Woodward and less like Robert Redford’s portrayal of the reporter, ambled down the path and sat down on the bench with the white thumbtack stuck in it.

The agreement was $10,000 dollars for a USB stick loaded with emails from the Trump campaign, under false names, communicating with Russian operatives. The White House staffer had told the reporter the guilt had become too much and he was going to be remembered as the modern day Deep Throat.

“Let’s be quick,” the reporter said. He took an envelope of one hundred $100 bills and placed it on the bench in between the two men. “You have it?”

“I have it,” the young man said. In his pocket was a metal cigar tube that had the USB stick inside. The cigar tube was placed next to envelope of money. “Ten grand? It’s all there?”

“All there. We won’t be in touch. No contact again. For my safety and yours.”

The White House staffer said, “Right, good plan.”

The Washington Post reporter slipped the cigar tube into his pocket. “Wait here for a few minutes, then walk the other direction.”

“Got it.”

“Break that phone in half and throw it in two separate garbage cans.”

“I will.”

The reporter was ten paces down the path when he said loudly “Okay!”

From out of the bushes behind the bench, Corey Lewandowski emerged with a piano wire garrote. The ligature was wrapped around the neck of the Junior Deputy in the White House Communications Office. Lewandowski squeezed and yanked the young man over the back of the bench, dragging him into the trees as he choked the life out of his victim.

“Leaker,” Lewandowski hissed into a bright red ear. “Leaker’s pay.”

The young man died, his eyeballs bulging as he expired.

The “reporter” from the Washington Post, was not a reporter. He didn’t even read the Washington Post. “Took us a while to lure this one out. Why don’t you just use a gun, Corey?”

Lewandowski smiled. “Too quick. Not as fun. Tell Bannon it’s done.”

“I’ll call him now. Get the money back.”

Corey Lewandowski took the envelope with $10,000 dollars inside from the dead man’s pocket as well as the burner cell phone and both men disappeared into the D.C. night.

 

Meanwhile, in Donald Trump’s White House…

 

“This big, beautiful casino, brought in on schedule and under budget, is going to be, I think, one of the great casinos we have ever seen. A great, great casino. And, you know, Trump shares his name, one of the biggest names in American history, with the late, great Abraham Lincoln. A great president, who, by the way, would have voted for me and would have wanted to Make. America. Great. Again. And, like many have been saying, he wanted to Drain the Swamp, too, believe me.”

President Donald J. Trump holds an oversized pair of faux-gold scissors in his tiny hands, standing behind a line of thick red ribbon. Flanking the President are his wife Melania, his children except for Tiffany (who texted her father about the ceremony, the President replied “Who dis?”) and many of his in-laws and grandchildren. Jared Kushner was instructed to wait in the motorcade because, as Trump told him, “You are so shitty at your job, the worst of all time, the worst, and this Russia shit is mostly your fault, you fucker.”

Kushner looks out the tinted windows of the bulletproof limousine, watching the ribbon-cutting ceremony like a dog not allowed to go into the post office with its owner.

Trump continues into the microphone, “We are proud, really proud, amazingly proud, to open The Trump-Lincoln Ford’s Theater Luxury Casino!”

With a snip of the red ribbon, what was once a National Historic Site — canceled by Executive Order — was reopened as a tacky, gaudy, tawdry, Trump casino. The sacred-to-many theater where Abraham Lincoln was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth, was now another way for the Trump family to profit from the Presidency.

Sad.

The idea to convert the historical theater into a casino was floated by President Trump his second week in office. He had “big ideas” on how to “Make some fuckin money off this White House bullshit.” Other Washington, D.C. sites that were considered for the conversion included the Museum of Natural History, the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, and the National Cathedral.

Ford’s Theater was settled on because President Trump wanted his name next to Lincoln’s. Trump said to Fox and Friends, “We — the late, great Abraham Lincoln — and myself, we have done the most, historically, to help America. Nobody has done more, nobody, believe me. I used to say maybe FDR did, but I was just told he was in a wheelchair, many people don’t know that, so he didn’t do as much as me, obviously, a lot of people are saying that now.” One Senior Advisor suggested Lincoln’s name be billed first on the marquee out of respect for the 16th President of the United States. That woman was fired on the spot. As she was putting her belongings into a cardboard box and cleaning out her office, Secret Service agents dragged her to the roof of the White House. Corey Lewandowki was waiting. He said, “Linda, you’re a decent person, but that was a really stupid thing to say. I’m sorry about this.” Lewandowski then grabbed Linda by the hair and threw her off the ledge onto the South Portico. Linda died on impact. Her neck snapped and back broken in three places.

As your intrepid White House correspondent, I have been working tirelessly to get an accurate count of how many people Corey Lewandowski has murdered in defense of the Trump campaign and presidency. This number has proven difficult to confirm. According to one high-level police source who spoke on condition of anonymity, Lewandowski’s kill count is believed to be eleven people. Charges have been considered, but, according to the source, “Trump is just going to pardon the guy anyway. We have to wait till he’s out of office to get Corey.” He added, “The most disturbing part is how much he enjoys whacking people for Trump.” When asked, “As much as Don Jr. and Eric enjoy killing leopards and elephants?” His answer was, “No, no, much more than that.”

