Mar-A-Lago Prison – Charades – S3E2

Previously on Trump’s Fever Dream

It’s November 6th 2024 in an alternate timeline slightly to the right of ours. Civil war looms as Trump, in true chaotic form much like the Trump of our reality, has won the US election against his elder of three years Joe Biden by a landslide. All thanks to a suspected hack of US voting machines by Putin on the same day Trump lost case for the J6 insurrection. Seizing the moment Biden has shocked Trump and the world by throwing up a razor prison fence around Mar-A-Lago in a desperate race to prove Trump and Putin’s treachery before his final 11 weeks in office are up!

We now join a Trump Fever Dream even worse than our own.

Holding up his pajama bottoms that have lost their string, Ted Cruz follows Trump with all the bravado of a whipped hound as his master storms into Mar-A-Lago’s garishly ornate front hall. Red, white and blue balloons labeled “‘Trump Wins ’24!” scatter in Trump’s angry wake to the shock of exiting guests.

“Do not comply!” Trump barks at sheepish exiting election victory guests being ushered out by apologetic Secret Service agents. “Stop! For god’s sake, don’t let Biden’s SS herd you off to MAGA death camps!” Awkwardly, none of the guests react and continue to slowly exit.

“FUCK YOU!” Trump’s shout echoes as he flails his arms in a hateful benediction.

“Maybe playing some charades will calm you, Donald! I’ll start!” says Cruz snappily. The soon to be former Senator motions like he’s walking a high wire, gathering some cell phone filming from the exiting party goers. Trump shrugs.

Agent Rogers, who has secretly wired Cruz realizes what fuckery Cruz is up to and scowls at the buffoon. But Cruz nervously pushes on with his clues, pulling a hair from his messy head, he stretches out the strand of hair, and looks at Trump in askance. “You’re going bald?” offers Trump, bored already. Undeterred Cruz mimes the expression “WHY?” Trump puzzles and says, “Why?” Cruz claps for joy then makes the sign for the letter R.

“R? What in actual fuck R you up to?” grouses Trump, wanting the charades over five minutes ago. Desperate, Cruz mimes his tight wire act with the clues for WHY and R, motioning both furiously “Why… R… you walking a fucking tightrope?” fumes Trump, throwing up his hands. “Clowns! Why am I always surrounded by fucking clowns?”

“Donald, my good man, charades is obviously not one of your strong suits,” whines Cruz as he gives up trying to warn the clueless Trump he’s wearing a wire.

“Games? Games are for the woke! No time to play games. Ooh, that old bastard Biden. Like to wring his scrawny chicken neck!” Cruz panics that Trump is going to incriminate himself worse than he already has and shakes his head “No” violently to Trump. But the clueless Trump rages on, “Never pictured the octogenarian locking me up here,” says Trump bitterly, worry creeping into his voice.

Agent Rogers tries to calm Trump saying, “I’d hardly call fencing in Mar-A-Lago for riot protection locking you up, sir.”

“I got it. Let’s stream on X!” offers Cruz in a brown-nosy way.

“Uh, Sorry, boss. X is Twitter again,” says Robert.

Trump and Cruz respond in unison. “When?”

“Last night. Bezos bought the blue bird back from that South African escapee in a hostile as fuck takeover for pennies on the dollar. First thing, the Beez banned Elon for life from tweeting there again. Uh you’re banned from Twitter again too, boss,” says Robert to Trump, ignoring Cruz.

“Truth Social! We stream the truth on Truth Social” says Cruz, smacking himself in the forehead for not thinking of this sooner.

“Do you even watch the news, Cruz?” bellows Trump. “Bankrupted last month from paying my legal fees.”

“Got it! Let’s call Russian Television? Some RT should –” says Cruz getting cut off by Trump.

“You idiot! Biden banned RT in America six months ago! Our first amendment rights of free speech mean nothing in the deep gestapo state,” says Trump like he’s rehearsing a speech.

“So Zoom’s our only option left. I’ll send out an email to the MAGA faithful to meet online at God Save the Trump!” says Cruz proudly to the seething Trump. “Came up with the name myself. Like it, Don?”

Robert pokes the fuming Trump, “Uh, boss.”

“Yeah?” grunts Trump.

