Donald J. Trump was only on the fifth bite of his McDonald’s Ultra Huge Gonzo burger with extra cholesterol when it lodged in his throat and choked him. Melania’s half-hearted attempt at the Heimlich maneuver did nothing to help the ex- so called President’s distress as well as did son Eric’s running around like he had his anus cut off screaming “Get a working class person over here to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation!” Once he realized he was about to inherit a fortune he calmed down.
One second he was lying on the floor in a fetal position, the next he was in a large building with uncountable large windows that looked like a big city airport terminal. Anxious people were seated or milling about in a state of extreme self concern.
“Where the hell am I?” bellowed the ex-self proclaimed billionaire indignant that he suddenly found himself transported away from his meal at his lavish Manhattan digs and finding himself to a place so pedestrian as an ordinary airport terminal; probably New Jersey’s and in the non-business class section to boot.
“That might be exactly where you are!” yelled some rube fifty feet away who was probably some Democrat who recognized him. If he had been wearing his MAGA hat he would have waved to him, but Donny wasn’t so he just gave him the up-yours salute.
Up ahead he could see a sign that said ‘The Chosen People’ entrance, so he by nature assumed that to include himself and went over. An ancient man with a long, white beard was the usher.
“Good day!” stated Trump, giving the man his best fake smile. “This is where I need to be!” and proceeded to barge his way through.
“Hold on there!” said the old man, pushing out an unusually strong elbow to block him from going in. “This is for special people only.”
“Well, that would include me!” stated Trump arrogantly and proceeded to push his way in again, only to find that the old man’s arm was stronger than he could force himself against.
“Not quite!” said the ancient one in an even voice. “There are certain criteria that must be met. I am afraid that you have not yet reached that level of achievement as of yet.”
Trump glowered at him hostiley. “But I was the President!” He said insinuatingly.
“That is a large part of the problem!” said the old one impartially. “You seem to think you deserve more than you do!”
Trump glowered at him angrily. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do you know who I am, old man?”
‘I certainly do.” answered the old man readily while looking down at the list before him. We’ve been expecting you. “Donald J. Trump- born 1946 to Fred Trump and Mary Anne MaCleod. You became over the course of a lifetime a hotel baron, a golf course builder and a television personality…..”
“You got that right!” He tries again to push his way in, but the old man effortlessly blocks him.
“And a price gouger, distributor of untrue ‘facts’, a University fraud, a fascist leaning despotism and an all around obnoxious and discourteous fellow.”
This tripped the fuse in Mr. Trump. He made a battering ram type of breakthrough with his arms, but the old man was astoundingly sturdy and seemed to anticipate the attack. He pushed The Donald, effortlessly making him fall backwards.
“You see, Mr. Trump, you must meet certain standards before being allowed entrance into the area designated for The Chosen Ones. I believe you call the place heaven.”
“So then where am I to go? I certainly believe that I deserve the best. That is what I was born into.”
The old man smiled as he answered, “And that is the cause of your downfall. You are insatiably always wanting more.”
“And I shall get it!” roared the self-centered man.
“And that you shall, Mr. Trump! But not in the way that you expect it!” The old man walked over to another sign that pointed in another direction from which came strange, angry loud sounds and unpleasant smells.” The sign said ‘Welcome To Normalville’. He opened the gate and motioned The Donald in.
“Here is your destiny, Sir!”
Trump, surprised yet intrigued, took a few cautious steps in. “It sounds like some sort of party or something.”
The old man continued to smile. “Not quite, Mr. Trump. It is the destination you have made for yourself your whole life long.”
Trump took a couple of hesitant steps forward and could see that the area was dotted with crowded tenements, trailer parks, industrial factories and run down neighborhoods. The people there were loud, uncouth, barbaric and violent.
“What is this?” He demanded.
“It is your own brand of Hell, Fuhrer Trump, one made by your own actions, words, deeds, attitudes and creations. A Hell made especially for and by Mr. Donald J. Trump.
This is where your own fan base, your crowd, your devotees come when they die. And you being their leader, get to share it with them. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Trump, amongst those you sought to sway and control. You will be with them for a long, long time!”
Trump, realizing what he had followed into, began to scream “No! No! No! This isn’t right! Not THEM! Please God, Allah, Buddha! Anyone! NOT THEM! Anyone but them! LET ME OUT OF HERE! Where will I stay?”
“Pick out a place on the ground, Mr. Trump. There are no mansions here.” said the old man.
Although an angel of righteousness, the old man couldn’t help a smirking, vengeful smile from coming over his face as he turned and left.