[Dream Sequence]: Donald J. Trump and his Deputy Chief of Staff, Stephan Miller, are ernestly engaged in a didactic discussion of the classic behavioral admonition contained in Emanuel Kant’s esoteric ” Prolegomena To Any Metaphysics,” when the Press Secretary, Karolyn Leavitt, throws open the gilded doors to the Oval Office, hysterically proclaiming that the President’s Executive Order, directing major physionomic alteration to New York’s Statue of Liberty and a relevant official change of name to ” The Winner, Donald Trump” was turned down by governmental authoritires for divers reasons, not the least of which is the predictable outcry from feminist groups as well as the influential N.Y.C Tourist Souvenir Association.
In the dynamics of the contextual dream, thge sleeper, Donald Trump, wisely avoiding the highly predictable negative publicity from relevant historical societies, tourist companies, immigrant organizations, as well as the cheap souvenir sa,\]les companies,, he rejects the retributive advice of his outraged Cabinet to expunge the name and verses of Emma Lazarus from the edifice and, as further retribution, expulsion of her name from the illustrious list of famous American poets. In the dream, the outraged Chief Executive expostulates, angrily, that he would, however, retributively ban all depictions of New York’s East River from Federal Buildings. The latter restriction had fortuitously appeared to him, the moment he awoke from one of his sundry, irresistible afternoon naps.
Additional empirical, non-soporific misfortunes of the horrific day, consisting of a recent scientific study demonstrating that orange hair dye is irretrivably toxic and unhealthy to human cognition, the discolvery of greasy three red ties, irretrievably lost to greasy ketchup stains from the morning’s regular ingestion of McDonald hamburgers, and two broken nails suffered by Melania, aggravated the bleak advice that the superjet graciously given to him by Katar. was an irreparable “lemon” whose potential flying altitude, on a good day, was incapable of exceeding fifteen feet from the ground; the latter prognostication constituting the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back.”
Trump then, angrily and dejectedly, locked himself away in one of the gold-leafed executive bathrooms and there, unsuccessfully attempted to mitigate his despicable loss of face by aggressively and imperially, brandishing his thickly imprinting black “Sharpie,” mandating that all unemployed citizens be subject to a government-ordered draft to serve as caddies at his golf clubs, and notably, outlawing the “treasonous” ingestion of kale and broccoli.
Nor could his afternoon Presidential Conference with his erudite cabinet fare better; the marshmallows kept melting in the fire and falling off the stick. It ain’t easy to shoulder the awesome responsibilities and infinite duties of the American Presidency; you can ask the beleagured Donald Trump for indignant confirmation.
-p.