THE END

A Short Story

This is a work in progress. Send me your thoughts dbernk@aol.com

TheEnd

Inauguration Day January 20, 2029 8:52 am

President Trump questions his big decision from the nightbefore. It’s probably the first time he’s questioned a decision in 70
years. But there aren’t many around himat the moment to share his doubts.

71 days earlier.

November 10, 2028-Three days after Election Day. 11:15 am

Fuck Vance. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

Didn’t I do enough for him to win a simple, fuckingelection, especially against that no-name Kentucky loser Android Beshear.

OK, maybe Android isn’t as good a nickname as some of theothers. I guess I’ve lost a bit off myfastball. But just a bit. I’m still the world’sgreatest President ever.

As he thinks to himself, the President remembers it’s onlybeen a few days, really not much more than hours, since the crushing final numbers
came in from Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, then even Kentucky.

“Leavitt, get in here. I want to address the country.”

Shit, that mouth. Those lips.

“I want to talk to the country…. really talk to them. They need to know I’m still the President fora few more months. They still love me. More than they loved Washington.

Even if they hate that idiot Vance.

“Whatever you want, Mr. President. Do you want me to drag those grotesque moronsfrom the White House press corps in here or do you want to talk directly to the
people?”

I need to stop staring at her lips.

“Let’s do an oval office talk. Might be my last chance to demand networktime.”

“On it, sir.”

I love it when she calls me sir. Wonder if she’ll work for a reduced salaryafter all this is over.

November 11, 2028 3pm

I was best president this country ever had.

Those lights are really bright.

“Once again, the vote cheaters have cheated and stolenmillions of votes from us.”

Fucking Vance, he never had my feel for how to messwith those Dumocrats.

“But it will be up to others to find those missingvotes. My time here will soon beover. I leave you with the biggest, bestballroom in the history of ballrooms. George Washington wanted it. Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson. They all wanted a big ballroom. Jacksoncame to me in a dream and begged me to build it. And now you have the Trump
America ballroom for all time.”

And the biggest, best bunker too.

“The Trump deranged radical Dumocrats tried to stop thegrand Trump arch as well. Whateverminor issues remain in straightening the arch will be handled and you will have
that great arch to enjoy for hundreds of years.”

“How could my idiot staff not know there was a swampunderneath the fucking site?”

“And now everyone knows the word ‘dumb’ has a ‘b’ init. No other President ever told youthat before.”

“I do wish we could have finished renovating the TrumpKennedy center. I am the greatestbuilder ever, but the deranged Democrats and their un-American judges put so
many roadblocks in the way that, unfortunately, all that’s left of the building
are structural steel supports. Good. Letthe next President fix it, even if he did steal the election.”

“I also wish I could have built the 100,000 person UFCstadium we needed on the very underused mall out there. But again, those who hate me convincedstupid judges to stop the project.”

“I know you want me to continue as your president. I won three times. Everyone agrees. I would have won thistime. No one questions this. No one. Inthe past few days, very smart people, very strong people, have come up to me,
with tears in their eyes and said, ‘sir, can’t you be President again?’ Can’t you stay?

Maybe. We’llsee.”

That idiot Vance. I should have picked liddle Marco. He looks more like a President. Vance looks like a president from 300year ago.

November 15 4:27 pm

“Mr. President,” drones Undersecretary for AIdevelopment Clem Wickersham. “Don’t forget, we have the three CEOs from the
largest AI companies coming to the White House today. They want you to ask the National ParkService to allow construction of data centers on park land.

They never shut up. Don’t they know I’m done here? After all this time, these schmucks stillthink I’m doing THEM favors?

“Bring them in when they get here.”

“Oh, sir…. the Secretary of the Interior wanted you toknow. Um, the police just shut down theGW Parkway near Arlington Cemetery. Theythink there’s a good chance the arch might tip over and crush people.”

I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.

Twenty-three minutes later, Wickersham wakes thePresident from an unplanned slumber.

“Sir, they are here.”

“Mr. President, sir. It’s so good to see you,” said Rakesh Parapou. “Of course, all of us in the tech world aremiserable about the election results.”

“We are, sir,” said the other two CEOs, somewhatunconvincingly.

At least they still call me ‘sir.’ What’s the firstone’s name again. Rasheesh? Mahesh?

“What can I do for you? I don’t have much time.”

