756 Hours of President Trump

or

One Month and One Day of “Real Presidents of the White House”

Chapter One

Tuesday, February 21, 2017, 3:00pm — 32 days after taking the oath of office, President Donald J. Trump’s White House was surrounded by four elite units of Navy Seals and Army Delta Forces in a coordinated and hardened perimeter — their weapons were not pointed away from the residence, but inward.

The U.S. Senate had confirmed Trump’s impeachment on Friday the 17th of February (28 days into the administration), and House Speaker Paul Ryan had been sworn in as president twenty minutes later. Trump had taken refuge in the impenetrable bunker deep beneath the Oval Office and was refusing to leave, hoping to make “a deal”. He was talking to Vladimir Putin nearly hourly to arrange for his safe transfer to Russia where he had already been promised asylum and citizenship. Russia was promising swift retribution should any harm come to their newest citizen. Trump would only fly first-class and the Russians only wanted to buy a coach fare, so things had broken down. The president’s assets had been frozen during the impeachment and he was a little short on cash, but was also unaccustomed to coach.

Where was the vice president? Dead. The night of the inauguration, at the Tea Party ball, the newly sworn in Vice President Sarah Palin got so drunk that she tried to climb onto Trump’s lap while tugging at his hair saying, “I know ya hadta’ of killed sumthin’ ta’ make that wig, ya’ big old wingnut! What kinda’ animal was it?! We should take yer’chopper and go out huntin’ tonight!”

Trump was not amused and his private security detail had to pry her loose and hustle her out of the party. The president danced with his daughter for the first dance and it was pretty gross — his hands were definitely a little too low on her body and they were just a little too close to each other for everybody’s comfort — no daylight showing between them. Ratings shot through the roof at that moment in the deep South. Nobody mentioned Palin for the rest of the night and a lot of Coors Light was consumed by all.

The next morning a furious Trump summoned a still visibly drunk V.P. Palin to the oval office. She was hurting in a big way, but still clearly drunk. The president sat behind his big old desk (hand made from rare mahogany and gold leaf) and made her stand right in front of it. “Sarah, YOU’RE FIRED! I want your resignation right now, you loser! I knew that a woman could never do the job!” Palin screamed out a war whoop worthy of a true killer and in one smooth, ninja-like motion (the kind that only a really drunk person can execute), Palin grabbed the conveniently handy “Make America Great Again” letter opener and lunged full length across the desk. She managed to cut his face deeply. Trump’s training and long service to his $40,000 a year private military academy really paid off — he grabbed her head and broke her neck in an equally smooth, ninja-like move. It was over in seconds and, being a bit hung over themselves, the Trump private security detail didn’t act in time to stop any of it. The U.S. Secret Service was relegated solely to perimeter security under the Trump administration (“as far away as possible you losers — outside the gates!”), and the congress could find no law to overrule him (in fact there was much precedent for private security for presidents all the way back to the Lincoln administration).

There were four members of the security detail in the room and, since Palin attacked him with a sharp object, everything might have been fine if they had just told the story to the public and moved on, but Trump had sworn these private security guards to HUUGE non-disclosure agreements and he decided that the best thing to do was have them move the body and make it look like Bristol Palin (a notorious harpy drunk herself) had killed her mom in a drunken rage after a wild night of inaugural balls and three cases of Coors Light (the Coors Light was eventually what gave the whole story away — Bristol is a Hamm’s girl). Trump would claim for several days that the half-inch deep, four-inch long gash on his face (upper lip to left ear) was a shaving accident.

Thursday, January 26, 2017, 6:00pm — Six days after the VP had managed to have her neck snapped, the phony story completely unraveled (naturally, one of the private security detail members had sold the story to FOX for a HUUGE amount of money), Trump claimed that the earpiece was malfunctioning and that he hadn’t heard the question about the cut (“believe me”). He asserted that the rigged media was giving him the cheap earpieces to undermine his story and his HUUGE credibility.

On his weekly Real Presidents of the White House show, he told the host (his daughter, of course), “I had the vice president’s body moved for the protection of the country, believe me. I was just protecting those losers on the security detail, trust me. I didn’t want America smeared by another scandal about the president’s security detail — I DID IT TO MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, believe me! Anybody who knows me, loves me — especially the uneducated — I LOVE the uneducated, believe me.”

Friday, January 27, 2017, 5:00pm — 7 days into his administration, President Donald Trump is charged with manslaughter, filing false police reports, tampering with a crime scene and — because he won’t allow the D.C. police or the F.B.I. onto White House grounds — obstruction of justice. Trump laughs it off in the most spectacular press conference in the nation’s history. He just screams at the press corps again and again - no matter what they ask, “NOBODY CAN TOUCH ME YOU LOSERS! NOBODY CAN TOUCH ME — I HAVE THE LAUNCH CODES! I’LL MAKE D.C. GLOW LIKE A TRUMP’S CASINO ON A FRIDAY — NOBODY CAN TOUCH ME!!” At this point, most of America’s adversaries around the globe have gone to their respective equivalents of DEFCON 3. The world is going fucking crazy and Great Britain has broken off diplomatic ties and recalled its ambassador. Asked about the departure of the ambassador of our closest ally, Trump replied, “He was a loser – I’m pretty sure he was gay - I mean, did you hear that funny accent on him? What a swish. Believe me! We so totally don’t need those swishy brits — trust me, we don’t need anybody — we have lots of friends. The world loves me.”

The senate, being a bit distracted by the reality TV show which was unfolding nightly on their televisions, had not really gotten around to confirming any of the president’s cabinet-level appointments just yet, but Secretary of Defense (designate) Jesse Ventura, saw the writing on the wall and figured somebody better tell the president that there might be a problem with all those “dang foreign countries being kinda’ mad at us.”

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR CHAPTER TWO OF OUR STORY, IN WHICH THE PRESIDENT LOCKS HIMSELF IN HIS BASEMENT AND PRESIDENT RYAN GETS TO PUT ON HIS BIG BOY PRESIDENT PANTS FOR THE FIRST TIME…