Trump Story #5.
INAUGURATION 2017, LIVE UPDATES:
[9:56 am, EST] I stumble towards St. Johns, not realizing that the Trumps and the Pences have already disembarked to slurp tea with the Obamas across the street at the White House. All that's left is a few stragglers, a parish member being quietly interrogated by a Secret Service agent. There's nothing left here to learn, no trace of the President-Elect or his crew except a few spots of blood on a pew where Mike Pence sat, the barbed thorns around his thigh beneath his trouserleg enacting his daily Mortification of the Flesh. The real party's across the street.
[10:15 am EST] The sky over Washington is flat, drizzling slightly. Trump, the President-Elect, glimpses at it jealously through a window. His prostate didn't let him piss this morning, and now his bladder is bloated, turgid, and the whole time he was posing with the Obamas he could only think of roaring waterfalls, great rivers, the massive drains on the side of the Hoover Dam.
[10:34 am, EST] Somewhere in the city, Mattis peers down at the protesters. He points at them with finger guns. "Pow, you're cucked," he murmurs under his breath. "Pow. Pow. Pow. Cuck. Cuck. Cuck."
[11:00 am, EST] Trump's motorcade arrives at Capitol Hill. Melania sits inside, sedated heavily, staring out the window at the assembled crowds. She wishes she was back at home, watching television. The crowds are too loud. She's so tired, can't she just sleep? But the men say no. The men all say she has to stay awake and to smile like they taught her. Eric pats her hand and says, "It'll all be over soon, mommy." She's so afraid of Eric, and wants to punch him, to bite him, to keep him away from Barron and all the terrible things he does oh god the terrible things- but then another wave of sedative hits, and she retreats back inside herself, into the darkness, and disappears.
[11:12 am, EST] Hillary Clinton stands in the crowd, happily. She's not upset about attending the inauguration. Far from it! She fights back a grin, attempting to maintain composure. Oh, you're fucked, she thinks, watching all of her enemies assemble on the stage. You have no idea how fucked you are. You're fucked and you're fucked and you're fucked. You took what was rightfully mine, and now you're fucked. So I'm not President, so what? My retribution will be slow and terrible and ever so much more fun than that stuffy old office.
[11:15 am, EST] President Trump's straining bladder feels like a nuclear football in his pelvis. He trembles, tears appearing in the corners of his bloodshot eyes, padding sweat off of his forehead with a Brioni silk pocket square.
[11:24 am, EST] I muscle my way through the crowd in the Mall to see if I can spot anyone worth a damn, but all I'm getting is row after row of red MAGA hats. A cop takes a brief respite from curb stomping a row of unarmed black men to warn me about DC's liquor laws, so I thank him and empty my flask into my belly right then and there. It's unseasonably warm for January already, but now I'm feeling downright toasty.
[11:30 am, EST] Vice-president-elect Michael Richard Pence shakes hands, smiles to mask his pained grimace. The cilice beneath his suit, interwoven with thorns, tears at his raw and already bloody flesh. "Flesh is sin," he thinks. "Purify the flesh."
[11:33 am, EST] Eric Trump surreptitiously works a small segment of common hepatic artery out from between two teeth.
[11:46 am, EST] Barron Trump listens to the choir, their voices ethereal and heavenly, and bliss begins to flow through him like ambrosia. His heart opens, and he can feel something happening inside him, something wonderful and beautiful... visions begin appearing before his eyes, visions of a future yet to come, or perhaps of some alternate present... inwardly, he weeps with joy, for he knows that this world was meant for him and him alone.
[11:58 am, EST] The pressure on Trump's bladder is unbearable.
[12:00 pm, EST] As he stands to take the inauguration, Trump's swollen prostate, which had been pinching shut his urethra for the past twelve hours, loosens its pressure as he changes position. "Oh god, not now!" he thinks, but it's too late. As he places one small hand on Lincoln's bible and raises the other, his adult diaper fills with urine, small trickles leaking from around the seal, down his thighs, dampening his socks. It reeks vaguely of rotting beets.
[12:01 pm, EST] Donald Trump is elected 45th president of the United States.
[12:01 pm-12:19 pm, EST] President Trump, stewing in his own rancid piss, babbles nonsensically.
[12:25 pm, EST] Unable to actually have been able to see any of the proceedings, I end up ducking into a grimy bar called Vig's, eating the rest of my drugs, and falling asleep in the bathroom.
[12:26 pm, EST] That's the end of my Inauguration 2017 coverage! If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them in the comments below. Thanks for tuning in!