“Sir,” begins Rakesh.

Sir. I like the sirs. I’ll miss the sirs.”

“All of us in the tech world…well the entire businessworld to be honest…. are going to miss you at the helm of this great country,”
continues Rakesh. His two colleaguesstand by his side in matching black t-shirts.

“We would forever be in your debt if youradministration could fast-track using national park land for data centers. Not
the big parks, like Yellowstone. Maybesome of the less popular ones, like Crater Lake or Hot Springs. You could just
order some land opened to us and there wouldn’t have to be any public hearings.
You know, people have annoyingly organized to stop us from building data centers
and once the other party takes over the White House, we may lose all momentum
and lose the AI race to the Chinese.”

Chjina…President Xi respects me. All the best leaders do.

“I’ll see what I can do. Have a Trump 2028 hat.”

Wickersham interrupts. “Thank you, Mr. President. Come with me please,” as says as he escortsthe three tech bros out of the office. Two toss their Trump hats in the garbage the moment they exit the WhiteHouse compound.

A homeless man near Lafayette Square picks one up,looks at the logo and tosses it back in the garbage.

November 21 12:19 pm

“Hegseth on line 2, Mr. President,” says the aide whosename he never learned. “The Pentagon folks say it’s important.”

Love that guy. Happy to take his call. He always looks great on the tube and henever stops kissing my ass.

“What’s up Heggie? I missed you on Fox this morning.”

“Mr. President, sir,” Hegseth began in an unusuallyuncertain voice. Not the voice he useson Fox and Newsmax.

“The intelligence folks here, not the real war fightersby the way, true…. but they’ve deciphered some Kremlin stuff. It’s about Ukraine,” says Hegseth.

I haven’t thought about that hell hole in months. Just like World War I, trenches…. lots ofdead people. No decent place to put up acasino.

“Seems Putin may be running low on troops. I mean really low. Like no more trainedsoldiers to send to the front. Andthey’re finally running out of missiles, we think,” Hegseth continues.

“Putin has all the cards. Can’t be.”

“Putin may be running out of cards…and decks,” Hegsethsays. “The intelligence folks think Ukraine might be on the verge of maybe,
possibly, making a breakthrough after all these years…. Sir.”

“OK, thank you Heggie. Let me know when you’re on TV again.”

Not the sharpest tool, but good on TV. And he does pushups.

I won the pushup competition back in military school.

December 4, 2028 6:35pm

Why isn’t that steak here? What are they doing in thekitchen?

“Sir, do you plan on returning to the White Houseanytime soon,” Leavitt asked softly. “Those disgusting morons in the White House Press Corps are complainingabout their hotel rooms here in West Palm. And there is the traditional transition photo op with the incomingPresident.”

“Have Vance…. or Marco do it. I’m happy here at Mar a Lago.”

The crowds are thinner at Mar a Lago than they wereeven a few months ago when polling started showing the GOP would lose badly.
Memberships dropped significantly as well.

“Well, sir…. Mr. President,” Leavitt resumed. “ThePresident-elect might not wish to participate if you aren’t going to take
part.”

The only other diner sharing their table was one of thegolf pros ordered to join the President. He too, asked for his steak well-done.

They used to beg for a seat at this table.

“Where is my god-damned steak?”

Did I say that out loud?

The golf pro sits silent and motionless. He takes aforlorn glance at the small salad with very not green lettuce, but fears
touching it. He’s heard rumors the last person to eat salad in the presence of
the President was immediately whisked away to an ICE warehouse in Sioux City….
or was it Sioux Falls?

December 15, 2026 10:14 am

“Sir? Mr.President? Sir?” Secretary of StateRubio was having trouble getting the President’s attention in the Oval Office.

How many more days of this? When does the next guy getsworn in? How much longer do I have to hang around this shithole building? I’m
tired.

Giraffe, camel, horse, squirrel…ahh, what was the otherone? Never mind, my think thing is perfect.

“Let’s walk over to the ballroom, Marco.”

On the walk to the recently completed ballroom/bunker,Rubio tries to draw the attention of the President to a recent security
briefing.

“What do you think of the intelligence reports aboutthe battlefield in Ukraine, Sir? Youknow the CIA and Defense Department think the stalemate might be breaking,”
says Rubio. “And the NATO foreignministers I speak to sense Putin might be in some trouble with his people.”

