We can all use a Trumpian parody of A Christmas Carol and we have one for you right here, courtesy of Halfway Cafe. It’s a lengthy, brilliant piece and we are going to bring you excerpts from it. You can click the blue link and read the rest.
Finally I went home and got into bed, cracked open a Diet Coke, and fell asleep to the soft, relaxing sound of Newsmax hosts calling for all my political enemies to be tried for treason. But then I was suddenly awakened by the sound of chains dragging around on the floor, and discovered it was my father, Fred Trump, somehow back from the dead!
At first I assumed I was imagining him, perhaps because of some indigestion from eating too much fried chicken at lunch, or maybe the late-afternoon snack of two Big Macs and two Filets-o-Fish had upset my stomach. But he shook my bed, slapped my face, and called me a loser in the same way I had called Eric a loser earlier that day. He then told me the chains he was wearing were forged throughout his lifetime of sociopathic greed and selfishness, and he warned me the chains I was currently forging were much longer and heavier than his own. He warned me that I would be visited by three ghosts throughout the night, and that, if I didn’t learn the lessons they’d offer, I was doomed to wander forever carrying chains in the afterlife like him. He then vanished, and I passed out onto my pillows from the fright!
The first Ghost to wake me was the Ghost of Christmas Past, and he took me to a Christmas morning many years ago. It was when Don Jr., Ivanka, and Eric were all little, and I was still married to Ivana. We were all playing games, and laughing with joy.
I sat there with Ivanka sitting on my lap, smiling the biggest smile as she told me she wanted to someday marry someone just like me, and Don Jr. was showing me the D.A.R.E. pledge he signed at school vowing he’d never do drugs, and Eric was sitting on the floor precociously playing with a science experiment kit involving thermometers and various elemental substances I had picked out for him because all the teachers at his school agreed he was the smartest student in all of his classes. It was the best Christmas of my life because it was before Ivanka started puberty and became interested in boys other than me, before Don Jr. stopped “giving the cold shoulder” to drugs, and before Eric put one of those thermometers in his mouth, accidentally broke it, and then swallowed all the mercury forever poisoning his brilliantly developing, gifted brain.
Then the Ghost of Christmas Past snapped his fingers, and took me to a different place, an apartment where I was having an affair behind Ivana’s back. It was the first sexual liaison me and this woman had that didn’t take place in the dark of night with the lights off, and she shrieked when she saw me naked in the light of day. She screamed, “Ew, get that mushroom thing away from me! Is that some kind of freaky STD? Aw, Jesus! Have you infected me with it?” Then the Ghost kept rewinding and replaying her screaming at me over and over, at least fifteen times, until I yelled out for him to take me back home! In a deep, haunted voice, the Ghost reminded me, from that night on, I never had sex again without having to pay for it in cash upfront to get the woman to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement.
After that, I was returned to my bed, and I passed out from exhaustion. I don’t know how long I slept, but I was awakened again, this time by the Ghost of Christmas Present, who took me to Jared and Ivanka’s Hanukkah party to which I had declined the invitation. They were with their friends, and everyone was having a great time eating and laughing, and they began playing a game of “Twenty Questions.” I got really into it, and shouted out questions and guesses — though no one could hear me — until it slowly dawned on me that the answer to the round of the game was me! Once they figured out the subject was a politician, they started asking questions like, “Is he racist and divisive,” “Did he lose reelection?” and, “Are his hands the size of a toddler’s?”
They all laughed at me, even Ivanka, who raised her glass for a toast and announced they should drink in my honor for being such a cartoon of a human. It made me a little sad to see my beloved daughter didn’t respect me, or think of me as the paragon of patriarchal authority anymore like she did when she was young.
Then the Ghost of Christmas Present took me to Eric’s house, where his family was eating a meager meal because I dock his pay every time he acts like a loser, which is about every forty-five seconds. Eric was telling his kids one at a time how much he loved them all, and how he wanted to break his family’s generational cycle of paternal abuse. Then his kids started asking lots of questions about why Grandpa was so mean to him all the time.
One asked, “What’s an abortion, and why did Grandpa tell you you should have been one?”
Then another asked, “Why does Grandpa always put blue candy sugar in his nose and snort it? I’ve heard of a sweet tooth, but not a sweet nostril!”
Then one more said, “When Grandpa took me golfing, I saw him kick his golf ball into the pond when no one was looking, pull a new ball out of his pocket, and toss it much closer to the hole than where the first ball had landed!”
The first one asked, “Grandpa’s hands sure are small for a grown man, aren’t they?”
The second asked, “How come we never see Grandpa and Grandma Melania in the same room together?”
The third said, “Grandpa has had three wives, and I’ve heard him say bad things about all of them!”
And the first said, “I’m not going to fetch Grandpa any more Diet Cokes until he pays me. He says he’ll give me a dollar for each can that I go get for him, but he never pays! He just says a check will come in the mail in two weeks. But a check never comes!”
Eric told his kids that Grandpa had been abused emotionally as a child by his dad, and that’s why he can’t help himself but be a mean jerk to everyone in the same way. “It’s all he knows how to do, unfortunately,” Eric said. He explained that it wasn’t Grandpa’s fault that he didn’t get enough love as a kid, but the lack of parental affection did leave him unable to empathize with others or feel love like a normal, emotionally stable, and psychologically healthy person. Then Eric opened up his arms to hug all his kids, and told them he’d always love them no matter what, and he’d never be mean to them like Grandpa is to him, no matter how much the mercury in his bloodstream fogs up his brain.
I was silent while watching, and sniffed a little, at which point the Ghost of Christmas Present asked me what was wrong. I told the Ghost it was nothing, but that maybe, possibly, I had been a little cruel to Eric earlier in the day. The Ghost began to laugh at me with a low rumbling chuckle, and I commanded him to stop, but he wouldn’t for quite a while.
The Ghost then removed me from Eric’s house, and I found myself in a cold, dark alley. In front of me in the shadows I heard some footsteps getting closer, and discovered two emaciated children creepily shuffling toward me. The Ghost told me their names were Treason and Insurrection, and I should beware them. The children were growling terrible, guttural sounds, and I tried to run away, but the alleyway led to a bricked dead-end. I turned around to see the children sprinting toward me like crazed zombies, and, right as the children nearly got to me, I blacked out and woke up back in my bed.
Get the story of the changed Trump by clicking the link. You get a Free Post from Halfway Cafe. Enjoy.
Post his slumber perhaps his intense dream recall has revealed he was visited by these three not quite so Christian, but indicative pathological identities: ‘Lewy Body Dementia, Alzheimers, and Delusions’.