Donald Trump in the Joint

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


I was imagining how Donald Trump's days would be after Mueller gets finished.


Donald Trump in the Joint

Donald Trump awoke early. The cell block was incredibly noisy. The Leavenworth cell blocks had metal and concrete walls, floors and ceilings. Horrible acoustics. And nobody talked, at least talked like normal people, rather they screamed at each other. Back and forth, almost like animal calls. Radios and TV's were competing with each other for the residents' ears. Trump was used to racket, but not enough to sleep through it.

Opening his eyes he felt a stab of joy knowing that his cell mate, Bubba the Booty Bandit, would be at his hearing in Kansas City for another day. The prison bus was not expected back until late that evening.

Bubba was a 300 lb, heavily tattooed, black male who spent almost all of his yard time lifting weights. He had offered Donald Trump the position as his “Bitch” when Donald first arrived on the cell block. And when Donald had politely declined the honor, Bubba made Donald his bitch anyway. Donald was relieved there wouldn't be any “Back Channel Communication” this morning.

Breakfast arrived shortly after 6:00 AM. A cart stopped in front of Donald's cell and a tray was removed.

“I hope it's to your liking Mr. President. The mystery meat is excellent this morning.” The trustee snickered as he shoved the tray under the door.

Trump noted that the breakfast never varied. A spoon full of smelly powdered eggs, two slices of toast buttered with what looked like lard, and a slice of mystery meat. No one on the cell block had ever figured out what the meat was. There was also a weak cup of instant coffee and a Dixie cup of powdered milk.

Roscoe, the mentally challenged murderer in the next cell fired up the butt of his smelly cigar and the smoke drifted into Donald's cell. Donald coughed and gagged, but knew better than to say anything.

Donald normally would be in lock down until lunch at 12:00 noon, meaning he would have about six hours to kill. But on Tuesdays and Thursdays he worked from 8:00 AM until 11:00 AM in the prison workshop. He was paid five cents an hour for this work, and it was a big step up from the prison laundry.

Donald killed an hour by chewing a pencil and watching a bird through a skylight in the common area ceiling. The guard arrived at about 7:45 and beat on Donald's cell door with a billy club.

“Donnie, your executive experience is needed down at the license plate shop”, said the guard.

He opened the door and told Donald to turn around.

“No funny stuff now”, said the guard as he put the shackles on Donald's wrists, waist and ankles. Donald took baby steps down the hallway because of the ankle shackles with the guard poking him in the back to speed him up.

While he was being unshackled in the shop, the foreman approached Donald and asked, “How much schoolin' you got Donald?”.

“I graduated from Wharton Business College”, Donald replied.

“Did you get good grades?” The foreman asked.

“The best”, replied Donald. “I got the best grades of all.”

“And you got executive experience on top of that?”

“I ran my own real estate company for years and I was also President of the United States. At least for a while.”

The foreman scratched his chin and seemed to consider for a moment.

“OK, I think you got what it takes. That shop shitter over there ain't been cleaned since I got here. And that was a long time ago. I want you to get some rags and spray cleaner out of the supply closet and get that toilet looking white again. Right now, a buzzard wouldn't crap in it. OK?”

“OK”, Donald knew not to argue. The toilet really was disgusting and it turned out to not be one of the more enjoyable days in the shop.

Back in the cell, Donald decided to relieve himself before marching off the lunch. As he sat on the cell's toilet, which was much cleaner than the shop toilet, a guard passed by and took a good hard look at him. A few minutes later the guard came back the other direction and again looked in.

“Constipated 'cause that shitter ain't made of gold?” Asked the guard.

The guard didn't wait for an answer, he just chuckled and moved on.

Lunch time finally arrived and Donald lined up with the other prisoners to be marched to the cafeteria. He took his tray stood in line. As he passed the servers, he received a spoon full of black beans, a dried out tortilla, a boiled hot dog and a spoon full of wilted green beans. Also a cup of cherry Kool Aid. To avoid trouble with the other prisoners, he sat at the “girl's” table, along with Wally the Wimp.

After lunch, they moved out into the yard. The prisoners didn't allow Donald near the weights, the tether ball or the handball court. He had to again hang out with the girls in one small corner of the yard. But that was OK, it was just nice to see the sun for a little while and Donald had never been big on exercise anyway.

After the exercise yard, Trump had another two hours in his cell, which he passed by watching a bug cross the floor of the common area.

Dinner that night was a greasy mystery meat burger, a handful of soggy potato chips and a glass of grape Kool Aid.

At lights out Donald meditated that the day had not gone too badly. It was really nice having Bubba gone. And there were just 7251 more days to go until he was free. As he drifted off to sleep, something stroked his cheek and he heard Bubba the Booty Bandit say, “Donald, I really missed you when I was away”.


Submitted: March 13, 2018

© Copyright 2021 MissFedelm. All rights reserved.

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hullabaloo22

Tue, March 13th, 2018 8:23pm

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