“We ain’t got no bars,” offers Robert nervously.

“No bars? Where do you think we’re having our mimosas at?’ says Trump downing a mimosa. “To think I never used to drink.” Trump smashes the champagne glass into the wall.

“Lookie here boss. No signal bars.” says Robert as he lifts his cell phone to Trump’s furious face.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Raging, Trump grabs a dining room chair and smashes it to pieces. Everyone stands back in fear as Trump reduces the chair to toothpicks. “Feel better, boss?” says Robert sadly. “Fuck no!” pants Trump, exhausted from his tantrum.

“Who can blame you, sir?” says Cruz, crocodile tears welling. Trump rolls his eyes at Cruz and spins to Agent Rogers angrily, “Rogers what’s the meaning of this cut off of my first amendment right of free fucking speech?! How in hell am I supposed to talk to my citizens in an illegal as fuck blackout? I’m the goddamn president-elect! So much for our great nation’s tradition of a peaceful transition!” Robert mutters to himself,“White people.”

“All for your own protection, sir,” says Agent Rogers in his most serene voice. “Protection? That what you call surrounding my beautiful Mar-A-Lago with fucking razor wire?” Rogers sighs deeply and says, “We’re trying to avert a civil war. Letting the temperature cool down for the recounts.”

Trump kicks victory balloons scattering and falls on his ass. Agent Rogers reluctantly helps Trump to his feet. “There are riots in all 50 sates. People are dying.” Cruz goes pale asking, “People are dying? How many?” Agent Roger adds, slumping, “Approaching a thousand.” Robert whistles.
Trump scoffs and blusters, “A measly grand? That’s nothing out of the record ninety million who voted for me yesterday! A thousand is just the start and a lousy one at that. Pass that onto your soon to be evicted White House squatter!”

Agent Rogers goes red-faced, biting his tongue, “I need to check how the fencing is going. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Trump.” Trump flinches and bellows, “Call me President Trump, you fucking peon! God Dammit! I won yesterday! I’m the 45th and forty-fucking-seventh president, you… you… Biden butt kisser!”

Kid Rock and Kanye lead the exiting crowd in a smattering of applause for Trump, but the orange one rages on, “Fuck you ,cowards! I’ll see you in hell with the rest of the American traitors that my retribution will annihilate!” Kid Rock and Kanye slump and shuffle off with the crowd for the front door. While the spinning Trump makes multiple finger gestures, glaring at the crowd shouting, “I hope you all die in the nuclear holocaust Biden is bringing upon us all by provoking Putin to madness! Die in his mighty atomic flame and fury! Die, die, die!”

Some MAGAs cry, but all the depressed party goers keep moving for the exit. Spent Trump pants, unsure what to do or say. A lost man-child. Unseen by all but the ever observant Robert, Agent Rogers slowly reaches for his holster gun. But at a subtle head shake “No” from Robert. The fuming agent manages to stop himself from shooting Trump on the spot only by using every ounce of his willpower.

Cruz pipes up to break the tension, “Technically, until the DOJ investigation of Russian fraud is over you should be calling our esteemed host President-Elect Trump.” “Fine. President-Elect it is,” surrenders Agent Rogers. Cruz brown-noses on, “And locking up President-elect Trump on the day of his landslide victory is a crime against MAGAs everywhere! No wonder there are riots, you fool!”

Trump bellows like a wounded beast, “What Cruz said. Rogers, restore my communications or you’re going to see a lot more dead than 1,000. Not a threat. Just a fact!”

“All communications both to and from Mar-A-Lago are suspended, President-Elect Trump. Those are President Biden’s orders, “says Agent Rogers, pretending not to be happy.

“How long?” says Trump and Cruz in unison.

“Until forever if DOJ proves the Russian hack before Jan 6, ’25 ” says Agent Rogers tensely. Trump laughs defiantly and barks, “FUCK YOU! Just following orders, Nazi?” Agent Rogers bows theatrically and strolls calmly off.

