What is Kanye’s strategy to win the Presidency in 2024?
In the perspective that Kanye is very seriously planning on running for President in 2024, this story explores Kimye’s foray into politics as they compete against Beyonce and Jay Z for office. With current events mixed with fictional satire, join Kimye on this tale of political espionage as these American pop royals battle to enter the political mainstream.
Note: Despite including information from the news and secondary resources such as interviews, this is political satire/parody/fiction.
CHAPTER I: IN PREPARATION OF THE AWAKENING
November 8, 2015
Mushy yam-colored skin slapped against tawny young flesh with each of Trump’s thrusts. His hair waving to and fro, his crinkled orange face in a tight pucker. He was close to climax.
Making a short, loud open-mouth cough, he overtly shouted, “Rebuild the Empire!” with climax. Donald liked trying new campaign slogans at the point of peak pleasure to see if they could carry the weight of true emotion.
Having finished, he fell suddenly and at full speed, like the end scene in Moby Dick, breaching back onto the small-malnourished model with whom he shared his bed. She gave out a quick gasp, raising her Swarovski covered wrists to cover her breasts and face, hoping Trump’s weight wouldn’t pop a synthetic breast.
Trump liked feeling his weight upon his most recent Eastern European immigrant guest; it reminded him of his power. Helping her get her green card and learn English was, in his mind, a certain form of charity. With a long exhale, he pulled himself off her.
“Tomorrow I go on Kanye’s yacht,” he sighed.
“Yak?” She asked.
“Big boat. Kanye’s. He’s an important donor, I must support him.”
“It’s Kanye, that black guy who sings, dabbles in fashion? Don’t worry beautiful, get some rest. Reaching into his bedside drawer, he pushed aside a bottle of Viagra and grabbed a bottle of Klonopin.
“Sleep my dear,” Trump cooed, handing the model a pill, “Tomorrow will be a big day for me.”
The model gulped down the pill, shortly passing out, an ever growing pool of saliva wetting her pillow.
“Do I really have to wear these?” Bernie said, snapping his Yeezy’s together like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.
“Of course,” his wife Jane said, “Kanye is an important donor. Impressing him is important,” giving him a tight squeeze on the rump. Her cheeks were still flushed from their non-gender specific pegging morning romp in the sheets. Everyone deserved equality, even in the bedroom. During this daily morning ritual, pleasure was monitored consistently by both parties to ensure a fair and safe environment.
“I made a point not to take money from donors,” Bernie whined.
“I know, but if you don’t take his money, at least ask for his support.” Bernie knew Jane was right. Although Obama had called Kanye an “ass hole” in the past, Kanye had recently won over Taylor Swift and Obama. He seemed to be in with Bernie’s in-crowd. And besides, his Yeezys were growing on him. They were much more fashionable than his usual velcro-leather sneakers (although they had less sole support).
He quickly crammed Vermont maple syrup candies and “Character Is Destiny: Inspiring Stories Every Young Person Should Know and Every Adult Should Remember” by John McCain into his canvas duffle bag. The old bag had been with him since his year at Brooklyn College. Scotch Taped up so many times, he liked the worn, used image the bag conveyed. Bernie headed for the train from Vermont down to Kanye’s yacht, moored in Southampton.
Hillary looked at herself in the mirror. Long gone were the days of the WASP yellow power suit and yet she wasn’t sure how to best impress Kimye. Hillary put in her large pearl earrings and accent necklace set. Her thick wool bright blue suit was always a safe staple. After all, this suit had won her millions worth of support in the past, why stop now?
Calling in her makeup artist. “Maybe a little more contouring,” She instructed, “Like in that Kim Kardashian Youtube videos.” She really wanted to get into the shoes of Kim (in a figurative, not ShoeDazzle kind of way).
