The Trumps – Donald VS The Fake News
The Trumps is a work of “fiction,” a “satire,” a “parody.” Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely “coincidental”, and this story is not meant to bear any political opinions.
Donald sat at the kitchen table, a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him, shoveling the food into his mouth with his right hand and scrolling through twitter with his left. “Damn fake news,” he muttered, eggs falling out of his mouth. Melania looked over from the kitchen sink, fighting the urge to gag.
“Paper’s here!” Donny Jr called coming into the kitchen, slamming the rolled-up newspaper onto the table in front of his father. “Check it out, Dad. You’re in it!”
“Yeah,” Eric said, following his brother with his best shit-eating grin on his face. “Check out page two.”
Donald sighed, put his phone on the table face-down, and laid his fork to rest near the side of this plate. He grabbed the paper and unrolled it. “What are they saying about me?” he asked. “Are they talking about how we’ve made the neighborhood great again in the short time I’ve been president of the Neighborhood Association?”
“Nope,” Donny Jr replied, smirking.
“Are they talking about my plans to build the wall around the southern edge of our neighborhood?” Donald asked, looking for his article.
“Nope,” Eric said, his smile somehow widening to mammoth proportions.
“Here it is,” Donald said. He read the article, his lips silently moving as his brain slowly turned the bunched-up letters into words. His face turned red, and he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it across the room. “Damn fake news!”
Donny Jr and Eric erupted into a fit of guffaws and knee-slapping.
“What did it say?” Melania asked, cautiously approaching the table.
“Nothing,” Donald said, getting up with his phone in his hand. “I have to leave for work. Never any of you mind what’s in that fake newspaper!”
Donald stormed out of the kitchen, and his sons followed soon after. Melania made sure the coast was clear before taking the crumpled-up paper off the floor and finding the article that had sent her husband into a rage. “Neighborhood Association President Pays City Funds to Prostitute, ” She read. “Oh, Donald.”
Created, Written, and Directed by Budgerigar Orville Bigelow
Season 1, Episode 8: Donald VS the Fake News
“This is all a load of bullshit!” Donald shouted, throwing another newspaper across his office. “How can they print these lies about me all the time?!”
“They say you’ve been sneaking around the neighborhood in your underwear,” Ivanka said, reading the paper. “There was the time you had Jared and I go to your neighbor’s house to get the tape of you peeing on -”
“Fake news!” Donald shouted. “It’s all fake news. It’s all they ever say about me since I’ve been president of the Neighborhood Association. Do they talk about how I started a dialogue leading to peace between those two competing Korean bodega owners? No! They want to print stories about me paying off some hooker!”
“Did you?” Ivanka asked.
“Of course not!” Donald replied. “If I had, I would have made sure my lawyer handled it and payed him back later. That way my hands are clean, and I’d be able to say I didn’t pay her off!”
“Like you are now?” Ivanka asked.
“Whose side are you on?!” Donald yelled. Before Ivanka was able to respond, Mike Pence rushed into the office.
“Did you see what they’re saying on the news?” Mike asked.
“More of that Dani Weathers nonsense?” Donald asked. “I’ve seen it!”
“No,” Mike said, shaking his head. “They’re talking about the wall down on the southern end of the neighborhood.”
“What about it?” Donald asked.
“They’re questioning where the money for the wall is going to come from,” Mike replied.
“The town is going to pay for it!” Donald said. “They created a pocket of bad hombres down that way, and I’ll be damned if we’re going to open our wallets to pay for a wall to keep them out of our beautiful neighborhood!”
“Mayor Fox is telling them he’s not paying for it,” Mike continued. “He says they will not spend one dime of the town’s money on your, and I’m quoting here, ‘fucking wall.’”
“That foul-mouthed rat fuck!” Donald said, throwing his coffee cup into the wall. “Who the hell does he think he’s messing with!?”
“Dad,” Ivanka said. “Please calm down. You’re seventy years old. I don’t want you to give yourself a stroke.”
“I’m not going to give myself a stroke!” Donald shouted. “They are, with that goddam FAKE NEWS!”
“OK, Don,” Mike said, backing away with his palms out. “Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“This has to end,” Donald said. “Ivanka, find me the reporter who’s posting all the fake news about me.”
“That’s not going to be easy,” Ivanka replied. “It’s not just one reporter. There are dozens of them in various periodicals throughout the town.”
“Just find the worst one,” Donald said, waving his hand. “Or just get me the name of the paper. They want to fuck with me? They don’t realize that I fuck back.”