“Impossible. Putin is the man. He’s likeme. He never loses. You really thinkthose weak nobodies in Russia are going to can him? Never happening. He got 90% in his lastelection. Even I never got that much ofthe vote. Close maybe, but not 90.”

They arrive at the ballroom. White marble, yes. But really more gold than marble with all thegold paint and gold leaf and gold doorhandles and gold tzochkees everywhere. And
his name engraved deep into the marble at the main entrance. Very deep.

Rubio then comes as close to contradicting thePresident as he had the previous 4 years.

“The intelligence might be right this time, Sir.”

But the President is already ignoring Rubio. He issleepy and daydreaming.

Let them try to get my name off that building. MaybeI’ll just come back and live down here after the inauguration. This place is so big, the next guy wouldn’teven know I was down here. I’d have tostart stocking up on Big Macs, though.

“Mr. President Sir?” Rubio says softly.

“Thanks Marco. That’s enough. Putin holds the cards.”

The President wobbles over to the special, secret doorthat leads to the special, secret elevator that leads to the special,
not-so-secret giant underground bunker-city.

When the door opens, he admires his most lastingcreation.

Beautiful. Bestever. Largest ever. Safest ever. Which way to the bedroom?

December 15 2:09 pm

“Secretary Leavitt…. Can you tell us exactly how manynew nuclear warheads the United States has built since the President allowed
the last nuclear treaty to expire?” a reporter asks at the inappropriately
named daily White House press briefing. The White House long ago abandoned any
pretense of actually briefing reporters.

“No. That’ssecret,” she says. “And you are ugly. Horrifically ugly.”

December 18 12:30 pm

“I thought you would like to know…” Elon Musk stands infront of the hunched over president behind the Oval Office desk.

Musk’s trillions might buy his attention, but never the loveMusk craved.

“I’ve decided to build small houses on Mars. They will be named after you. ‘Donald duplexes.’ They’ll be ready in two years. My gaggle of baby-mommas will be transportedthere to raise the next generation of super Elon’s. They won’t be contaminated in any way by thelosers and lowlifes on this planet. Just think of it, Donald. Oneday, my children will return and help rule…umm…run the planet.”

The President often found himself drowsing off. But Elon made him want to fall into cryonicsleep.

“Do you think they’ll want to go?”

“They’ll have no choice. I pay them too much to say no,” said Musk.

I have an ex-wife and a few kids I pay too much. Iwouldn’t mind sending them to Mars.

“Good luck Elon. And let me think about the name somemore. A duplex seems a little low-rentfor something attached to my name. Idon’t think it has the sound of success of, say, Trump steaks, Trump vodka or
Trump University. No, No. I don’t thinkI like that.”

December 24 8:01 pm

Why do they give me stuff to read? They know I don’tread.

Maybe I can make it through a letter.

“Dear President Trump.

I just want you to know sir how much we all love you here inGlendive, Montana, Sir. Everyone I knowvoted for you, well, for the guy you picked. Those lying, evil, anti-American Democrats certainly stole anotherelection from us. But you will always bethe best American President ever.”

Hmmm…. go on.

“The lies the lying fake news media told about you disgustus. I know you don’t wear diapers andpoop your pants during cabinet meetings. That was old Joe Biden. Those White House “reporters” covered up hisobvious stench for years. You never fellasleep during important meetings. You were just resting your eyes. Sometimes, a lot, though. But sleepy Joenever even woke up during his cabinet meetings. He was the only ‘non-woke’ person in his administration.

So, keep your chin up, sir and I hope you can enjoy yourremaining days with your beautiful wife Melania.”

If I could find her.

Checking social media, as he did at least 250 times a day, hesaw aging Senator Schumer had typed out a single word about Trump. “Enough.”

He probably started typing that 3 days ago.

Schumer’s impotent attempt to match Trump-style anger broughtthe day’s only smile to the President’s face.

December 25, 6:03 pm

Four years…you’d think the geniuses around me couldhave built me a French fry fountain by now. How hard could it be? It worksfor chocolate. Just imagine an endlesssupply of French fries flowing out of a gold urn here at Mar-a-Lago.

“Mr. President, Sir, There’s an important call for you.”

“I’ll take it in the kitchen.”

“Sir, it’s a secure call, sir”

“OK, I’ll take it in the bathroom.”

After a brief exchange to make sure it is the Presidenton the line, Secretary Hegseth gets on the call.