Hillary was fascinated by Kimye. Her team had tried and tried, but didn’t seem able to catch the energy this couple easily controlled. So much free press. How did they do it? She’d be in the game for ages, but couldn’t seem to upgrade her techniques to win over Millennials, at least not like Bernie. She made a mental note to ask Kim for some tips in private later, maybe get her on a call with some of her staff. Perhaps she could convince Kylie to launch a “Power Suit” shade lip kit, with the proceeds going to her campaign (although she knew Kris Jenner would never let that happen).
CHAPTER II: THE LAST SUPPER
November 9, 2015
Bernie waited in the upper deck of the yacht. Because of the train schedule, he showed up two hours early. Arriving at the slip, he kicked around the dock and spoke with the dockhands, who, upon seeing his Scotch Taped duffle, tweed jacket, and Yeezy’s, kept asking if he was lost.
Bernie felt like he was in the bowels of the enemy, surrounded by these huge ships. Sitting on a dock peg, he watched a Seagull swoop high into the air, a crab in its mouth, and drop it, it’s shell cracking on the wooden dock. We must crush the upper class, he told himself. Surrounded by all these yachts, he felt antsy with a want to fight and fight hard. This was the 1%, the crushing first class, and he must take them down. That’s why he was here, that’s why he was wearing Yeezy’s, to bring these moguls to their knees, help them understand the struggles of those below them in the economic pyramid.
As the sun set, Bernie was invited on-board. Waiting in the upper deck, he put a handful of the peanuts offered by the crew in his pocket, eating them slowly.
“What are you doing here?” He suddenly heard from behind him. Hillary had arrived, she strolled up, her short, thick heels clopping on the deck’s wood.
“You show up and ruin every party,” She yelled, knowing they were alone.
“The Democratic party was already ruined,” Bernie snapped back. Hillary’s face burned a fiery red. She was sick and tired of this hangaround. Of course he was doing everything ‘Millennial,’ the one voter group she couldn’t wrap her head around.
“For the first time I actually agree with you, Bernie,” Donald’s voice could be heard as he walked up the steps of the megayacht. “Looks like Kanye invited all of us together to meet him. That’s GREAT,” he said at the top of the steps.
The three stood together, eyeing each other up and down like dogs in heat. They were a ragtag bunch, but also the future of the world’s greatest hegemon.
Kim took a deep breath. She had been to many a stately dinner and had selected a full white dress with a gaping neckline down to her belly button. It had taken two hours for her housemaids to dress her, locking in her ample breasts with a patchwork of body tape.
She and Kanye had great plans for the future. They would be the Jackie O. and John F. Kennedy tagteam of the 21st Century. She would wear white and he would wear black. And in these colorless shades they would rule the world together. Tonight was one slink in a Slinky chain of ideation to their greatest point of victory and world domination, rising like Phoenix, in a burst of fire and feathers, above this world.
Kim walked out onto the deck of the megayacht, where Melania had joined the group, arriving late having wanted to put Barron to bed. “Welcome guests, so great to have all of you here tonight,” Kim said. Walking to each candidate, she kissed their side cheek, giving a wide berth around Trump, knowing he had a reputation for being handsy.
“Right this way,” she gestured, leading them into the dining room enclosed portion of the deck. White linen lay across the full table and and chairs, the table ladened with gold silverware and trim along each of the plates.
“Kanye will only be a moment,” Kim explained as she pointed to each of their seats. The servers appeared. Each with blond hair and pale skin, they wore blue linen floor-length gowns, with white aprons and bonnets. A server for each guest, they approached the table in unison, pouring water into clear crystal glasses.
“Your servers have quite interesting outfits,” Hillary commented, politely.
“Thank you, it’s a thought piece of Kanye’s. They are each in historical house slave attire. It’s to help us, in this home, remember that we can’t dehumanize others based on our extravagant, superior, all-encompassing wealth. Very, like, humbling,” Kim explained, “We are the new slaves.”
Suddenly the lights dimmed. Smoke from a fog machine filled the room and the servers moved a thin curtain at the front of the room aside. Light shining from below, a black cross rose from the darkness. I am a God from Yeezus started to play loudly as the candidates sat in darkness.