“Where the fuck is Vice President-elect Lindell?!” shouts Trump. “Out cold in the Pineapple Suite, Sir,” offers Robert obsequiously. “Well, wake him the fuck up, Robert! We have a fucking prison break and civil war to plan!” Hollers Trump. “Tried already, chief. Mike really tied one on last night after Fox announced you won. “

“TRY AGAIN!” shouts Trump at the top of his lungs at Robert, startling an exiting little old Southern Bell dressed head to toe in red, white and blue spangles. She gasps for air, “God almighty! You almost gave me a heart attack with that big ole mouth a yours.” Trump scoffs at her, “Antifa! Go off to the MAGA death camps with these other losers, you old red, white and blue goat” The little old lady bursts into tears, “Well, that’s the last time I donate a million to you, Donnie Darko!”

“TRAITORS! GET OFF MY PROPERTY!” Trump shouts as he storms off into the empty grand ballroom past sobbing guests and the little old lady flashing him both fingers.

Trembling, Trump takes the podium in the huge empty ballroom, littered with deflating balloons, party streamers and sparkling confetti. No mic required for this speech he’s desperate to get out, “I won last night! I fucking won! Do not let this old bastard Biden do this to me, cut me off from you my people! MAGA arise! Arise and smite the godless child murdering vermin who hate you! Death to black racists out to exterminate we the master — “

Trump goes speechless, seeing out the window, Melania rolls a suitcase, fleeing Mar-A-Lago. “Melania!” Trump falls over a gold chair and into the last big quarter of a red victory cake, face first.

Agent Rogers drags the stumbling Senator Ted Cruz by the scruff of his ugly red pajamas up the noisy pee-gravel drive, racing for the brand new Mar-A-Lago prison razor wire gates. Cruz starts to shout, “You motherfucking –” but Rogers shakes some sense into Cruz who softens to normal wimp levels, “Rogers, my good man, you’re gonna be sorry as hell you ever laid hands on a US –” before Cruz can finish his threat, Rogers bum rushes Cruz rolling out into the street.

Guards, Mexican twins, laugh hysterically as Cruz’s pajama top rips open, exposing a wire. “Wass up, pandejo? You get fired, little snitch…, says twin one, “Bitch?” finishes twin two, laughing at the stewing Senator. Cruz motions to the passing little old lady for a hand to help him up. Instead she flashes him the finger and growls, “Oh, fuck you especially for fucking up our country, you soon to be fucking former Senator!”

Red frosting covered, Trump bursts from the ballroom shouting, “Melania! Melania!” She turns and scowls, “I’m sorry. But I am leaving. I won’t stay in this prison, Donald.” Trump desperately tries to wipe red frosting from his eyes, pitifully whining, “Damn frosting stings! Can’t see! Can’t fucking see! Burns!” Melania tosses a champagne bucket’s icy water in Trump’s shocked face. “Cold! COLD! Now I’m freezing!” The con wretchedly coughs water, Melania throws up her hands and shouts in Trump’s blubbering face, “78 and you’re still a whiny brat!”

“Why ya gotta leave our paradise, my queen of the Nile?” says Trump, pitifully tugging on Melania’s black dress to wipe off tears and frosting. “Paradise? A prison! Razor wire everywhere! Biden’s beaten you! He’s turning Mar-A-Lago into a MAGA-death-camp!” A Black guard high upon a new tower waves to Melania and Donald and they both flip him the finger.

“Honey bear, maybe Mar-A-Lago’s got a bit Auschwitz-at-the-Ritz today,” charms Trump. “But don’t I always land on my feet? Admit it, M. I’m the goddamn master of disaster.” Melania screams, “Ha! You are more like the cat who blew up all nine lives.” “Baby,” purrs Trump to no avail as Melania croaks, “Biden has won! Smith has won! You’re finished, Donald! Finished!”

Trump pauses for a bit and then smiles brightly, offering, “Eleven short weeks and I’m president again. First thing I deep six Smith’s case. 11 weeks that’s all I ask, baby, with you at my side!”

Melania shoves Trump away and shouts, “No! The evidence of Putin’s voting machine tampering is real this time, not one of your pack of lies you spew like your wretched breath!” Shockingly, the enthralled Trump beams, “Forget the fucking courts. Putin’s a genius I tell you! Look how he’s openly brainwashed Republicans, preying on their white privilege weak spot mercilessly for a decade unscathed. MAGAs have the guns, 440 million of them, and they are ready to wage civil war to see me back in power. Hundreds have already sacrificed themselves!”

