@arp #161424
Trump in Heaven: A Comedy in one Act:
“Hey Jesus! Come take a look at this!”
“What now, Saint Peter? I was busy ignoring the suffering going on in the world and planning which tortilla I was gonna cameo in this week.”
“Look who's coming up the walk to the Gate?”
“What? Where? Holy shit, is that…?”
“Yeah, looks like it finally happened. He finally got stuck in the slide at the Playplace and suffocated to death waiting for Melania to find some rubber gloves so she could grab his ankle.”
“He doesn't think he's getting in here, does he? We're not zoned for marine mammals.”
“Hang on, watch this. *Ahem!* Oh my god, is that Donald J. Trump, the Eternal Presdient and Guardian of the Faith? Doth mine lying eyes tell me false?”
“Yeah, uh…hi, I think I got turned around looking for the crapper. Is there a can in this…um…country club? Whites only gated community? I dunno where I am, but I can't smell Rudy's hairgel or hear Eric's whining, so, I'm not complaining.”
“You know, if you want in, Donald, I can make that happen. But you don't want to go in through the front gate. That's how all the Mexicans get in.”
“Oh…yeah, sure, I guess I could be a member here. Is there, like, a back way in or something?”
“There sure is, slugger. Come this way, I'll take you in through our VIP entrance. Pardon the smell, our gardeners use brimstone to deal with aphids.”
“Hey, this place is nice. Lots of fire, so it's warm, I like the Lawrence Welk music you pipe in, and I think I know most of the people here. Shit, is that Ronald Reagan! I never thought I'd see him here!”
“Shit, you think you're surprised he's down here, you should have seen the look on his face. Here you go, the Trump suite. Two doors down from Fred, Sr. and sandwiched between the rooms we have reserved for your sons, just down the hall from the ice machine and the Forcible Anal Fissure Chamber.”
“Wait, my boys are here?”
“Well, no, not yet, but we set a room aside for them. It's only a matter of time, really. Eventually Junior will superball a check to the wrong cartel and open his hotel room door to a ballistic Candygram, and honestly, we're surprised Eric didn't check in the first time he saw Ernest Goes To Prison and tried to give himself superpowers by stabbing a wall outlet with a screwdriver.”
“We eventually just gave up trying to stop him. We thought he'd learn not to do that anymore after the first few shocks, but, well, he's not exactly the brightest crayon in the drawer, you know? Hey, um…I'm a bit short on cash, I can get some from my supporters, but for now…”
“No worries, Donald, you've already paid your way down here. Just kick back, enjoy the screams of the damned, and remember you earned this vacation. You really, truly, without the smallest quantum of doubt, deserve to be here.”