Suddenly, a light shone from the front of the table, outlining a human form on the black cross. Kanye became visible, in a black suit, tied with black painted ropes to the cross. Black on black on black.
Kanye opened his eyes, the balls the only white, “I am a God,” he stated blankly, turning his head robotically. He ruffled his legs and arms from the black rope, jumping from the cross and walking over to his seat, the music fading.
“Welcome guests,” he said, arms stretched wide. “I am so happy to have you all here. Thank you for joining me in this dark, twisted fantasy.”
CHAPTER III: CHRISTIAN DIOR DENIM FLOW
December 14, 2016
As it had been for most people, 2016 had been a bad year for Kanye. With Kim begging for her life during a robbery in Paris and he himself being hospitalized for some pro-Trump (and more importantly, anti-Beyonce and Jay Z) rants, he knew today’s meeting with Trump was important. As the PEOTUS, Trump was a key ally in his run for President.
Knowing Donald’s affection for gold, Kanye had died his hair a golden hue and wore his lucky gold chain, contrasting his uniform black sweatshirt. He looked himself in the mirror: Today is the day. I need to keep going with my master plan, my dark twisted fantasy.
Entering Trump Tower, Kanye stepped into the elevator, fidgeting nervously.
“You got this,” his lead bodyguard encouraged.
“Thanks man,” He affirmed.
The doors opened into Trump’s gilded suite. Kanye strided assertively in.
“Kanye, welcome,” Melania said, standing at the entrance. Their eyes met and held for a second too long, before Melania blushed and looked away.
Kanye hadn’t much noticed her at their last meeting on his yacht, but today he was struck by her beauty. Wearing a white halter top, tight around her waist and ending just below her knees, in a lightweight pleated fabric, she looked almost like an angel, large pearl earrings contrasting her tawny skin.
“Hel-Hello,” He stuttered, struck by Melania’s beauty.
“Donald is right this way,” She smiled, directing Kanye around the main hallway of the apartment.
Trump stood in the center of the room, speaking with Kellyann Conway. Seeing Kanye, he wrapped up his conversation and strolled over.
“Kanye! My dear old friend,” Trump said, “Come, let’s sit down,” he gestured to the sofa.
“I am sorry to hear what happened to Kim and your recent tour difficulties. I know you didn’t vote, but I appreciate the support nonetheless.”
“I knew you would win,” Kanye said, “You get the media, your communication is the future, and the media is the tool in which we access power.” Kanye lurched forward with the mention of power, his chain swaying with his sudden movement. The word always made him excited.
“Yes, those Democrats and pollsters all thought they had me cornered,” Trump chuckled, “Now they’re saying the same about China after this whole Taiwan debacle.”
“I lived in China,” Kanye added to Trump’s surprise, “Yeah, yeah, when I was 10, my mother was a visiting professor at Nanjing University,” he looked down for a moment at the thought of his beloved mother who had passed away nine years before, “I still talk to my best friend over there, Liu Jian, he’s now involved in the government doing tech stuff. You gotta be careful about the Chinese, they in it to win it.”
“So am I,” Trump smiled. He had devoted his entire life to proving people wrong, it was his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.
“Listen,” small talk over, Kanye wanted to get to the point of his visit, “I announced I’d be running for President in 2020. With you selected as the President, I’m down for 2024. Can I still count on your for your support?”
Trump’s smile became more serious. “Kanye, you know I consider you a very close friend and that I have supported you closely throughout the years. But, I heard Jay Z and Beyonce are also considering a run for the Oval. I don’t like how close they’ve always been for the Obamas and their open support for Hillary and you’ve always had my back, but I can’t say what it’ll be like in 8 years, you have to understand that.”
Kanye hung his head, he had heard the rumors and felt his friends distancing themselves.
“Don’t fret, Kanye,” Donald comforted, placing his hand on his longtime friend’s knee, “We’ll keep in touch.” He paused, “I’ll tell you what,” He reached for the TIME’s Person of the Year edition with Trump on the cover resting on the table, “I have a gift for you Kanye,” Trump said, signing the magazine, “This will be you some day, Kanye.”
