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3 years, 258 days and 22 hours of the Clown Show

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At 7:58 a.m. this morning (Monday, Oct. 5), President Trump’s personal physician, Dr. Sean Conley, released the following statement: “The President took a turn for the worse overnight. Shortly after midnight, hospital personnel noticed that his blood pressure had dropped precipitously. Entering the Presidential Suite to examine him, they found the President unresponsive, and his breathing was sterterous. Emergency nurses immediately initiated cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

Through my contacts, I’ve been able to piece together the following: When CPR failed to work, the heart stimulant, Midodrine, was injected directly into Trump’s ventricular chamber. This caused the President to spasm, resulting in an attack of severe hypertension. As a result, emergency doctors injected Insulin into the opposite chamber. Within seconds, the President’s eyes opened and were bulging. His blood pressure began to soar, and when it reached 220 over 150, physicians became concerned about new strains on his heart. A quick conference was held by his bedside, with some physicians wanting to administer a massive dose of the angiotensin-converting enzyme (ACE) inhibitor Lisinopril, while others warned that to do so could cause dangerously low blood pressure, which would threaten his breathing and cause other organs, such as the kidneys and erectile function, to fail. When physicians were unable to reach a consensus, the President’s children, Donald Jr., Eric and Ivanka, were called in. The doctors explained that they were deadlocked, and that the President’s children would have to make the decision, since the President’s wife, Melania, was in quarantine and in a medically-induced coma.

Eric and Ivanka wanted the Lisinopril immediately administered, but Donald Jr. refused. Claiming that he was “the Trump in charge,” he insisted that his father be administered a cocktail of hydrochloroquine, bleach and Adderall. All of the attending physicians were appalled, with one, Dr. Rand Romney, stating that to do so would “be the equivalent of a bullet through his brain.” At this, all three of the President’s children accused Dr. Romney of making a death threat against the President. The Secret Service immediately took Dr. Romney into custody.

Meanwhile, the President continued to decline. Nobody knew what to do. Then Ivanka came up with an idea. What if one of the President’s favorite prostitutes, Kellyanne Floozy, was brought in to stimulate him? The Secret Service said they knew exactly where to find Ms. Floozy, since they frequently smuggled her in to see the President at Mar-a-Lago, Bedminster and the White House whenever FLOTUS was absent. She was at her favorite bar. Within 20 minutes, Ms. Floozy arrived at Walter Reed where, amidst the kind of secrecy normally reserved for events of the highest national security, she was brought to the Presidential Suite. Ms. Floozy then entered the President’s king-size bed.

At first there was no response. But then, as Ms. Floozy began to administer her special talents, the President showed signs of revival. At that very moment, a new visitor arrived to see the President: Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney-Barrett. Entering his Suite, she quickly evaluated the scene before her: the President’s children, the doctors, the Secret Service, and, in the bed, her mentor, President Trump, unconscious but showing certain unmistakable signs of physical arousal, and the beautiful Ms. Floozy, attired in flimsy bright red negligée.

This offended Judge Coney-Barrett’s Christian sensibilities. She tried to pull Ms. Floozy out of the President’s bed, screaming “Adultery is an abomination!” The Secret Service tackled Judge Coney-Barrett. The President’s children became involved in the melée, and so did the doctors. The scene resembled something from a Marx Brothers comedy. Fists were flying, expletives uttered, people tried to strangle each other. Then Bill Barr, his hairy bear body naked and sweaty, entered and said, “The career professionals at Justice have asked me to give you this,” and he took a gigantic dump on Trump’s face.

“He’d prefer peepee from a Russian ho,” Ivanka noted, as everyone threw up.

Suddenly, the door flew open. It was Lyin’ Ted Cruz and Lindsay Graham. Teddy was dressed head-to-toe in black leather, which tended to minimize his enormous ass and overfed stomach. Graham came as her drag persona, Auntie Lindsay. In fishnet stockings, a pink tutu and a fluffy feather boa, she looked fierce and yet luridly hideous. The fighting stopped and the crowd parted as Teddy and Auntie Lindsay crawled into Trump’s bed. Auntie Lindsay grabbed Judge Coney-Barrett’s wrist and whispered in her soft southern drawl, “Try it, honey, you’ll like it.” Judge Coney-Barrett said she had to ask her husband, Jesse, if it was all right for her to have a sexual orgy with an unconscious man, a transsexual and a sadomasochistic leather queen. She called Jesse; the two had a brief conversation, and Coney-Barrett said, “Jesse would like to join us. He’ll be here in five minutes.”

Soon, the Presidential Suite was the scene of the wildest orgy Washington had seen since the Kennedy administration. People came and went by the hundreds. All sorts of things went down. Mitch McConnell was seen cavorting with Stephen Miller, while Betsy DeVos was doing something unmentionable with a German Shepherd and Susan Collins. Meanwhile, in the midst of the craziness, Trump died. Nobody noticed; they were having too much fun. When Coney-Barrett learned she’d performed a sex act upon a dead man—necrophilia—she had a nervous breakdown and withdrew her name from consideration to the Supreme Court. But Mike Pence, who on Trump’s demise became President, convinced her that Jesus wanted her on the Court. Getting down on their knees, he administered the Oath of Office to Coney-Barrett, as everybody sang The Donald Trump Song:

Clear the streets for the Proud Boys,
Clear the streets for the neo-nazi division!
  Millions are looking upon MAGA hats full of hope,
The day of freedom and of revenge dawns!

                                                                        (translation from the German)

At that point, Kayleigh McEnany came rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, guys. Did I miss anything?”

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