“Oh,” Mike said. “I just got the goose pimples!”
The Chief Editor of the County Neighborhood News, Theodore Turner, sat at his desk, going over the stories for the next day’s edition of his paper when his phone rang. “Turner,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“You got some set of balls on you!” the voice on the other end said. Turner sat up straight, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He had been in the press since he graduated high school nearly fifty years ago, and he had a nutjob a week call him up to bitch about something he printed.
“Look,” Turner said. “I’m very busy, so it you don’t have something constructive to say, I’m going to hang up.”
“How dare you slander me!” the voice said. “I’ll have you know I’m a pillar of the community, and I shouldn’t have to read your fake news about me!”
“Pillar of the community?” Turner asked. A smirk sprang onto his face. “Am I speaking with the illustrious president of my Neighborhood Association, the infamous Donald Trump?”
“You’re damn right,” Donald said, seething on the other end of the phone. “You mark my words, Turner. You’re going to be sorry you ever posted those stories about me.”
“No, I won’t,” Turner said. “But if you want to sit down for an interview, I’m game. Just let me know when and where.”
“FUCK YOU!” Donald exclaimed, hanging up.
Turner looked at his phone before placing it on his desk. “And here I thought a man who ran around in his underwear, made under-the-table deals with hookers, and drove through funerals on a golf cart might have an iota of class. Silly me.”
“There,” Donald said, getting up from his desk. “It’s taken care of.”
“Are you sure?” Ivanka asked. “It sounds like you just told him to screw himself. I’m not sure if that would qualify as ‘taken care of.’”
“He won’t dare run any more fake news stories about me,” Donald said. “Just wait and see.”
“SON OF A BITCH!” Donald shouted, throwing another newspaper across the room as his sons chuckled at breakfast the following morning. “Where do they get off?!”
“What is it this time?” Melania asked.
“More fake news!” Donald shouted, slamming a fist on the table.
“Did they find another prostitute?” Melania asked.
“No,” Donald replied. “What’s it matter? It’s all fake news!”
“Will you please stop saying that?” Melania groaned. “After the thousandth time, I can’t take it seriously.”
“I’m going to fix them good,” Donald said. “I scheduled a meeting today by the south end of the neighborhood. I’m going to unveil that construction is going to start very soon on the wall. You’ll see, Melania. They’ll all see.”
“Are you actually starting to build the wall?” Donny Jr asked.
“No,” Donald said, “but they don’t know that.”
“And you wonder why they print these stories,” Melania muttered.
“What was that?” Donald asked.
“Your daughter is coming by today,” Melania said. “She wanted me to remind you.”
“Ivanka?” Donald asked. “She could have just told me at work. Why would she bother calling you? Why would anyone bother calling you?”
“Not Ivanka,” Melania replied, fighting back the tears. “Your other daughter.”
“Tiffany is coming over?” Eric asked, perking up.
“Oh shit,” Donald said, burying his head in his hands.
“The wall will run along the edge of the park,” Donald said, standing behind a podium at the south end of the neighborhood, “extending all the way to Main Street. This wall will keep our neighborhood safe by keeping out all those we don’t want to get in. Construction will start very soon. I don’t know when exactly, but it will be soon.”
“Question,” a reporter said, raising his hand.
“Yes?” Donald asked.
“Have you gotten the funding for the wall yet?” the reporter asked.
Donald could have kicked him in the crotch if he was able to and still remain president of the Neighborhood Association. “Not yet,” he said, “but we are bartering a deal with the town, and they will pay. They may end up reimbursing the funds from the Neighborhood Association, but the town will pay for this wall!”
“You’re going to build the wall with the neighborhood’s money?” the reporter asked. “Then you’re going to assume the town will pay for it afterwards?”
“Look,” Donald said. “This is all very complicated, but you’ll love it. I guarantee you’ll love it. I love it, and I’ve only pictured it in my head. Trust me. We’re going to make this neighborhood great again!”
There was a brief cheer from Donald’s supporters in the crowd, and he used the opportunity to get off the stage before any more follow-up questions could be asked. Melania was waiting for him. “Damn these jackals,” he told his wife as they walked away. “That’s that bastard Turner from the CNN.”
“The what?” Melania asked.
“The Country Neighborhood News,” Donald explained. “He’ll be spinning this story into more fake news. Just wait and see.”
“Your daughter is here,” Melania said.
“Ivanka!” Donald said, lighting up. “She said she couldn’t make it since she was picking Jared up from conversion camp today.”