The two headed downstairs for photos. Donald greets the press, waving, as Kanye, arms crossed, shifts his weight from one leg to another, a tentative smile on his face. The reporters snapped photos.
“Mr. Trump, what did you discuss in your meeting today?” A reporter asked.
“Just friends, just friends. He’s a good man. Doing well. Long time. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“What did you discuss?”
“Life, we’ve been discussing.”
“Running in 2020, do you think that’s something you still want to do?” A reporter asked Kanye. Kanye, uncomfortable, arms crossed, kept his lips sealed.
“Kanye, are you considering performing at the Inauguration this year?”
“Kanye, no comment about your meeting with the President Elect of the United States, nothing to say?”
A smile creeped across Kanye’s face.
“I just want to take a picture right now,” Kanye replied.
CHAPTER IV: RAPUNZELS
In her home in Chappaqua, New York, Hillary Clinton sat cuddled up in her slippers and patterned Patagonia fleece she’d been wearing since the 90s, sipping on a red wine hot cocoa she read about in Country Living. The article promised it would cure all your winter blues, which she desperately needed, and since it was in print, she knew it could be trusted unlike all those other recipes on her Facebook newsfeed. On top of their gross false election prediction, the New York Times peas and guac recipe had taught her to question everything.
She blew on the top of her cocoa until it started to cool. Since the election, she felt completely defeated and depressed. She had given everything, committed her life to her country, and it had turned its back on her. She was too old to run again. She hoped her story would act as a warning to anyone else with similar ambitions…
Kim stood in front of the mirror in her nude Yeezy tracksuit. Her hands shook as she put on her diamond earrings. Since the robbery in Paris, she only felt comfortable wearing her largest gems indoors.
She closed her eyes and envisioned Jackie O holding JFK’s head in her lap after the shooting. Jackie got through it and so could she. She needed to stay strong, for Kanye, Saint, and North’s sake. She was unable to be there for Kanye and his mental health was crumbling. He was working 24/7 and had fallen into a manic state. Too proud to admit it, he’d always struggled with mental health. She wanted to be there for him, had always been his boulder, but had her own issues after the attack she needed to get through.
She didn’t feel he was ready to meet with Trump, but he had insisted and she knew they should take the opportunity. Kim had also heard about Jay Z’s and Beyonce’s interest in running for office and assumed John Legend calling Kanye’s meeting with Trump was a “publicity stunt” was a sign of Chrissy and him throwing their weight behind their former friends and allies. How cruel, She thought to herself about Legend’s public statement, after all Kanye and I are going through.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Kim breathed in and out slowly, her heart pounding. She had to be there for her family. She wished Kanye hadn’t broken down in her brief absence. But she understood, with the anniversary of his mother’s death and the robbery, this was all too much for him.
“What are you doing, Mama?” North asked, having wandered into the bathroom. Kim shook her head, jarred awake from her thoughts by the appearance of her daughter.
“Her honey,” Kim smiled, bending down and picking up her daughter, placing her on her hip. “Just thinking my love,” she cooed, kissing North on the head.
Melania lay out Barron Trumps suit on his white bedspread on his floor of Trump Tower. He never wore sweatpants, but preferred a suit everyday. Even his pajamas were a jersey suit set. Running her finger across the seams she reminisced on her own childhood. Growing up in Slovenia, she had very few clothes, but wanted to be a designer. She’d ask the neighbors for old hand-me-downs and sew them together to make new outfits out of the old forms. Today, all of that seemed so far away. She had idolized the designers of her time and now some of her favorite idols refused to dress her because of her husband’s comments. She had risen into a beautiful gold tower from the soils of Slovenia and yet at her new height, felt more like Rapunzel than Cinderella. Barron was the only one with whom she could speak Slovene in her new home. She didn’t want to have to move to the White House, this wasn’t the life she wanted for her and Barron, even if this cost New York City a million dollars a day.