Melania fake-makes herself barf, “If you think fat and happy MAGAs are any match for the US military you’re more insane than I thought! Melania tries to pull herself free of the needy Trump who begs, “My people are spread through the military! You gotta have more faith in me! I really am the chosen one, babe!”

OK, breaking for night. Lift the above up to CRUZ PIPES UPcut and paste it and rerecord audio with a reboot. Night. Have fun tonight, Love Ohom

Melania rolls her heavily mascaraed eyes at Trump and shrieks, “Chosen one? Chosen one? You believe your evangelical goons? You’re nothing more than a tool for their quest to make women like me pregnant baby machines and force us into a slow domestic death, caring for your rotten brats!”

“God chose me to keep the race most made in his White image, running the fucking show like white men have for thousands of years. Death to — “Trump trails off, lost and drooling. Melania sighs at the speechless Trump. Finally he snaps too and smiles brightly, offering, “Eleven short weeks I’m president again and I dismiss Smith’s case. Eleven weeks that’s all I ask, baby. I can’t fail with you at my side!”

“You’re as delusional as you are fucked, Donald,” says Melania swatting Trump away as he moves in for a kiss. “Baby, Mar-A-Lago’s only a prison if you let Sleepy Joe break us up! I’ll be dead in a week without you!” begs Trump on one knee like it’s a proposal. “I’ll double Baron’s share of my estate.”

This finally gets to Melania. She smiles tearfully at Trump, “Oh, darling that was beautiful. I can never stay mad at you, my strong man,” says Melania. “So you’re staying?” “Who can resist that manly big dick charm of yours and your love for our Baron?” says Melania, oozing sex appeal.

“Come here, you sexy minx!” Trump moves for a kiss to seal the deal and Melania leans for the kiss.”My chosen one,” purrs Melania kissing Trump. As he closes his eyes Melania kicks Trump in the balls and pushes him, frosting and all into the swimming pool. Splash!

Outside the fence in a listening van, Special Counsel Jack Smith takes off his headphones to laugh with Agent Rogers and cheers, “MELANIA DID IT! Great work Agent Rogers. With Biden declaring martial law today,this gives Joe enough on Trump to keep his traitorous ass locked up at Mar-A-Lago forever.”

“Wow. That old bastard is finally finished. 10 years of Trump is over! Knock on wood” gloats Agent Rogers playfully knocking on his own blonde head.

“How’s it feel to save democracy, Agent Rogers, convincing Melania to wear a wire?” beams Jack Smith. “Thanks but I’m part of a huge team of never Trumpers out for bear. Well, better get back to Trump. Keep an eye on him, “offers Agent Rogers. “See you at the tribunal,” says Special Counsel Smith patting Agent Rogers on the back as he opens the van door for him to exit.

One hundred yards from the listening van Agent Rogers checks around him to make sure he’s alone and whispers into his wristband communicator, “Smith bought it. Hook, line and sinker, sir.”

Stepping from a steam bath Trump answers into his walkie talkie with an evil grin, “That’s President-Elect Trump.” Trump’s wicked laughter echoes in the huge bathroom as bends down to a switch near the base of the hot tub. Robert bursts through the bath-door knocking Trump splashing into the bubbling hot tub.

Before Trump can holler at him Robert shouts, “‘Uh, um, Vice President Lindell has gone to that big pillow factory in the sky!” “What?” says Trump grabbing a towel from the apologetic Robert that he offers, avoiding eye contact with Trump. “He’s dead?” Mike’s dead? My fucking VP is dead?” “‘Fraid so, sir. Looks like a heart attack, doc says.” “More like a Biden CIA operative killed him and I’m next.” worries Trump. “Oh, please, sir, don’t make Steve Bannon VP! Begging you, sir. That man will do what you only talk about. I got family. Chosen one, I don’t want no Black genocide!” says Robert falling to his knees, praying to Trump.

Not answering, Trump sinks back into the bubbling hot tub, vanishing into a cloud of steam.


Our friendly disclaimer: Trump’s Fever Dream is of course a work of dark satirical science fiction. This tall tale is based on an alternate quantum universe. It is, of course, not meant to be a reflection of the real life Donald Trump, people associated with him, or any other people on our real-life world or Mar-A-Lago.

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