Please raise your other hand, my noble liege.
[MacTrump lowers his left hand and raises his right. Chief Justice Robertson offers him a book.
MACTRUMP
What is this tome thou wavest ’fore my face?
ROBERTSON
A sacred book: the Holy Bible, liege.
MACTRUMP
A Bible, eh? Is there no larger book?
ROBERTSON
My lord—
MACTRUMP
—Didst see the one O’Biden had?
’Twas passing yuge. Pray, find me one of those.
ROBERTSON
This Bible once belong’d to Abrahamlet.
MACTRUMP
Then I shall use it, for tradition’s sake.
[aside:] Though, little good it did for Abrahamlet,
Who ne’er was president as now I am.
[To Robertson:] Let us commence this pointless rite forthwith.
ROBERTSON
Please place your left hand on the Bible, sir.
[MacTrump takes the Bible with his left hand and holds it under his arm.
MACTRUMP
Proceed, proceed! Thou art too slow by half.
ROBERTSON
My Lord MacTrump, do you swear solemnly
And nobly vow to govern all the peoples
Of each of our United Fiefdoms fifty:
Of Alabangor, Alaskatchewan—
MACTRUMP
They say that brevity’s the soul of wit;
I bid thee be more witty, little John.
ROBERTSON
And all the others fiefdoms, in accord
With their respective laws and customs?
MACTRUMP
—Sure.
ROBERTSON
Will you preserve, look after, and defend
The Constitution of th’United Fiefdoms?
MACTRUMP
Unto the best of my abilities.
ROBERTSON
So help you God?
MACTRUMP
—So says MacTrump, indeed.
ROBERTSON
Congratulations, Master President.
[Chief Justice Robertson attempts to shake MacTrump’s hand.
MACTRUMP
Thy damn hands keep away from royal skin,
Else thou shalt learn to fear thy president.
SOLDIER
All hail MacTrump, thy lord and sovereign,
And President of these United Fiefdoms!
SUPPORTERS
MacTrump! MacTrump! All hail our liege MacTrump!
[Drums. Ruffles and flourishes. All behind MacTrump applaud. MacTrump waves at the supporters and protestors, autographs the Bible, and throws it at them. It is torn to pieces.
JUSTINE
Hail to your prophet false! Hail to the thief!
MARIANNE
Of doom the harbinger, the evil creep!
MACTRUMP
[aside:] Now all is mine—the whole world knows MacTrump,
Which I obtain’d through electoral votes.
A hostile takeover? Nay, common good.
When I myself earn’d my first million dollars—
Sans any aid at all from mine own father,
At least not such as I shall e’er admit—
I quiver’d at mine own accomplishment.
When fortune by its zeroes added three,
And million turn’d to billion, I was proud:
A self-made man imbu’d with business sense.
Still, something gnaw’d inside me, wanting more.
I treasure thinking big—I always have.
To me ’tis very simple: if one shall
Be thinking anyway, it must be big.
Most people smaller think, because most people
Are sore afraid to see their own success,
Afraid of hard decisions, ’fraid of winning—
Which gives someone like me a great advantage.
Now I’ll go forth among these plebeians
To speechify as presidents must do
And spout the promises they love to hear:
[To all:] All Washingtown hath flourish’d—but the people
Did not share in its wealth. The politicians
Have prosper’d—yet jobs fled, whilst fact’ries clos’d.
Th’establishment protected its own self,
But not the citizens of our dear country.
[Aside:] With platitudes as these their hearts will rise,
They’ll shout the name they long for—
SUPPORTERS
—Hail MacTrump!
[aside:] Yea, now my victory is made complete.
No longer am I merely millionaire,
No longer but a meager billionaire,
Now hath MacTrump turn’d president at last.
The flavor of the moment sates my soul.
Alas, though, in a trice the bite turns cold,
Its taste grows bland; I would fain spit it out!
What is a president who is elected?
What is an office that may be replac’d?
This is pretense to power, and no more—
I’ll not be satisfied until my reign
Endureth past a four- or eight-year span.
Putain of Prussia hath the right idea—
Make show of fair elections, with no question
Of competition or the end result.
Or King John Ill, a better model yet—
Whose power pass’d from father unto son,
Whose title, supreme leader, speaketh all.
Some flames of envy spark inside my soul—
I’ll show that being president is easy,
A task most simple for a man like me.
And then the people—longing to be led
By their own noses, e’en as asses are—
Will beg me to remain in power longer,
And hand the reign to others call’d MacTrump.
First, though, unto the speech, and then the ball,
My stomach growls, and I must heed its call.
[MacTrump exits toward the dais. Exeunt others.
SCENE 2.
The MacTrump inaugural ball.