“Mr. President, sir. We thought you would want to know. The Ukrainian Army seems to have cut through Russian lines at a towncalled Tokmak or something like that. They may be driving towards Crimea,” Hegseth tells Trump.

“Must be a smart tactic from Putin to trap the Ukrainianarmy. He holds all the cards. I’m going back to my Christmas dinner. Steak and fries, Heggie.”

The boss must be right, Hegseth thinks. But a tiny, largely unused part of his brainwonders.

December 27, 8:23 am

President Trump droops as he climbs the short stairs intothe hold of Air Force One. Now that theelection has passed, he’s given up the charade of a healthy climb up the full
stairway.

Sleepy Joe stopped climbing the long stairway longbefore me. Wonder if they can build one of those stair lift chairs for me that
I see advertised on Fox News.

As the plane climbs smoothly out of the West Palm Beachairport, an aide approaches the drowsy President.

“Mr. President, Sir. It’s Defense Secretary Hegseth on the secure line.”

“What’s going on Heggie?”

“Mr. President, sir, we’re picking up some rumblings fromMoscow. President Putin seems to betelling his nuclear generals to up their preparations. To get ready for
something. We’re not sure exactly what, but we think it has something to do
with the Ukrainian breakthrough.”

Trump is silent for a bit. Unusually silent. He’s never silent this long unless he’seating or experiencing one of his long ‘blinks’.

“Heggie, Putin is just showing us he holds thecards. But maybe I’ll give him a call,just to check.”

Secretary Hegseth hangs up. That rarely used part of his brain stillwonders if the President understands what he has been trying to convey. But then he concludes the President is alwaysright.

December 30 7:59 am

I hate having to go downstairs to the office thisearly. But they said this is the besttime for the call. Where are my fucking egg McMuffins?

The call with the Kremlin rings through to the OvalOffice.

“Mr. President, how are you? You know I’ve seen pictures of your newballroom. It’s wonderful. Truly amonument to you,” Putin says through the translator.

“Thank you, Vladimir. It’s the biggest ballroom in Washington. You know, every President before me wanted a big ballroom. Well, maybe not sleepy Joe. He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t even know what he wanted fordinner.”

“Yes, Donald. That’s true.”

Although empty praise for the man code named ‘todlerski’by the Russians has worked for years, Putin has grown tired of it.

“Donald,” Putin begins. “We have something more importantto discuss. You know, this war has been going on long enough. It may be time for us to take moresignificant steps to end it. Do youunderstand what that might mean?”

The President stared at his half eaten McMuffin and mayhave missed some of what Putin just said.

That’s tasty cheese.

Plus, he just wasn’t that interested in the messanymore. He tired of dealing with Zelenskyyears ago. And while he admires Putinand wishes to be more like him, he has come to realize the Russian leader doesn’t
share the deal making skills Trump so admires in himself.

“Vladimir. I knowyou have the cards. But I don’t want tohear about Ukraine. You fix it on yourown. But remember. Don’t do anything too dramatic that wouldforce the US to respond. At least don’tdo anything for another month until I’m out of here. Then you’ll have to deal with the next guy.”

But Putin wasn’t so sure he would do better with the nextguy. The next guy might actually knowhow to do a deal…. with Ukraine.

“Donald. We shallspeak again soon, I’m sure. But pleaseheed what I say.”

What did he just say?

Where did I put my McMuffin?

January 3 2:45 pm

I’m not gonna miss this old place. Except for the ballroom and the bunker. That’s something those bastards will neverforget.

They kept my name off that goddamn tunnel in New York,but they’ll never get my name off the Trump ballroom.

An aide whose name he never remembers and who soon will beirrelevant enters the Oval Office.

“Sir. VicePresident Vance is here for his 3 o’clock appointment.”

That fucking loser. Never learned how to tell a funnystory. Fucking destroyed my…. what’s theword?...ummm legendary….legacy, that’s it. Destroyed my legacy.

“Good afternoon, Sir. I just wanted to talk to you about the counting of the electors up atthe Capitol in a few days. January 6,”Vance pauses…having thought over how best to deliver his little joke.

“You remember January 6 sir, right?”

Vance waits for a chuckle that will never come.

“You are an idiot. Do I remember? Yeah, it was the day they stole the electionfrom me. But this time, no one isstealing anything from you. You lostfair and square….and bigly.”