“Not her,” Melania sighed. “Tiffany.”
“Oh,” Donald said, his body almost slouching with the prospect of seeing the only child his second wife had birthed for him. She walked toward her father; a mid-twenties blonde in a short skirt and blue blouse.
“Hi, Daddy,” Tiffany said.
“Hi, Tiff,” Donald replied. “How’s school going?”
“You mean the college you pay for?” Tiffany asked. “The only thing you’ve ever done for me?”
“Do I smell vodka?” Donald asked.
“Yeah,” Tiffany said. “So? Isn’t this a party?”
“Actually,” Donald said. “It’s not.”
Tiffany shrugged a very Trump-like shrug.
“Come on,” Donald sighed, grabbing his daughter by the arm. “Let’s get you home before one of these reporters gets ahold of you.”
“What on earth are you doing?” Melania asked, finding her husband on the front lawn, putting up placards.
“I’m letting everyone know that County Neighborhood News is fake news!” Donald said. Melania walked over to see the sign he was putting up. It said, “CNN is FAKE NEWS!” in painted red letters.
“Are you even going to talk to Tiffany while she’s here?” Melania asked. “She didn’t come all this way to sit inside while you hammer signs into our front yard.”
Donald grunted, tossing his mallet to the grass. “Fine,” he said, walking toward the front door. “I’ll talk to Tiffany if you think it’s so damn important.”
“Good,” Melania said, following her husband back inside. Tiffany was sitting on the couch with her feet on the table, texting on her phone.
“What the hell is this?!” Donald exclaimed, motioning toward his daughter.
“I don’t know,” Melania replied. “I can see how she takes after you, though.”
“You’re getting a little mouthy,” Donald turned toward Melania. “You want to try and change your attitude?”
Melania looked like she wanted to say something, but she kept her mouth closed. Instead, she went into the kitchen at a brisk pace. Donald nodded after her, silently approving of her leave.
“Why do you treat her like that?” Tiffany asked.
“Don’t worry about how I treat anyone,” Donald said. “How long are you staying here?”
“A few days,” Tiffany replied.
“It wasn’t my idea, OK?” Tiffany said, putting her phone down. “Mom said I should spend a few days with you since you’re paying for my college and all that.”
“Oh yeah,” Donald said. “Twenty-four, and I’m still paying for school.”
“When I graduate, do I automatically get a job with you like your first three kids?” Tiffany asked.
Donald groaned again. “I’ll be in my office,” he said. “Try not to embarrass me while you’re here.”
“I’ll do my best,” Tiffany said, rolling her eyes and picking her phone back up. She didn’t see Eric pass her father, but she noticed him sitting on the couch next to her a moment later.
“So,” Eric said. “You wanna go get a drink or something?”
Tiffany looked toward her half-brother. “You know any good bars around here?” she asked.
“No,” Eric replied, “but I have a bottle of Jack Daniels under my mattress.”
Tiffany smiled. “OK,” she said. “Lead the way, big bro.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Donald said, sitting at his desk at work, the latest edition of the County Neighborhood News in front of him. “Now they’re bringing up the hooker again! How long am I meant to endure this slander?!”
“What are they implying now?” Mike asked, sitting in a chair in front of Donald’s desk.
“They got ahold of Rudy last night,” Donald said, looking at the article. “They’re saying that he said I paid my lawyer back for payments he made to Dani in order to keep her quiet about the affair. Can you believe that dribble?!”
“That actually sounds like what you said you’d do in that situation,” Mike said. “Also, why is Rudy speaking on your behalf now?”
“I hired him as a legal advisor,” Donald said, “but it looks like he’s leakier than Donny Jr after a six pack.”
“So, you did have that prostitute paid off?” Mike asked.
“I already told you,” Donald replied, crumbling yet another paper. “It’s all fake news!”
“But it came from your own legal advisor,” Mike said.
“It’s fake news if I say it’s fake news!” Donald exclaimed.
“OK,” Mike said. “Jeez!”
Ivanka came in with Tiffany. “Look who I found wandering around,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me she was in town?”
“Slipped my mind,” Donald said.
“Dad doesn’t want me around,” Tiffany said. “He thinks I’m gonna cramp his style or something. It’s too bad he’s been busy screaming about the news and eating fast food in bed.”
“I do not eat fast food in bed,” Donald said.
“Then why was Melania leaving your bedroom this morning with a trash bag full of McDonald’s wrappers?” Tiffany asked.