Enter ROGER BLACKSTONE, LADY KELLEYANNE BOLEYN, PAULUS ROMANAFORT, and SEAN SPICERO, in evening wear. Around them, the banners of the previous president, O’Bama, are being torn down and paraded. Through the windows SUPPORTERS are seen marching with tiki torches.
ROMANAFORT
Huzzah! What an enormous crowd that was!
BLACKSTONE
[smoking a cigar:] As pump’d and proud as any morning cock!
SPICERO
We could not ask for finer citizens
As those who fill’d the capital this morning.
Yea, I saw one supporter in his van,
Festoon’d completely with some tiny portraits
Of our MacTrump, atop an armor’d tank
With fireworks and with paper money flank’d.
Such are the patriots whom we embolden,
Indeed, the noble spirits we embiggen!
KELLEYANNE
Ne’er did I doubt attendance on this day
Would dwarf all others in its size and scope,
For if election night taught us one thing,
It’s that MacTrump commands a following
By far more populous than popular.
ROMANAFORT
How many of our folk turn’d out today?
KELLEYANNE
As thou well know’st, the numbers do not lie;
Let us, therefore, engage in doublethink.
SPICERO
’Twas, by my count, twixt one and one million.
KELLEYANNE
We could duckspeak two million at the least,
Or even three, if we were rounding up.
BLACKSTONE
Bah! Sources tell me it was even more—
Methinks as numerous as five or eight!
ROMANAFORT
Egad! E’en thirteen million persons then?
SPICERO
Such crowd must be unparallel’d! McTweet!
Enter MCTWEET with his pen and parchment.
Tell all thy merry magpies that MacTrump
Hath earn’d a most tremendous victory:
At least full thirteen million lucky peoples
Did flock to Washingtown to see his crowning—
Far more than anyone deem’d possible.
MCTWEET
[writing:] How bullish! Shall I post an image, too?
SPICERO
Nay! Nay to pictures.
ROMANAFORT
—Nyet.
MCTWEET
—Are ye so certain?
A bird’s-eye view is being shared e’en now,
Which makes your mighty host look wafer-thin.
Especially beside O’Bama’s crowd.
SPICERO
Thou liest!
BLACKSTONE
—Picture this, deceitful birdie!
[Blackstone shows McTweet his rudest finger.
MCTWEET
Pray, wave thy hundred mark not ’fore mine eyes.
KELLEYANNE
To all the naysayers, thou must retweet
That our unique alternative newfacts
Are far more factual than actual.
MCTWEET
[aside:] Methinks this will make quite the hashtag.
#Zounds!
[Exit McTweet.
SPICERO
[to Kelleyanne:] I think you think up all the best statistics.
KELLEYANNE
I doublethink they be plusgood as well.
ROMANAFORT
Lo! Here comes Bannox and Count Gargamiller!
Enter SIR STEPHEN BANNOX.
Enter GARGAMILLER from the trapdoor.
SPICERO
A thousand hails unto the grandest wizards
Who crafted Lord MacTrump’s inaugural!
It was a passing charming incantation.
BANNOX
A thousand Sieg Heils in return. Yet, please,
Thank me not for the vital words we chose
To brighten minds before the coming darkness.
Such forces have been decades in the making,
As well you know, my good Lord Blackstone. Eh?
BLACKSTONE
’Tis true! The harvests we do reap were sown
In Richard the Worst’s southern stratagem.
BANNOX
In sooth, anon we shall embark upon
A trial predetermin’d as the tides
And as predictable as passing seasons,
Which bring their summer, autumn, winter, spring.
Yea, ev’ry nation in this wooden O
Shares one eight-decades-long experience:
A savage growth, a ripe pubescence next,
A retrograde, and then, at last, the fall.
Such was the course of ev’ry empire from
Our nation’s founding back to ancient Rome,
And as the fourth great turning fast approacheth
So we, too, must embrace the coming darkness
No differently than satanists or Sith.
GARGAMILLER
All hail Beèlzebub, the Lord of Flies!
[Exit Gargamiller through the trapdoor.
SPICERO
Well, then, ’tis well to know you work upon
Our noble liege’s immigration plan.
BANNOX
Nay. Gargamiller conjureth that one.
KELLEYANNE
E’en Gargamiller?
Enter GARGAMILLER through the trapdoor.
GARGAMILLER
—Speak my name and quake!
Our foes, the presses, and the Globe entire
Will grow to fear us when that we shall act;
Indeed, the powers that MacTrump doth wield
Are so supreme they may not question’d be!
Enter MACTRUMP, LADY MACTRUMP, VICEROY MICHAEL POUND, LADY POUND, and GUARDS.
MACTRUMP
Who wants to taste O’Bama bubbly?
ALL
—Hail!
