Two hours after his latest victory sort-of-speech following a state primary, just before midnight, Donald J. Trump was in the apartment on his private plane flying at cruising altitude back to Manhattan. Only small lamps were needed to illuminate the room as the light bounced off the gold walls to provide a warm din bright enough to read by. He sat down at his desk that was carved from elephant ivory poached from parts of Tanzania and Kenya. Then he inhaled a deep breath, held it for ten seconds and exhaled dark purple smoke.
Trump removed his wig, that tangled bird’s nest that had become an unavoidable trademark, and placed the rug on a mannequin head in the desk. The eyes of the mannequin’s had been carved out with a hunting knife, leaving dark holes filled in with firetruck red lipstick. With the wig removed, Trump ran his hand over his bald, scaly-textured scalp. Using makeup removing wipes, Trump scrubbed the orange foundation off his puffy face, revealing skin as white as a mimes.
A cuckoo bird emerged from a clock on the gold wall to announce it was now midnight. Trump turned to the little bird and muttered obscenities in its direction.
There was an intercom in the room and it buzzed. A voice came through the speaker. “Do you require your midnight snack Mr. Trump?”
“Yes. Send it in, goddammit.”
A hidden section at the bottom of the door to the apartment slide open and a gold plate was shoved across the floor into the room. Followed by a bottle of Everclear grain alcohol, a carafe of pig’s blood, and a Diet Pepsi. On the gold plate, a two pound slab of raw buffalo meat. A fine cut taken right from the ass of the beast.
To prepare to eat, Trump removed his false teeth, two strings of saliva stretched from his mouth and dripped onto the desk. With the false teeth removed and placed into a glass of Listerine, Trump’s pointed yellow fangs were bared. There were no incisors or bicuspids in Trumps mouth. There was only fangs. Every tooth was of equal length and came to a sharp point.
As the Republican presidential candidate tore through the hunk of buffalo meat with a gold fork and a Bowie knife, the intercom buzzed again.
“Mr. Trump, Melania has confirmed she is available for intercourse tonight.”
“Fank oo,” Trump said, his enunciation muffled by his yellow fangs. “Gi me half a hour.”
Knowing the only way for him to achieve an erection, Trump scanned through some personnel files of his high-ranking employees. He found a manager at his luxury hotel in Aberdeen, Scotland whose son had recently been trampled to death at a Rangers versus Celtics match. Violence had broken out a the Old Firm Derby. The woman’s husband had been diagnosed with non Hodgkins lymphoma. The couple’s medical bills had become unmanageable. Trump put his teeth back in, called the woman on the phone, yelled for five minutes and fired her. He even used his catchphrase to do it and did the hand motion to nobody in the room. “You’re fired,” then hand point for emphasis.
“Ahhhhh… That’s better.”
Soon expecting his wife, Trump removed his suit pants that were made by children in China revealing his hairy, goat-like legs and sharpened hooves. The legs resembled drawings of Baphomet from medieval texts.
Trump further prepared for his wife by urinating blood into the gold sink. Then he lay on the bed that was covered in pelts of endangered Sumatran tigers.
Donald J. Trump would make violent love to his dead-eyed wife and return to Trump Tower where he would swing around the parapets of the building hunting for rats to eat for breakfast, dipping the rodents into a small pail of barbecue sauce before ripping their diseased flesh off with his yellowed fangs. After a few hours rest, it was back onto the private jet and flying to a rally in Akron, Ohio. There Trump would distribute signed affidavits from his doctor affirming the size of his penis and telling the rabid crowd how he will make America great again.
Johnny Wright is a writer living in Portland, Oregon. He is a beef jerky enthusiast and wishes Bigfoot was real.