Trump Story #4

Everyone is very excited for the inauguration. Pence's hands itch under his purifying gloves, eagerly awaiting the delivery of the whore, not realizing that Eric has gotten to her first, poor girl.

Elsewhere, Melania slowly combs the hair of the unconscious Ivanka, as Jared Kushner moans piteously in the corner, his untreated wounds starting to bloat with infection. He drools. Ben Carson stares at him, unsure of what to do, letting his mind drift off to his days at Yale, those pretty red-brick façades and happily tweeting birds.

Mattis and Sessions entertain themselves by coming up with new degrading names for Sessions' housekeeper, flicking brandy at her with their fingers as she cleans the mantle.

Barron studiously pores over a very old leatherbound book filled with names and dates. No one has been able to find Donald Jr. for at least a week.

Donald Trump (Senior), the President-Elect, snuggles happily in his bed, nightcap askew over his puff of yellow hair, and thanks God and Jesus for all the people he's never even met that love him, and how well everything has gone for him so far in his life, and as he slips off to peaceful sleep he dreams of Russia and piss and nuclear weaponry and his United States of America, cleansed and shining and beautiful in the setting autumn sun.