Season 3: Episode 1
Hey, It’s Ken Sheetz here with a reading of “Trump’s Fever Dream.” This episode. Episode 1 of Season 3 is titled #MarALagoPrison.
Sweat-soaked, Donald J Trump bolts awake from yet another fever dream that plague him frequently since he caught Covid in April 1, 2020. Six months before the Trump of our parallel reality did. Trump rubs his leathery freckled neck and says in relief, sinking back into his pillow, “Wow. Rebel General Michelle Obama hung me from her yacht’s yardarm to get my nuclear secrets. Too real. That black bitch must really want to kill me!”
Drowsy in the super-king bed poster bed beside him, gorgeously lit by the Florida sun, Melania groans, “You’re no visionary, Donald. Terrible nightmares you deserve for selling nuclear secrets to Putin.”
Trump grumps, “Mine to sell!”
Furious, Trump swings his puffy feet from the bed and shuffles for the ornate bathroom, oblivious to a new razor wire fence furiously under construction just past the swaying palm trees outside his soundproof Mar-A-Lago bedroom windows.
Donald sleepily pulls down his red silk pajama and plops down upon his gold-plated toilet. He picks up his cell phone and begins to one-finger-type a Truth Social Post “We Won!” when the phone in his tiny hands rings loudly. Almost jumping out of his orange skin, Trump sees the photo ID of his Black body man Robert Tulsa, the Walt Nauta of this alternate reality one timeline away. Trump groggily answers the call on speaker, “Yeah?”
“Boss, seen the razor wire?!” says a worried Robert.
“Look out your window!”
“Mind I finish my morning dump first? Tell me!”
“Army Corp of Engineers is here! And, and…”
“And what? Spit it out, Robert!”
“There’s over a hundred guys buildin’ a 15 foot high fence ’round Mar-A-Lago!”
Bare-assed, Trump hops off the gold toilet and struggles to get up on his tiptoes to peer out the high bathroom window. His orange puss goes pale as he sees a prefab guard tower getting lifted into place by a Black Army Corp Of Engineers worker, operating a noisy portable crane.
Trump bellows in rage, startling the sleeping Melania into an accompanying scream. She gasps, “Donald, you scare me half to death!”
Donald angrily motions the naked Melania to the bedroom window. “Look! Look, Melania! They’re turning my beautiful Mar-A-Lago into an Auschwitz!”
Melania drolly pulls on a robe and gazes out the window calmly offering, “Huh. Surprised it’s taken the stupid Democrats this long to lock you up.”
“Would it fucking kill you to be supportive for once?!” shouts Trump as he storms from the bedroom.
Melania sobs after him, “God knows I’ve tried! But you always make mess of everything! Now I am prisoner stuck with you in this run down mausoleum! How will I shop? Fucking Amazon?”
Dozens of half dressed Mar-A-Lago guests and low ranking MAGA politicos in party hats, march slowly for the front gate, suitcases in tow past grim armed FBI Agents. An angry tall bearded guest, dressed only in polka dot boxers, turns to his dazed wife. “Donnie musta lost his case.”
His wife chuckles and says, “Ha! Which case?” Her angry laughter at her own joke is cut short as a white terry cloth robe wearing Trump races past for the front gate to the “oohs” of the guest crowd.
“Rogers! shouts Trump to the turned back of a tall muscular blonde-haired Secret Service agent.
Special Agent Rogers, a hip thirty-something, spins to Trump from a conversation he’s having with a young Hispanic Army Corps of Engineers supervisor. Rogers smiles sheepishly and brightly offers, “President Trump, I’m sure you are wondering –“
“I fucking won the 2024 election last night! This anyway to treat the new President Elect?”
“But you lost your J6 case same day, sir.” says Agent Rogers sheepishly.
“That Black bitch judge had it in for me! She and that smug Jew Smith can’t turn my beautiful Mar-A-Lago into a fucking concentration camp!”
“Sir, a little fencing helps my guys do our job. A lot of angry voters want you, um ah, gone,” offers Agent Rogers.
Before Trump can retort the Army Corps of Engineering supervisor shoves a cell phone between Agent Rogers and Trump and says, “President Biden for you on Zoom, sir.”
Joe Biden grins from the cell phone at Trump, “Mornin’, Don. Sorry for the short notice on the Secret Service protection we’re putting up for you. All on the taxpayer’s dime I might add.”