Inside the Trump-Lincoln Ford’s Theater Luxury Casino is garish, tacky, and so bright everyone squints when entering until their eyes adjust from the overload of neon lights. Every surface that wasn’t covered in bright lights is shiny gold. The seats on the theater floor have all been removed, replaced by gaming tables. The two floors of balconies have also been cleared of seats and now featured rows of Trump brand slot machines. There are only Trump brand slot machines.

Prominently featured over the entrance to the gaming floor is an enormous mosaic portrait of Trump made from different-colored casino chips. Yellow $1,000 dollar chips are used heavily to portray the President’s distinctive hairstyle.

Inside the casino, talking to reporters from conservative media outlets, President Trump says, “What’s great, really terrific, the best thing I did, is the balcony where the late, great Abraham Lincoln was shot, as you know, he was killed here, the balcony is now the best high roller poker table in the world. A lot of people have been saying they’ve never seen anything like it.”

Indeed, this is true. The balcony where Booth put a Derringer to Lincoln’s head and pulled the trigger, now housed a Texas hold ‘em no limit poker table. Numerous professional poker players were offered appearance fees to play at the table on the day the casino opened. Only the legendary Doyle Brunson accepted. Brunson sits at the gold-felted table hustling millions from two Russian oligarchs, three Saudi princes, a morbidly obese Texas oil baron, a secretly-racist hedge fund manager, and actor James Woods.

The Trump-Lincoln Ford’s Theater Luxury Casino opened to mostly negative media attention, distracting from the multiple emerging Russia-related scandals. MSNBC and CNN had something new to be outraged about. The first week in operation, the casino was filled with a rogue’s gallery of shady foreign diplomats, sleazeball lobbyists, spies from at least nine different countries, drunken ambassadors, crooked political operatives, mafia gangsters, and military leaders from despotic regimes. Card counters and cheaters from Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and Reno traveled to D.C. for a gambling den they knew was easy pickings.

The card counters used techniques that would have been spotted in every other casino in America to knock out table after table. Pit bosses were baffled as to how some blackjack players all of a sudden knew when to increase their bets to tens of thousands.

The casino gift shop flogged an array of cheap tat all with the Trump name emblazoned in gold lettering. There was a section that sold Alex Jones’ snake oil “health supplements.” A top seller is the “Super Male Vitality” which is claimed to be “the result of ancient wisdom reinterpreted over several years in the light of modern equipment and analysis.” A bargain at $69.95. Multiple scientific laboratories have tested the product. None have found evidence the product enhances anything other than Jones’ bank account. You might as well eat Flintstones vitamins.

Nevertheless, on a monitor next to the display of supplements, President Trump gives a testimonial on a loop. “If you want a dick as great and terrific as mine, this is the product for you, believe me.”

To reward him for loyalty no matter how absurd, Corey Lewandowski was appointed Casino Manager. Lewandowski drafted high school buddies, various cousins, and people that worked in other Trump businesses to run the place. None that had ever worked in casinos. Not one of the pit bosses had expertise in gambling, betting strategy, or known cheating techniques. All the pit bosses knew how to do is punch someone in the mouth that was “disrespecting the joint.” That, and steal whenever they could.

After the first week, upper management is meeting in a conference room to go over the books so far. President Trump is there.

Looking over the ejaculation of neon and gold from the casino below, President Trump sits at a conference table set up the same way as it is done at the White House. That being so everyone can go around the table and people will give him compliments.

Fifteen minutes later, satisfied with the praise given from casino management, Trump gets down to business. “Okay, folks, this has been a tremendous first week. The media, as I’m sure you have seen, has been giving us great reviews, a lot of praise, for the success this has been. Corey, tell us how big this first week has been. It’s been huge.”

Lewandowski looks like he’s going to be sick. He tries to stall. “You’ll like this, sir, a Jamaican croupier thinks she saw Lincoln’s ghost float by a baccarat table.”

“A croup-a-what?” Trump asks.

“Oh, a croupier is a dealer, Mr. President. She says she saw Linc—“

“Cut the shit, Corey.”

Lewandowski goes a touch more pale. “We lost $13 million dollars.”

“How the fuck did you do that?!” Trump screams.

With the casino staff stealing whatever they could at every stop the money made, and professional card cheats taking advantage of the inexperienced staff, the losses added up quick.

The room is silent. For almost a minute, nobody speaks.

“Well,” pit boss Nicky LoSpecchio says, “the Trump Organization has never been that good at running casinos. We’re learning how to do it on the fly.”

The President of the United States glares at the pit boss. “What did you say?”

 

Corey Lewandowski stands over a kneeling Nicky LoSpecchio in the alley behind The Trump-Lincoln Ford’s Theater Luxury Casino.

“Please don’t do this, Corey. I shouldn’t have said that. Please. I’m sor—“

Lewandowski presses the button on a Microtech Halo automatic knife deploying the blade and stabs the disloyal pit boss thirty-three times in the chest and face. LoSpecchio’s lifeless body is left in the alley to bleed out.

Washington D.C. police believe this was Corey Lewandowski’s twelfth murder for the Trump administration.

 

Illustration by Mikey B. Martinez III