Trump Juice

Disclaimer: What follows is a work of fiction. Any resemblances or references found within it to actual people, places or events are wholly fictitious. (This is no way to imply that Donald J. Trump, who over the past 30 years has taken out, on average, one lawsuit a week, understands or cares about the difference between fact and fiction.)

 

Trump Juice – A campaign-trail tale

 

I had a dream the other night that I was having an intimate or what passes for intimate chat with Hillary Clinton (one or many of her aides may have been silently with us in the room). I was trying to ingratiate myself to Clinton with my knowledge of her 2008 campaign’s attack-ad strategy, and she was nodding and smiling at me with those cute little apple-cheeks of hers. Then, as if in reward for our intimacy, or for my great knowledge and talent, thus established – or maybe in pitying consolation for the total lack of some or all these things – Hillary, with a drunken chuckle, briefly showed me something on her computer, which was a ruggedized laptop. And what she showed me was so glitteringly beautiful that looking at it was like being high on the most wonderful hospital drug, maybe the kind they give you in Vienna or wherever, to accompany euthanasia.

She showed it to me for no more than one second. And then Hillary put the computer back to sleep, and I woke up. And for maybe one more second, one more blissful second, I remained unremembering of the fact that I work for Donald Trump…

 

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