“If you got fake news,” Donald replied, “you might be able to sell it to the paper.”
“Oh!” Tiffany said, smiling. “Dad actually got me!”
“Shut up,” Donald said.
“There it is,” Tiffany groaned.
“You’re not making yourself crazy over that fake news stuff again, are you?” Ivanka asked. “We’re all worried you’re gonna have a stroke if you don’t let go of this anger.”
“I’ll let it go when they stop slandering me!” Donald shouted.
“Yup,” Tiffany said. “He’s gonna stroke out.”
“GET THE HELL OUTTA MY OFFICE!” Donald Bellowed, pointing toward the door.
“So, we’re all agreed,” Ivanka said, sitting in Donald’s living room surrounded by her family; Jared, Donny Jr, Eric, Barron, Tiffany, and Melania. “We need to talk to Dad about all this fake news stuff, right?”
“I always knew we’d have to have an intervention,” Barron said, “but I figured it would have been about something else.”
“Like what?” Donny Jr asked.
“Take your pick,” Barron replied. “Fast food addiction, sexual addiction, the opioid pills, the cocaine he thinks I don’t know is in the desk drawer…”
“That’s enough,” Melania fussed.
“Dad’s got some coke?” Tiffany asked, perking up.
“I’ll get you some,” Eric whispered to her.
“Sweet,” Tiffany replied.
“He’s here!” Jared said, coming back to the group from the window. Donald walked in a moment later, stopping in his tracks and looking around. “What the hell is this?” he asked.
“This is your intervention,” Melania replied.
“What?!” Donald shouted. “I’ll have you know I have prescription for that coke, and you better stay out of my office!”
“We need you to stop with all the ‘fake news’ stuff,” Ivanka said.
“Yeah,” Donny Jr said. “It’s getting annoying.”
“Every time I see you,” Eric said, “it’s ‘fake news’ this and ‘fake news’ that.”
“What the boys mean,” Ivanka said, raising her voice, “is that we’re really worried that this anger is going to make you sick, maybe worse.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Donald exclaimed. “That’s the most fake news I’ve heard all day, and they just printed that my friend Vlad messed with the Neighborhood Association’s election!”
“Oh no,” Ivanka said. “Are they really saying that now?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Donald said. “What matters it that I… that I…”
“Dad?” Ivanka asked. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” Donald said, wiping his sweaty forehead. “I’m…” He keeled over and smashed through the coffee table. Melania and Ivanka both screamed and got to their knees to help him. Donny Jr, Eric, and Tiffany backed away, staring with their mouths agape. Jared had run upstairs. Barron was the only one who seemed unphased by it.
“Well,” Barron said, “what are the chances he says his heart attack is ‘fake news?’”
Turner sat at his desk in the office of his newspaper, typing on his computer, readying an article for the following morning. “What are you working on?” someone asked, coming to his desk.
Turner looked up. “An editorial of sorts,” he replied, moving away from the keyboard. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
“Not yet,” the man said. “My name’s Robert Mueller. I heard you’re the one responsible for all the articles about Trump.”
“Oh yeah,” Turner said, chuckling. “The guy really rubbed me the wrong way. The more he shouts and protests, the more I pile it on. The funny part is that I’m not actually making this up. The guy is really unhinged. I almost feel like I’m writing for Mad Magazine.”
“You’re really putting the guy through the wringer,” Mueller said.
“I’ve actually been thinking about toning it down a bit,” Turner said, scratching his chin. “The readers have really been eating it up, but I know the story is going to burn out soon. There’s only so many times you can take a jab at one guy, even if he makes it easy.”
“What if I told you I have a knock-out punch?” Mueller asked.
Turner observed Mueller. He realized there was a question he hadn’t asked, and he mentally kicked himself. As good as the reporter he fancied himself to be, he had forgotten to ask the single most important question. “Who are you?” he asked.
“A concerned neighbor of Donald Trump,” Mueller said. He reached into his coat pocket, and every fiber of Turner’s being told him to bolt, but he froze instead. Mueller’s hand didn’t come out of his jacket pocket with a weapon though, at least not a conventional one.
“What’s that?” Turner asked as Mueller placed a video cassette tape on his desk.
“Just a short movie I made,” Mueller said. “Also, I’ve been talking to the runner up from the Neighborhood Association election.”
“That Clinton woman?” Turner asked. “What does she know?”
“More than most,” Mueller said. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” Tuner said softly as Mueller left. He watched after him, wondering how big the web of lies the president of the Neighborhood Association had spun actually was.