Dolly Darling, the President’s Secretary, excitedly and fearfully puts the finishing touches to the Oval Office, the new lair of her boss Donald Trump. He would be here shortly and she knows all too well how critical he is that everything should be perfect., or at least perfect as Donald Trump sees it. She knocks some lint off the large velvet rendition of Elvis in day glow colors in full rocker mode when he was still young and svelte. It hangs where the portrait of Thomas Jefferson used to.
Dolly dusts off the flashing neon light that screams ‘The Prez’ in eye-irritating flashing fluorescent scarlet above the door to all who come to seek the new Leader’s favor. Dolly Darling is not her real name, but she has used it for so long that she has almost forgotten her actual name. DD was her stage moniker as she moved up through the Atlantic City ranks from cigarette girl to stripper to bartender to Trump’s part-time lover. Now she culminates her career as the secretary to the President of the United States. She has already excitedly told all her friends, but not to her relatives to whom she disappeared years ago.
She hears the Mariachi band coming in that El Grande Hombre (as he wishes to be called by them) has ordered for his entrance into his new digs. “Oh, hello!” She smilingly greets the four dark skinned men dressed up as perfect stereo types of south of the border musicales right down to the over-sized sombreros. It was good they were all of varying height otherwise they would have taken up half the space in the room.
“So, do you speak English?” she asks them in as nice a way as she can. She normally didn’t like having anything to do with people who weren’t WASP’s, but she beamed her best smile and hoped it would work.
“Of course ma’am.” the taller one answered in accent-less English. “El Grande Hombre would put up with nothing less than American born mariachi players. We all have our birth certificates with us just in case.”
“Oh, that is wonderful.” she smiled. She was a bit taken back by his ability to communicate so well. She was used to the bus boys and janitors at Trump’s casinos who wouldn’t learn English if you beat them with a club. “OK! Go ahead and set yourselves up beside the door. He will be here any minute.”
Just as soon as she said that she heard the clip-clopping of Mr. Big’s (as Trump wanted to be called by all Anglo visitors to his new mansion) Allen Edmonds shoes as their hard, expensive soles met the polished marble of the White House’s floor. He, knowing that all Presidents wore these handmade American shoes, immediately ordered a pair and had them picked up by Air Force One. Nothing but the best for the new Prez.
“Hey babe! How’s it shaking?” stated President Trump to Dolly as he flamboyantly entered his new domain. “Is everything ramped up?”
“It is indeed, Mr. President Trump!” replied Dolly, flashing her best smile, despite feeling like there was the onset of an ulcer in her stomach.
The mariachi band started up, playing a tinny version of Hail To The Chief. When finished they smiled broadly thinking they had done well.
The Donald smiled for a moment, then said, “That was great guys! You can go now.” He held the door open for them as they left somewhat sheepishly.
“You got the place all ready, Dolly?”
“I sure do, Mr. Trump…..”
“Aah, aah now Dolly! ‘Mr. President!’ Remember that!”
“Of course, Mr. Trump President.”
Trump gleefully rubs his hands together. “So here I am! The President of the United States! It was destiny! It was Fate! It was a lot of conniving and baby kissing! So what, dear Dolly, is on my agenda for today?”
Dolly looks down at the schedule pad she has in her hands. “You have a meeting with the Governor of Macao over getting the Chinese approval for the Trump Amusement Park and Casino complex there…”
“How much do we have set aside in bribe money for them?”
“Umm….(she looks at her figures) $500,000.”
“Hmmm, that might not be enough, These Chinese officials are getting used to the big money now. Better make it $600,000.”
Dolly writes it down. “OK. After that you have a meeting with European Union officials about taking our share of Syrian refugees…”
“Oh hell! Have them give the refugees hand guns and send them back to Syria! They need to take care of their own troubles! Give them a memo to that effect and send them packing.”
“Oh, yes! President Putin called and wanted to chat about easing sanctions against Russia.”
“Hmm… Yeah, set up a time and I’ll talk to him. We shouldn’t burden him now that he’s become a good Capitalist. We don’t want them sliding back to communism. Also we need to reverse as many Obama policies as possible to make it look like we are really doing something here. Americans have forgotten about Ukraine and Crimea by now anyway.”
A light and buzzer flash on her desk. Dolly looks at it and says “Oh my! Gentlemen from Exxon, Halliburton and Shell Oil are here to see you!”
Trump beams. “My first visitors! Send them in! This shall be a portent of things to come!”
Three big, well dressed, imposing men come into the Oval Office. They all shake hands.
The first man speaks, “Greetings Mr. Big!” Trump beams at this. “I am Wonton Greid from Halliburton. This is Mr. Preise Gouger from Shell Oil and Mr. Merci Les Sleaze from Exxon Mobile Company. We just wanted to meet and congratulate you on your new conquest. It looks like you are set up real nice here.”
“Set up is the right way to put it, gentlemen. So, what can I do you out of today?”
