When Donald shut the door to the presidential suite on the 44th floor, he breathed in deep and closed his eyes. He thought of the litter of agents in suits and dark glasses, who stood guard at every possible entry and exit to the hotel, the elevator, and the 44th floor, who were pledged to protect him in all things, who existed to extend and prolong his existence. And he thought of the growing crowd beyond the barricade down the street, his name pouring from their lips, protesters and advocates alike. And opening his eyes, Donald smiled.
As Donald teetered on the southwestern edge of his king-sized bed, he shook free his right leg, then his left, from the confines of his Brioni suit pants, and thought of the 47,341 adoring faces that had looked on and shouted their loyalties while he sermonized to them from three makeshift pulpits at three separate hangers in three different cities over the course of ten hours earlier that day.
When Donald stepped into the bathroom, he paused at the pair of gilt, pear-shaped rococo mirrors and stared at his naked, recently-tanned body, at his slightly protruding belly, his carefully coiffed hair, and his creased, septuagenarian skin. He refreshed his Twitter feed, just in time to see his latest tweet inch past 25K likes and 12K shares, placed his Samsung Galaxy tenderly on the calacatta marble counter, and disappeared into the warm steam of the walk-in shower.
After Donald had slipped into his silk pajamas and laid down on his plush, king-sized, pillow top mattress, he dimmed the overhead lights, refreshed his feed (26.5K likes, 16K shares), and flipped on the 65-inch television screen, which clung to the wall ten feet from the foot of his bed and now cast a soft blue glow over the room. As his eyes grew heavy, Donald watched himself shake hands in Reno, lead chants in Henderson, and disembark from his plane in Vegas, energetic and triumphant. As he skipped from channel to channel, he watched as the pundits discussed the hands that Donald vigorously shook in Reno, the raucous chants that Donald led in Henderson, and the suggestive swagger with which Donald disembarked his plane in Vegas. Having nestled comfortably under the eiderdown comforter, Donald tweeted, refreshed his feed three times, placed his phone on the pillow beside him, and closed his eyes.
Donald opens his eyes aboard a big and beautiful plane with endless isles and and endless rows of empty seats, flying through the billowing clouds, above a tall and dark and ancient mountain. Now suddenly the plane bursts through the clouds upon a majestic, golden plain! And below, an endless sea of men and women, cheering and misty-eyed, rapt and awed, rolling and rejoicing!
As the masses part, the plane touches down and is instantly enveloped by the multitudes! Donald exits the plane, energetic, smiling, magnanimous, and triumphant. He is lifted onto the shoulders of the crowd, a messiah riding high atop the heaving throng, and passed for countless miles as the crowd swells and shouts, every man, every woman straining just to touch his suit, his hand, his hair, to claim him, to know him fully, as they wish to be fully known by him. And Donald shouts and giggles and exhorts and salutes, until at last he is set down at the base of a big and beautiful wall, stretching as far as can be seen toward both horizons, towering up to the heavens. And with a gracious smile, Donald approaches the wall, as a piece of bright, beautiful, red ribbon descends from on high, flapping softly in the warm breeze.
And from the crowd appears a woman of unrivaled beauty, her nude body draped with superlative ribbons and white flowers. She places in Donald’s hands a big and beautiful pair of golden scissors. And he kisses her on the lips and dismisses her.
And the multitudes grow silent in awe and anticipation.
And Donald raises the big and beautiful scissors and opens the gleaming blades around the ribbon, like a lion’s jaws around its tamer’s head. He stops, turns his head, and stares magnanimously into the countless faces overflowing with gratitude, admiration, and love. So much love! And with a great and mighty movement of his arms he snaps the scissors with every ounce of strength in his body. And blade strikes ribbon.
When Donald awoke, he was alone and sweating in his king-sized bed in the presidential suite on the 44th floor. He stared first at the flickering blue light on the ceiling above his king-sized bed as he felt his heart beating wildly in his chest, and then at the muted TV and the latest poll numbers. He checked the time. He’d been asleep for all of two hours. There was work to do.
Donald rolled over and stared at the Samsung Galaxy glowing softly on the pillow beside him. He picked it up, refreshed his feed (new post: 12K likes, 3K shares), and started typing, his fingers rapidly pecking, lashing out, time and again, at the glowing, listless screen.