The Vice President’s face droops.

“Sir, is there anything special you want me to do or sayduring the count?”

“I don’t care what you do or say. I just want to never see you again. Go back to Iowa where you’re from.”

“I’m from Ohio, sir,” Vance says.

“I don’t care if you’re from fucking Greenland. Just get out of my sight, loser. Fucking loser,” Trump says, very much notunder his breath.

Vice President Vance shuffles out of the Oval Office,wondering if a right wing think tank will consider him for a ‘no show’ job.

January 6 noon

The electoral votes are counted in Congress and thedecision of the voters made final.

There are no protests outside. Not a single person storms the Capitol stepson behalf of Vice President Vance.

January 8 2:07 am

OK, phone. Areyou ready?

The President types out a ‘Truth.’

Putin is readying a new attack on Ukraine. This war has gone on too long. I could have settled it, but Zelensky and hisEuro pals were too stubborn to see how Ukraine could never hold out. Now they may learn. I don’t care. It will soon be someone else’s problem. My advice. No more money for Keev. I would have settled this if Z hadlistened to me. I settled 17 wars, maybe 18

January 8 5:14pm

“Melania is on the phone for you, sir,” says another aidewhose name the President never knew.

“Do-nald,” begins the first lady. “I cannot attend theseinauguration events. There are things Imust do here in New York and besides, I would not be the focus, so there would
be no point in me dressing up if I am not at the center of the attention.”

There’s no point in you in UNdressing anymore sinceyou can barely stand to be in the same room with me.

“That’s fine dear. I only have a few more days anyway. Then I’ll be done with this shithole town.”

“Thank you for understanding. I must hang up now. I’m expecting a call from Brett Ratner. He wishes to discuss a 6-part series aboutmy life in the White House.” Ratner’s plan is to shoot on a Hollywood sound
stage, since there is almost no video of Melania anywhere near the White House.

She hangs up onthe soon-to-be-former president without waiting for a response.

Good luck getting funding for that project once I’moutta here.

January 10 10:03 am

The President is watching one of those midday Fox Newsshows on the giant screen in his residence. He sees a Big Mac and a couple offries in a far corner of the room and wonders if they’re his or possibly left
over from the Johnson administration.

Pete Hegseth is about to be interviewed.

Pete looks so good on TV. Good muscles. Not as good as me. Butgood. Great hair. Not as great as mine. But so loyal. Not very bright, but so loyal.Handsome. I’m not gay. I’m not gay.

“Americans will miss President Trump. They actually won’tknow what to do without his manly leadership,” Hegseth tells the smiling Fox
News host. “The world will not knowwhat to do without this great leader. Just wait and see how everything falls apart. Do you want me to do somepushups for the viewers?”

Even the Fox News host thinks that’s a terrible idea.

“Maybe when you return to our lineup, Pete.” She turns to another camera.

“Coming up next, Democrats are threatening to murder eachother over cabinet posts in the next administration.”

The President reaches over the cold fries to find hisphone.

He types a Truth.

Fox News should let Secretary Hegseth talk longer.They should have let him do pushups. And he was right. World leaders are
calling me to tell me how they’ll all miss me when I leave office

That Pete is a handsome guy. I’m not gay.

January 13 9:48 pm

“Get in here,” the President yells at the aide whose namehe has forgotten.

The President has been fuming for three hours sinceseeing the CBS evening news story about how unnamed Republicans are ecstatic
that soon, no one on Capitol Hill will have to pay attention to the retiring
President.

“Get Barney Weiss on the phone.”

The aide doesn’t recognize the name, but fearsquestioning the President.

After a few seconds of standing in silence, the aide says“Who, sir?”

“Barney Weiss, the head of CBS news.”

“Do you mean Bari Weiss, sir?”

“Yeah, get him on the phone now.”

“Sir, Bari Weiss is a woman.”

“A woman? Well,get her on the phone.”

“Sir, she was fired over a year ago,” the aide responds.

“Get whoever runs the god damn CBS god damn news on thephone…. NOW”

The aide leaves the room to make a call.

She returns a few minutes later, fear on her face.

“Sir, they say the entire executive team is on aretreat. Someone will call us backtonight or tomorrow.”

Even those news mother fuckers don’t pay attention tome anymore.

