[Shortly after the election, I started writing a three act play, a mashup loosely inspired by Ubu Roi and King Lear. Now, a month into the new regime, I think I saw what had happened and what was coming fairly clearly. So, rather than obsess over the outrage du jour, I am posting the play here, a scene at a time.]
An alley, at night. The street entrance of this address opens into a small, spare room containing a small, cheap desk upon which sits a big appointment book and behind which sits a very large and muscular man wearing earphones. He's drumming his fingers on the desk and humming. There's no other furniture and no decoration. This room in turn gives entrance to an ornately furnished bedroom. The bed is king size. No blankets, duvets, or pillows, just satin sheets. In the bedroom, lounging on flouncy upholstered chairs, are Melarla, Marlania, and Ivlarvla. They, and the room they inhabit, look like the stereotypical image of high-class hookers and their New York bordello that a watcher of The Apprentice might have derived from cop shows of that period.
Marlania:
I've done this guy before. He's kind of a regular. Easiest money you'll ever make.
Melarla:
Is fast finisher? One minute man?
Marlania:
Quick like a bunny. Just follow my lead.
Trumpaboo enters from the street, glancing furtively behind him as he passes through the door into the little room with the big man. In addition to his usual attire, he sports a let of groucho glasses and an unkempt black wig that does not entirely cover up his orange comb-over.
Trumpaboo:
I've got a ten o'clock with the Weird Sisters.
Big Man:
How you gonna pay?
Trumpaboo:
Oh darn, I left my cash in my other suit. Can you take a credit card?
Big Man:
What kind of chump you think I am? You pay up front or you walk, buster, (glancing down at the appointment book) I don't care who you are.
Trumpaboo:
How about Paypal?
Big Man:
Okay.
They pull out their phones and make the transaction. The Big Man gestures Trumpaboo into the next room.
Trumpaboo:
Hello, Marlania. And who are these lovely ladies?
Marlania:
This is Melarla and this is Ivlarvla. They're new.
Trumpaboo:
Great, fresh pussy. Well, Marlania, you know I don't like to dick around. Let's get down to business. First, the undressing.
Marlania removes the groucho glasses and the wig. She leaves the tie on, also the codpiece and boxer shorts. She hands the glasses and wig to Melarla, who looks confused. Marlania gestures to a side table, and Melarla places them there.
Marlania:
And now for the dressing.
Trumpaboo:
Oh, so right!
Marlania nods to Ivlarvla, who produces an oil cloth from behind something and with Melarla's help spreads it out on the bed. Trumpaboo lies down on the oil cloth, on his back. Marlania takes a bottle from a side table, removes the cap, and holds the bottle for Trumpaboo to sniff.
Trumpaboo:
Green goddess?
Marlania:
They were out of Russian. Is that a problem?
Trumpaboo shakes his head no. Marlania pours a couple of tablespoons around the base of the codpiece. She sets the bottle back on its table and gestures to the others. The women close in and bend over Trumpaboo's lower body. Whatever they are doing, they are doing it energetically. There are exaggerated sounds of kissing, lip-smacking, and slurping. The codpiece waves and bobs under their ministrations.
Melarla (whispers to Marlania):
Is like wilted lettuce -
Marlania (loudly):
A great, big, thick, tall, tightly packed head of romaine -
Suddenly, Ivlarvla stands erect, rigid, her eyes wide open and unfocused, her arms flailing stiffly. The other women leap back, aghast. Trump, bending at the waist, bolts upright. His hands fly protectively to his groin. Ivlarvla's mouth writhes. A huge and sepulchral voice composed of the Turd Chorus's many voices fills the theatre with a broad caricature of a Scottish brogue.
Turd Chorus (in this scene, invisible to the audience):
Is that my ickle Trumpabookins? My ickle dooky wookums?
Trumpaboo:
By my green candle! Mama Trumpaboo, is that you? She's channeling Mama Trumpaboo!
Turd Chorus:
Don't be a numpty, ye great mumping gowk. Give us an ear. I've got news for ye.
Trumpaboo:
Let me have it, Mama.
Turd Chorus:
Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn
The pow'r of people, for none of woman born
Shall harm Trumpaboo.
Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are.
Trumpaboo shall never vanquished be
Until great Birnam Wood to Dunsinane
Shall come against him.
Trumpaboo:
Am I hearing right? Birnam Wood? Dunsinane? What the hell? Why do you have to talk like that?
Ivlarvla slumps to the floor.
Trumpaboo:
Hahahahahahaha! Does it get any better? Lear, Cordelia, you are so hugely nothingburgered! I've got REAL immunity, baby! Mama says so! Untotallytouchable! King POTUS forever! I'm going to rake in ALL the chips!
Marlania:
Shouldn't we call anambulance, or something?
Trumpaboo:
Security! Call security! Oh god, Mama, I'm coming!
