At 2:00 in the afternoon, Donald Trump -- dressed in white shirt, bright blue tie, and dark suit -- boarded Air Force One with all the pomp and splendor of the president of the United States. He blessed his weary nation with an imperial wave and set off to meet Korean dictator Kim Jung Un in Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam.
Air Force One took off without incident. Trump settled into his cushioned seat and stared out into the darkness across the wing of the plane.
Trump suddenly jumped like he'd been poked with a cattle prod. What was that out on the wing of the plane? It looked horrible, like a monster! Was he dreaming? Were his eyes fooling him? (He discounts that. Nothing fools him, nothing.) Vaguely, in the back of his little mind, he remembered an episode of The Twilight Zone from long ago, when a gremlin stalked a plane wing, or some such.
But the Thing, whatever it was, disappeared. Trump took two Maalox and reclined for a nap.
The plane touched down in Hanoi. Something was wrong.
The pilot and co-pilot looked at each other. This was not the Hanoi they had been told to expect. The runway was shoddy and pockmarked with craters. To make matters worse, armed soldiers were advancing on the plane from both sides. They didn't look friendly.
The pilot radioed for the Secret Service, but something was wrong. The Secret Service agents were all sleeping and could not be roused. It was as if they were in suspended animation.
Trump stirred, fixed his tie and his hair, and took a quick leak in the loo. "Let's go," he groused to the pilot.
"But sir ... Your Secret Service agents are all in comas ... and, look out the window!"
"That's just the welcoming committee!" Trump roared. "Open the door and let me out of here!"
The pilot couldn't refuse an order from his president. He opened the door.
Trump stared out across the runway. Gee, Hanoi sure looked dingy! He hadn't been briefed on this.
Because the Hanoi he landed in was not the Hanoi of 2019.
It was the Hanoi of 1970.
The plane had passed through a space/time continuum.
Before he could retreat to the safety of his plane, the plane dissolved into cotton candy! Donald Trump -- tie, suit, and bad haircut -- stared out at a platoon of gun-toting Viet Cong, who, although they didn't know the guy by name, recognized an American capitalist pig when they saw one.
"But ... my bone spurs!" Trump sputtered. "I'm not supposed to be here!"
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh ..............................
Here the story could take a turn. What completes this fantasy with the most satisfaction? Does he get blasted by a few hundred Soviet firearms, or do they haul him off to the Hanoi Hilton for a nice, long, comfortable (not) stay? How about a prisoner exchange with a brave young soldier named John McCain?
A girl can dream. Thanks be to Gritty!
5 comments:
"He was never heard from nor seen again. And Americans all lived happily ever after. The End."
Oh Gritty, you hunka hunka burnin' love!
he was killed by his own troops for being obnoxious. the end.
I heard he wanted to turn back because someone forgot the bucket of chicken from Col. Sanders.
the Ol'Buzzard
As long as he doesn't return I am okay with anything that happens to him. If Pence is gone, too, the Nancy Pelosi is in charge. I wonder if she can get some legislation passed quickly to prohibit Russian agents from entering the country?
i think they should have not let him come back
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