The unremembered aide backs out of the President’soffice, slowly, so slowly she barely seems to be moving. She’s hoping her departure is not noticed andthat the President never beckons her again.

With so little time left, her hope is a realistic one.

January 13 11:58 pm

The President reaches for his phone and his soon-to-bebankrupt social media platform for the 25th time that night.

Fellow Americans you’re lives are about to get muchworse. No one can be the kind ofpresident I am. No one. I could have run for a third time and youwould have gladly voted for me in even biglier numbers than before

Unlike in times past, his furious tap tap tap-ing ofletters does not make him feel better.

January 15 1:03pm

He’s thinking about his loser of a Vice President.

I should send Vance on a diplomatic mission to NorthKorea. But I won’t do that to Kim. I like Kim. Maybe I’ll send him to Haiti.

Karoline Leavitt stands in his office for an awkwardlylong time. He seems to be staring ather, but really past her. She lovesthis President, but worries he is not handling his impending departure
well. She isn’t sure she wants tointerrupt what passes for a thoughtful moment, but she comes with a hopeful
suggestion. Something she IS sure willimprove his mood.

“Mr. President,” she begins after he briefly acknowledgesher presence with a tiny head shake. “What do you think about holding a final news conference in the briefingroom? You can berate the White HousePress Corps one last time. You can tellKaitlin Collins you don’t like her makeup.”

She thinks that last suggestion will surely cheer him up.

“How many more days till the inauguration?”

“Five, sir,” she says. “It’s always on January 20.”

He is quiet for a couple of minutes. He’s never quiet this long when he’s awake.

“Sure. Let’s ruin the next guy’s big day. Let’s do it on the 19th.”

January 19 5:23 am

Relatively new National Security Advisor Grill Landershates bothering the President this early in the morning. This is the time when the President occasionallyfalls asleep for a couple of hours. Bu^t things can’t wait.

When the President finally presents himself in the outerroom of the residence, Landers starts right in.

“Secretary Hegseth and I thought you’d want to know rightaway. The Ukrainians broke through theRussian lines in a big way. Putin is nothappy. There are some signs oppositionto Putin is organizing at the Kremlin. We…. we think there’s a chance Putin might do something drastic,”Landers said.

Fucking Zelensky. He’s doing this just to screw with me.

“Sir. We alsothink we should notify the incoming President’s national security team,”
Landers added.

“No. No way. I’mstill President. I’ll deal withit.” Trump pauses while Landers standssilently.

“Get out of here.”

Landers obeys.

At least I have my news conference to look forwardto. That’s about it. Melania isn’t coming down. I wonder if she’sstill with that good-looking makeup guy from her oh-so-successful movie. I am
not gay.

January 19 10:01 am

“Be quiet. The President is about to address you excessivelylow IQ people for the last time,” Leavitt says to the assembled White House
Press Corps, most of whom now suffer from clinically diagnosed post-traumatic
stress disorder and late onset learning disabilities. 83% now abuse Zoloft.

The President shambles in.

These idiots. Useless.

“I’m so glad I won’t have to see you or answer any moreof your questions. None of you are verybright. Go ahead, you.”

“Mr. President,” shouts the reporter from Atlanticmagazine. “What are your plans for the day after tomorrow?”

“The day after tomorrow? None of your business. But I’ve got an idea for your future. Quit your job. You are a terrible reporter.”

But the President has no energy left. He sees Kaitlin Collins, but can’t bringhimself to insult her.

To the shock (and no small amount of joy) of theassembled reporters, the President scuffles out of the briefing room without
another word.

Karoline Leavitt sobs.

January 19 4:10 pm

The President finishes a call with Barron, the onlyrelative he cares about even a tiny bit. Barron mentions that Don Jr. and Eric
want to come by the White House for a visit. The President tells Barron now isn’t the time.

“Tell them to come in two weeks.”

Of course, he won’t be there.

Barron is now on his way to the White House at his dad’srequest.

January 19 5:23 pm

Hegseth is on the phone.

“Mr. President. Ihate bothering you, but I’m on my way to the White House. There is something we have to discuss, inperson.”

January 19 5:52 pm

“Mr. President, I know you’re busy packing up. But this is very important. Putin. He’s ordering his nuclear forces to high readiness,” Hegseth says in themost direct language he’s mustered the entire 4 years here. “He may be…possibly…preparing to use them. We think he’s worried aboutgetting tossed out of power.”