Trump shouts, his face beat red, “Protection?! That what you call razor wire top of ugly as fuck chain-link fences and kicking out all my election win celebration guests?”
“Little early to party when I’ve not conceded don’t you think, Donald?” says Joe sweet as pie, while Trump’s valet in this reality, Robert, runs up to the trio out of breath, senses the tense vibe and instantly wishes he’d stayed in the mansion.
“You senile old son of a bitch! I beat you fair and square in the record landslide!” roars Trump.
“Ah. My three years younger and way outta shape, fellow senior citizen, you overreached, like always, faking up a landslide. Ha. A landslide when my administration has restored law and order to this country and we have a roaring economy to boot. I’m not joking around here.”
“Hurts when the foot is on the other shoe, Joe?”
Robert timidly offers, “I think you mean the shoe is on the other foot, boss.”
“Shut the fuck up, Robert. You heard me wrong! Get your Black ears cleaned!” bellows Trump in Robert’s sweet face, forgetting Biden.
“Record reports of election fraud. Real fraud this time we can prove in court, Donny boy,” says Biden calmly on the phone in the shaky hand of the Army construction supervisor.
“Donny boy? Call me President-Elect Trump you Catholic son of bitch!” says Trump snatching the phone to his face.
“Don, the best you’ll get from me is the former guy,” says Biden, leaning closer in the phone’s view screen. “I don’t know how your buddy Putin hacked our voting machines, but my DOJ is gonna find out one way or another before January 20th.”
“You mean January 6th, 2025, don’t ya?”
“Zip it. I don’t have any more time for your lies and threats, Donny boy. I’m still unquestionably our president for at least the next 11 weeks and dealing with the riots of millions of people in a dozen cities of every race, color and creed. Good American voters Dem and Rep alike who believe their vote was stolen in your Russkie rigged 2024 election!”
“You can’t do this to me!” shouts Trump, snatching the phone to his face, garnering rubbernecking from the exiting Mar-A-Lago guests pouring into waiting buses.
“How’s it feel to not get a concession from your opponent, wise guy?” laughs Biden.
“I’ll see you and your boy Hunter swinging from General Michelle Obama’s yacht yardarm!” shouts Trump.
“What in hell are you bringing Michelle into this for?” puzzles Biden.
“Ha! I know you take your marching orders from the mastermind Obamas!” shouts Trump, a bit unsure of himself for bringing his bad dream into all this.
“Lunatic! The fence is for your protection until you finish your appeals for the J6 conviction and/or we clear up your 2024 election shenanigans!” says Biden as he grins while ending the call.
Trump smashes the phone at the Army’s Corp of Engineer supervisor’s feet.
Robert scratches his head and cautiously asks Trump, “What next, sir?”
“Coffee. I need a fucking coffee.”
The line of exiting party goers weakly applaud Trump as he storms past them. Behind Trump’s back Robert encourages the small crowd to applaud louder… but they don’t.
“March off to your busses, sheeple! I hope the Feds drag all of you off to prison to be shot!” Trump paces off for the main compound, a shaken Agent Rogers and Robert Tulsa close behind.
A man shouts from the gaggle of guests, “I love you President Trump!”
A half dressed Ted Cruz steps in front of Trump, “Mind if I join you for a cup of Java, sir?”
Pleased Cruz is still on the Mar-A-Lago property for scheming Trump motions Cruz to follow.
Special Agent Rogers whispers into his wrist communicator, “The Fox is in the hen house. Repeat. The Fox is in the hen house.” Rogers nods hearing the response in his earpiece and follows Trump for the entrance to the main building of what is already hashtagged #MarALagoPrison by the ravenous press building at the gates past the Secret Service guards.
The press shout a thousand questions, but one voice stands out that makes Trump flinch, “Mr. Trump what do you think about Michael Pence saying, ‘You’re a fucker?'”
TO BE CONTINUED:
Getting serious for a moment, MAR-A-LAGO-PRISON is of course a work of satirical fiction, like all Trumps Fever Dream posting, based on an alternate quantum universe. It’s, of course, not meant to be a reflection of the real life Donald Trump or the people associated with him or any other people in the real world or his politics or property.
And a special thanks to my love and partner in everything Elizabeth England for her beautiful portrayal of Melania and the party guest.
And for all you wiseguys saying I don’t do a very good Donald Trump (in the audio version). That’s exactly how he sounds in the other universe.
Here’s the new podcast if you’d like to listen on your TV.