Here’s What I Imagine

Donald Trump stares into the bathroom mirror. He sees before him a magnificent specimen, a very stable genius who has Made America Great Again. Alas, his hero’s journey, his beautiful quest, has been thwarted by a massive conspiracy lead by angry Democrats, CNN, rigged voting machines, and Anthony Faucci. Trump’s gaze transcends time and space. In the mirror, he sees a little boy. The boy is Trump. He is naked, save a pair of tighty whities and a too-long red tie. Boy Trump is talking to his mother about how, when he’s older, he’s going to build poorly run luxury hotels and live in a condo with a golden toilet. This Trump plans to put his name on a brand of premium, high-quality steaks. Little Trump says pornstars will smack him in the ass with a copy of Forbes magazine, one with his face on the cover. Most importantly, the child promises to become president despite losing the popular vote. I will build a wall, he says. And I will grab women by their vagina, even if they don’t want me to. I will be impeached but that will not stop me. No one will stop me. I am unstoppable. Boy Trump fades into history. The older man looks at the glass, sees a warrior king denied his divine right.

“I won the election,” he says, his body jerking, his eyes twitching.”

“I won the election.”

“I won the election.”

“I won the election.”

“I won the election.”

“I won the election.”

“I won the election.”

Dad. Husband. Writer. Dork.