“I told you he has the cards.”

“Perhaps we should go to the situation room under yourballroom. I can show you some of oursecret stuff there,” Hegseth says.

Just then, Barron arrives.

National security advisor Landers joins the three of themon the short walk to the ballroom and then down the stairs to the bunker.

“Barron, good to see you, son. You’re a chip off the old block. Same heightas me.”

“I’m 4 inches taller dad,” replies Barron.

January 19 6:18pm

Sitting around the heavy dark oak table with massivescreens surrounding them, screens gilded in gold paint as ordered by the
President, Landers begins:

“Mr. President. Sir. You can see here how significant the Ukrainian breakthrough hasbeen. Russian troops seem to beliterally running for their lives. Atotal disorganized retreat.”

Hegseth picks up the tale. He knows to keep it short and sweet.

“Military intelligence believes….and the CIA agrees….Putin feels his personal survival is now at risk. After 7 years of war, losing to Ukraine onthe battlefield will likely be the end of his rule. Sir, Mr. President, sir…” Trump likes hearing those ‘sirs’, Hegseththinks. “Putin is seriously consideringa nuclear attack on Kiev.”

Trump does not say a word for nearly 5 minutes. Barron wonders if his dad suffered astroke. As far as he can remember, hisdad has never been both awake and quiet for 5 consecutive minutes the entire
time Barron has been alive.

“Will he really use them?”

“We think so,” Landers says. “He’s desperate to stay in power.”

I know how that feels.

The President changes the topic. His attention turns to Barron.

“Where is your mother?”

Now, it’s Barron’s turn to be quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know dad. With some friend. I think he’s a makeup guy,” he says trying to softenthe blow for the dad he barely knows.

Barron’s mind wanders to girls. At least being the firstson has advantages with certain girls, the MAGA-face ones for sure.

Barron is the only good one. He’s like me. Tough. Tough guy. Tall. Smart.

I hope Melania’s enjoying herself….for the last time.

“What if we do something first, Heggie?”

The President waves for the ever-present military aidewith the “football” to come closer.

“What if we launch ours first?”

“Why would we do that sir?” asks Landers.

Americans loved me when I grabbed that bastard inVenezuela. They loved me when we blockaded Greenland. They really loved me when
I killed those Ayertollers in Iran.

They’ll love me more when I’m the guy sending themessage to the world once and for all: I’m the toughest mother fucker that ever lived.

“Get Bessent down here now. He’s the only one in my administration with afunctioning brain. He’ll be usefulafter.”

“After what exactly, sir?” asks Hegseth.

“Should we warn some of our friends at Fox and Newsmax,Heggie?”

“Warn them about what sir?” Hegseth has never thought to thought toquestion the President’s decisions. Now,too late, he has questions.

“And have someone call out for pizza and Big Macs. I want them here in 15 minutes.”

The President had found a moldy, half-eaten Big Mac inthe seat cushion and it reminded him he’d need a decent supply. Enough to last a while. Maybe forever.

“Heggie, let’s us send some real messages. Let’s launchour own nukes? Hit Kiev, the Donbas,maybe Paris? Even Moscow. I should neverhave trusted Putin. Oh, Toronto too.”

Oh Canada, you didn’t want to be the 51ststate?

“Um…. that could mean…would mean World War III,” stammersHegseth.

“No one will fight back. They’re all scared of us. And it will end that fucking Ukraine war onceand for all. “

See, I can end it in a single day.

“Glad you’re here, Bessent. Did you see my food anywhere?”

“Yes, Mr. President. They’re bringing it in now. Arewe having a party?” Bessent asks.

Hegseth is ready to vomit.

20 minutes later, the US nukes have been targeted and fullyprepped. The troops and sailorsresponsible for the nuclear Triad can’t believe their computer screens.

The aide with the football follows the President’sorders. “Yes, sir,” he says calmly ashe prepares for the president to launch.

“Sir. Mr.President,” says Bessent. “Is this adrill sir?”

“Sir…. sir….,” stammers Hegseth.

I love all the sirs.

“DO IT”

Hegseth does as he’s told.

Everyone on duty around the globe does as they are told.

I love the sirs. No fucking inauguration is taking that away from me. And no one will daresay I shit my pants again.

But as the missiles fly, an unmistakable stench fills thegold-encrusted ballroom bunker.

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