TurkeyBoobs, A Thanksgiving Story: Part 2 of 3

“Are you idiots finished?” Trump (or his hair) fumes.

There’s a general shuffling of feet and murmuring but yes, the remaining audience has indeed calmed down. Oddly, Rand Paul and Harry Reid are both missing. A sketchy individual had been seen lurking in their vicinity but fuhgeddaboudit. Nobody saw nuthin’ and nodoby’s sayin’ nothing ‘bout it. Trump, who has lived in New Jersey, saw the whole thing and utters not a peep about it.

The turkey is relieved the fuss has died down. It had no idea humans were so flighty.

“As I was saying, it’s a tradition that the turkey gets pardoned, but recently I talked to an obscure blogger that nobody cares about. (I Googled him and I can clearly state that there’s nobody less influential that this guy so he’s very very not important at all. I shouldn’t even mention him. People say ‘why did you mention that unpopular blogger’ and I answer ‘I don’t know.) He said I was lame. He said the ‘turkey thing’ was outdated and Washington needs new and younger players. He also said turkeys were made of food. How rude!”

Speaking of new and young players on the scene, excitable maverick Senator John McCain has fallen asleep. Next to him, fire breathing youthful powerhouse Ruth Bader Ginsburg is not only asleep but snoring loudly and drooling. She’s drooling on Cokie Robert’s shoes. Cokie thinks, for the millionth time, of retiring.

“Can you believe it?!?” Trump complains. “I’m a brazillionare, have sentient hair, and I’m the president. Yet some very not popular blogger who can barely maintain a Dodge called me lame. I’m tweeting about it.”

Every reporter’s cell phone dings as a new series of tweets assaults their inboxes. Trump has done this without moving his hands or touching a phone. Twitter is his matrix and he is the chosen one. Keanu Reeves senses a disturbance in the force and says “whoa”.

Trump continues. “I’m very very cool, almost godlike in my humility really, and it bothers me that someone who has a dog for an editor can insult me. After all I don’t have any editor at all. Plus, look at my hair. LOOK AT IT!”

Everyone looks at Trumps hair. It functions like the hypnotoad. Except Cokie, who is immune, and the turkey, which is smarter than most journalists.

“I’m calling him right now!” Trump holds up his phone. The Secret Service tenses and everyone in the White House staff begins to shake; Trump had another phone, a phone nobody knew about?!? The press leans forward. The turkey listens intently. Younger members of the press are wondering about this mysterious ‘call’ feature on his phone. Is it an app or something?

Trump dials, sets it to speaker phone, and positions it near the podium’s microphone. It rings for a full minute before it’s picked up.

“How did you get this number?” Comes a cranky voice on the other end.

“This is president Trump. I’m a president. You are not. I want you to know that I’m better than you.”

“Whatever. You killed that turkey yet?”

The press sucks in its breath. The unspeakable has been spoken!

“I’m going to pardon it. This will show I’m benevolent, except I’ll use littler words to say ‘benevolent’; maybe very very nice. I’ll be very very nice because I pardoned the turkey.”

“It’s livestock.”

“But…”

“Livestock!”

“People in cities don’t understand that food…”

“Eat. The. Turkey.”

“The PETA people will…”

“Fuck them. They’re standing around screaming helplessly at the sky. Or was that last week? I forget. Fresh turkey is delicious. Don’t forget the cranberries.”

“But the pollsters say…”

“Kill it! Now!”

Trump, and indeed the entire crowd, has never heard such a crude sentence. Is this a deplorable speaking? They can speak? They have telephones?!? Dianne Feinstein shouts from the crowd; “See what I mean? These people have guns! It’s not safe out there!”

Trump ponders for a second. The crowd waits with baited breath. The person on the phone has hung up. He said turkeys are made of food!! Most terrifyingly, he hung up on the president without asking for federal funding! Nobody meets the president without demanding money!

After three seconds, which is the longest Trump has ever pondered anything, Trump steps forward, nods to a Secret Service bodyguard who hands over his pistol, and with a smooth practiced New Jersey gangsta’ style sideways grip, aims, and fires.

He misses by a mile. The bullet ricochets off the metal bars of the turkey’s cage and spirals harmlessly off into space. Nine blocks away, Rand Paul is cowering in his natural habitat, a hipster coffeehouse, he’s just narrowly escaped [REDACTED BY THE NSA] but it was a close call. He clutches his coffee with shaking hands. The bullet flies through the window, bounces off the multiply pierced barista’s forehead (which is more metal than skin) and smacks Paul in the arm. “Ouch! What a month I’m having!” he moans.

Back at the White House steps, a thoroughly disgusted Secret Service bodyguard has retrieved his pistol and placed an expert shot in the Turkey’s head. Of course, nobody in the press really noticed. En mass, like the expert witnesses they are, they all assume Trump made the shot. Five seconds later someone documents the fact on Wikipedia and it becomes the truth.

It takes roughly four minutes for the images to float through the universe and one more minute for everyone to add their spin. In five minutes, every news website in creation has an image of an angry Donald Trump pointing a Barretta at a clueless turkey in a cage. “President Is Stone Cold Killer, This Is Not Good” is the lead on CNN. “President Is Stone Cold Killer, This Is Awesome” is the lead on Fox. “President Is Stone Cold Killer, How To Explain That You’re Gay During Thanksgiving Dinner” is the lead on MSNBC.

Only NPR leads with a different story; “Only Repubs. Can Be Pervy”. This is followed by a two-hour special program called “Squirrel!”

Stay tuned for part 3.