Trump Story #11.

Pyongyang is just a hole in the ground. Clouds of radioactive ash drift over sea and land, languidly making their way across the Demilitarized Zone towards Seoul, like some sort of gaseous Korean Godzilla.

Closer to home, Donald Trump Jr. has hidden the remote in order to convince his papa to eliminate the ASPCA. This developing hostage situation has the entire Oval Office on high alert, as Donald Sr. tears the portrait of Andrew Jackson by Ralph Eleaser Whiteside Earl from the wall, searching desperately...

Junior prances around his elderly father, his face taut with insane glee, spittle flicking from his lips as he jibes: “Where's the remote, papa? Where's the remote!?” The President's face is streaked with tears and snot and drool. Where's the remote? He hasn't felt this panicky since they found Eric perched over the naked corpse of Jared Kushner, trying to burrow into one of the knifeholes.

Where's the remote!? Where's the remote? Bannon stands in the corner, trying to change the channel with his mind, complaining about “interference” and squinting ever harder. Mike Pence is off purifying another girl with holy water and bleach, otherwise the Prez would ask him to help search. One wall is splashed with Coca Cola and blood. There are empty boxes and packing peanuts and new ties strewn everywhere.

“Where's the remote!? Where's the remote, papa!?”Junior slaps the top of his head and kicks over the bust of MLK.

Who knew being president would be this hard?