Moving from the bed over to the window, Melania looking out at the drenched streets below. Putting her hand on the window, she watched the rain slowly trickle down. She was surprised to see Kanye even though she knew Donald always pulled in celebrities to distract the media from his personal affairs. Every time Donald had had an affair, this was the process. Distract with one hand, keep the prize in the other — he was a true magician. She wondered how Kanye handled the public eye. Both her husband and Kanye knew how to manipulate the media. They were experts. She wished she could leave this tower without a security detail. She forgot what it was like to walk around on fertile soil like she had in her childhood. Her life was now concrete and gilded everything. All that glitters is not gold.
CHAPTER V: STRONGER
“The entire crowd was trying to touch Him, because power was coming from Him and healing them all.” Luke 6:19
On the ride back from his Trump meeting, Kanye stared out the window of his black Escalade, watching the streets of Manhattan pass as the rain whipped across the window’s glass. He thought of Melania, so poised despite everything going on with her husband winning the Presidency. How could she stay so calm despite everything? She looked like an angel in her white dress and gems, so peaceful despite her entire life being in a state of chaos.
He was ashamed to look Kim in the face after his breakdown. The robbery also culminated with the 9th anniversary of his mother Donda’s death. Donda passed after some plastic surgery complications and Kanye felt too close to the constant ever-reaching search for perfect beauty and blamed himself partially for his mother’s death. The reminder of being away from Donda during this time coupled onto the robbery in Paris while he was so far away performing, had been too much for him.
He threw himself into his work, knowing fully it was unhealthy working 24/7. It was the only way to stop himself from thinking about everything. He felt so hated by the outside world and yet these women were always there for him. They loved him. But now, he couldn’t connect with Kim. He was ashamed of his situation. She was so strong and he felt so weak.
And where was Jay Z in all this? When Kim was attacked, he only got a voicemail. “Fuck this!” He muttered in his cab, dialing Jay Z. The phone rang and rang and rang before going to voicemail. Kanye waited for the beep, “Call me, brah, you still ain’t call me. Jay Z, I know you got killas, please don’t send them at my head. Just call me. Talk to me like a man. I know you runnin’ for office. I know you takin’ my dream, but you don’t gotta ghost. My family is suffering!” He hung up and threw his phone onto the black leather carpet of his Escalade. “DAMNIT!” he screamed.
In fifth grade, while his mother taught for a year at Nanjing West University as a Fulbright Scholar, Kanye lived in East Nanjing, China. Walking through the streets of the village, he was the first black person seen by many of the locals. They would look at him as if he was an alien from a far away place. They’d even come up and touch his skin, like he was a God. It reminded him of Jesus entering a new village for the first time, stories having spread ahead of him. It felt like he possessed power that shown through him. He was different and he wanted to use his power. He wanted to do this through his music.
His China experience desensitized him and if anything, made him yearn to be famous. It was after this experience that he started to make music. Being in a world completely different than his own had made him restless, opened his mind. He no longer wanted to be a regular guy, he wanted to earn people’s stairs, he wanted to be famous. Like Jesus before him, he knew it was his destiny: to be YEEZUS.
Upon returning to the U.S., he was held back two grades, throwing water on much of his ambitions. Instead of motivating him, he found his classes too easy and boring, he found a lack of challenge, and turned to music to quench his yearning for greatness. Much like now, he locked himself in his basement, staying up late at night to make beats. That’s why he later dropped out of college. What was the point? Jesus didn’t go to college. You did not need to be learned, only skilled.
It wasn’t until 15 or 16 that he started to make money off his music; nothing big, a few bucks here or there. His first record, “Gravity,” came out at 18. He didn’t really feel he found his unique sound until he worked with Jay on “Blueprint.” Only then did he discover his voice, his calling. It was Jay who had introduced him. And now Jay, his mentor, his closest friend, was ghosting him. He hadn’t heard from him in months and now the rumors circled that Jay was challenging his dream by running for office.
His black pants rubbed against the black leather of the black Escalade. Despite his 7-Escalade security detail, Kanye felt very much alone.
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