[MacTrump pops open a Champagne bottle, spraying liquid. Gargamiller hisses and exits through the trapdoor in a puff of smoke.
MACTRUMP
I swear, ye’d not believe how many bottles
We have of this fine drink within the White Hold.
’Tis more the pity that the nectar hath
Been spent thus far on Democrati losers.
[MacTrump drinks from the bottle.
SPICERO
My liege, methought you shunn’d all alcohol.
MACTRUMP
Newthink again. A thousand quaffs would fail
To sate the thirst that is MacTrump’s tonight!
KELLEYANNE
Then to your health, my lord, for as ’tis said,
“A drunken lie doth make a sober heart.”
BANNOX
Full many blessings on your crown, my lord.
If I may—
BLACKSTONE
[pointing to the trapdoor:] —Lord, what was that demon there?
MACTRUMP
Millerficent?
BANNOX
—Count Gargamiller he.
MACTRUMP
Whatever. Worry not about that man—
The guy’s most upright and reliable,
He is a mover and a shaker whom
I am most proud to have upon my team.
SPICERO
[looking up:] Then wherefore doth he from the ceiling hang?
MACTRUMP
O, yea? Indeed, he doth from time to time.
Methinks it doeth him some good or other.
[MacTrump lobs his empty bottle toward the ceiling. Growls, hisses, and the sound of fabric tearing can be heard. An O’Bama banner drops from above. MacTrump hands it to Guard 1.
MACTRUMP
Throw that atop the bonfires.
GUARD 1
—Yea, my lord.
[Exit Guard 1.
MACTRUMP
Lord Pound, I thank thee for this merriment,
Thou didst spare no expense for my delight.
POUND
’Tis but frugality, Lord President,
And money well spent on one such as you.
As once a seer said: take care of the pence,
And soon the Pounds will take care of themselves.
Enter SOLDIER.
SOLDIER
All hail to General Flynnaldo, who
Doth lead the loyal forces of MacTrump!
Enter GENERAL MICHAEL FLYNNALDO.
ALL
Hail! Hail!
FLYNNALDO
[kneeling:] —My liege, I beg your audience.
MACTRUMP
Thou need’st not beg so humbly. Pray, what’s up?
FLYNNALDO
[standing:] My liege MacTrump, I have a gift for you.
Behold, your looters found the famous cake
Serv’d once to Lord O’Bama’s smallish crowd
At his far lesser, most pathetic ball.
Enter more GUARDS carrying a giant cake.
There’s still is cake aplenty for those here,
Should you be generous enow to share’t.
Please, take this gift, which is your rightful prize.
MACTRUMP
Well, is this not a sweet surprise? Forsooth!
I thank thee, good Flynnaldo, for thy service.
As for this trophy, what say you, my public?
Would ye partake of old O’Bama’s cake?
ALL
Yes! Feed us!
MACTRUMP
—What you will. Enjoy your spoils.
[A crowd of supporters rushes to the cake and begins devouring it.
Enter GRAND DUKE JEFFREY SECESSIONS, who scurries across the floor, eats several crumbs of cake, and then exits.
ALL
All hail MacTrump!
MACTRUMP
[to Guard 2:] —Take care of this, I pray
Be sure the plebeians come not too close.
[MacTrump shakes hands with supporters on their way to the giant cake.
[To supporters:] Holla. ’Tis well to meet thee. Thou art welcome.
Nay, use no camera. I know. I thank thee.
Thank thee for coming to give me thy praise.
[To Bannox:] All right, Batshit. What is it that thou want’st?
BANNOX
All thanks, my lord. I hop’d we might discuss
Some areas of policy—
MACTRUMP
—O, groan.
Pray, step aside, a party is in session;
MacTrump shall have his fun ere he doth govern.
Enter SENATOR GRIMSBY LINDSEYLOCKS, SENATOR MITCH MACTUTTLE, REINCE PUBIS, and other REPUBLICON SENATORS and PARLIAMENTARIANS.
PUBIS
My lord MacTrump! We were discussing you.
MACTRUMP
I’m sure you were, for now I am in charge,
And your charge, ugly suits, is but to work
For me and do my will.
PUBIS
—Yes, well, that is…
O! You remember Lord MacTuttle, of
The senatorial Republicons?
MACTRUMP
Would that I could forget a face like his.
PUBIS
Of course. Well, he asks—
MACTUTTLE
—Master President,
First and foremost, my full congratulations.
You’ve done the Party of Republicons
A service grand with your surprise success.
MACTRUMP
Tut, tut, vile turtleneck. I did not do
Thou or thy practic’lly embalmèd friends
A favor in November. Nay. I won
Th’election by myself and for myself.
Not one of these, your cronies in the Senate,
E’en voted for me, save for good Secessions.