“Oh, we just wanted to make sure we were all riding for the same brand here. Ours, namely.”
The three men all laugh uproariously over this. “Now we know that being as how you are a business man yourself you know how things go here. We all have to scratch each other backs.”
“And line each others pockets!” intercepted the Exxon man.
“Gentlemen, you are now looking at the biggest back scratcher in the United States.” He does a fake bow. “Let me put your fears to rest. As you said, I am a businessman. I know the road. Let me say it this way: Whatever your interests are, they are mine too. I am going to streamline this country so that it more effectively serves you, the industrial bosses of America. No more ‘Ask what can I do for my country.’ Instead it will be “What can this country do for me?” Money is the oil that lubricates this great land and we need lots of it!”
“So that we can get lubricated ourselves!” laughs the Exxon man at his own joke.
“Indeed!” agrees Trump. “And should everything go sour then we always have the American tax payer to bail us out. The set up we’ve had since the ’08 Recession has worked out quite fine so far- they pay the taxes and we use them to keep ourselves afloat!”
“Here, here!” say all three men together boisterously.
“Yes!” said the Shell Oil man enthusiastically. “The very best type of Capitalism there is- Socialized Corporate Bailout!”
“Indeed!” agreed Trump. “Nothing like good business practices to make sure the business comes our way!”
“Well, President Trump, it is great to see that you will be steering this country in the right direction, one very different than that Islamic communistic jungle bunny before you did!”
Trump raises his hand in vow, “I will fully fumigate this office, this government and this society of all democratic pestilence and keep it sanctifingly clean for our new religion, that of getting all you can as quickly and easily as you can.”
“Amen, sir, amen!” said the Halliburton man as they all heartily shook hands and left.
Dolly appears at the door again. “Hillary Clinton is on the phone to give her concession.”
“Oh, good! Put her through!” He listens for her voice. When he hears it he yells through the phone “Loser!” and hangs up. He hisses “Bitch!” under his breath.
Shortly there is another buzz. “President Mr. Trump, there is a Mr. LaPierre from the NRA to see you.”
“Good, good! Send him in.”
A moment later the severe face of the President of the National Rifle Association peeks through the door, a plastered smile across his face.
“Hey there, boss man! How is it going?”
“Great Wayne! Just great! Come on in!”
“I wanted to talk to you about what your stance on guns is going to be.”
“Can you sell them?”
“Oh, we sure can!”
“Then my stance is go for it! I am all for free enterprise as long as you ain’t givin’ them away for free!”
LaPierre chuckles at this. “Oh believe me, Mr. President, that is the only freedom we don’t believe in.”
They both laugh.
LaPierre gets serious again. “There is one other….. small…. trivial thing I wanted to discuss with you. I wanted to see if we could make one, small, slight basically insignificant change to the Constitution if you will.”
“What is that?”
“I think it would do the American public good, and our businesses as well, if we were to expand the Second Amendment to state that not only can we bear arms but also bazookas, cannons, tanks, surface to air missiles, personal fighter jets and a number of other personal paraphernalia. We are finding it rather limiting that individuals here are only allowed to have guns. We could also make billions more if they had some of the harder stuff.”
“And what is my cut of it?”
“’What did you say?”
Trump, somewhat louder, “What is my cut of it?”
“Ohh……um….. 15% of the profits…..”
“What is my cut of it?”
“Ahhhh….20% of it……”
“I seem to be having a hard time hearing you.”
“Oh… I said 25%.”
“Hmm, 25%. that is very generous of you. I think we can work with that amount.”
“Oh, thank you President Trump.”
“That’s Mr. Big….”
“Right, right, Mr. Big. Thank you Mr. Big.”
He keeps repeating this and bowing Japanese style as he exits backwards.
Trump pauses for a minute in reflection, then comes back to himself and buzzes Dolly. “Where are those buttons the Generals were showing me yesterday, Toots?”
Dolly comes in and opens up the top drawer of his desk. “Right here Sir.”
“Ahh so! Any bigger and it would have bit me! Thanks.”
She leaves as he sits down at his desk and contemplates the device. He thinks out load. “Now how did they say to set this thing?” He tinkers with it. “Where are those instructions?” He fishes out a big manual. “Green button- alert. Yellow button- setting up launch cycle. Red button- Attack. Oh yeah! And here a knob that lets you pick which country. Portugal, Senegal, Brazil, Luxembourg…..hmm…that is where I had that bad fish dinner and the waiter was rude. I should take them out. They aren’t much good for anything anyway.” He presses the button. “Oops, I probably shouldn’t have done that. Oh well, the EU can pick up the mess.”
The buzzer buzzes. “There are some veterans from the Iraqi War here to see you Mr. President Trump.”
“Oh God!” murmurs The Trump to himself. “Tell them that the welfare office is down the street. If they come again sic the guards on them. I don’t want to be disturbed for a while!”
He sits back and reflects back for a moment, then says “Hey honey! Do you have the remote for the TV here? Thanks doll!”