The Trump family sits baited in front of a warm television screen.
“And with that, we are happy to announce that the electoral college has named Joseph Robinette Biden as the 46th president of the United States,” the anchor proclaims from behind the camera. “President-Elect Biden will take office on January 20th.”
“Fuckers!” scream a very high Donald Trump Jr as he slams the TV to the ground. “Those pieces of shit! They fucked my, daddy! I mean, my father.”
“Jesus Christ, guys,” Jared Kushner cries, removing himself from the couch. “If dad can’t commit fascism in the next month, we’re all going to prison! Then I’ll never get rid of 666 Park Ave.”
Jared falls back to the couch, crying in Invanka’s lap.
“There, there,” she says half-heartedly.
“Shut the fuck *sniff* up, Jared,” Don Jr. said. “God, you’re such a pussy. I can’t believe my sister fucks you. If all goes wrong, my dad can use his Presidential pardon to get us out of any trouble.”
Suddenly, the door slams open, denting the wall. An infuriated Donald Trump walks through the door. A very sweaty Rudy Giuliani wheezes in behind him.
“Sir, we don’t have the option to pardon all of your family and associates. That’s way too many to get away with. Maybe 3 or 4 of us, but we can’t pardon every,” Giuliani is cut short by the President.
“Shut the fuck *sniff* up, Rudy!” Trump screams. “I know what I’m fucking doing!”
Trump reaches into his desk and pulls out four whiskey glasses and a bottle of pills with “Trump” written on the side. He fills the glasses with Russo-Baltique Vodka, a gift from Vladamir Putin.
“Alright, Ivanka, Jared, Don, Lurch,” he pushed through his teeth. “Everyone grab a pill. One for you and your spouses, Rudy, you too. But, don’t you touch that vodka, Rudy. You can dry swallow yours.”
They all gather around the Resolute Desk, glancing around the oval office.
“It’s time?” Donald Jr. asks his father. “Time for the pact?”
“There’s no other way,” Trump tells his third favorite child. “We had these pills made for a reason. If we needed a final way out, this would be it.”
One by one, with a worried expression of the judgment that awaits them in the next dimension, Trump observes as his children, their partners, and his stupid-ass lawyer swallow their pills and begin taking their final place around the Oval Office. Their eyes start to close.
With a final sigh, Trump looks at the pills and bottle of vodka that still sit on his desk. The smell turns his stomach just slightly. He reaches for the phone.
“Kayleigh, you can send in people to clean up now. Also, let’s release a statement letting them know I pardon myself in grief of my children who have just been killed by my most trusted friend and lawyer.”
“Right away, daddy.”