Fever Dream

The evidence grows like a tsunami.

A special prosecutor is assigned.

The cowards in the GOP, now at last, finally, more terrified of their constituents than the megacorps and billionaires that have the lien on their souls, are abandoning SCROTUS like the rats they are, fleeing the sinking ship that is the Trump Regime.

The Trumpencritter, defiant to the end, heads off to the friendly confines of Saudi Arabia, trusting that his (alleged) billions will keep them from turning on him as well.

While he’s gone, out of the country, Congress screws its courage to the sticking point and declares Trump incompetent to hold office under the 25th Amendment. Pence or Ryan or Hatch or Tillerson or MadDog ends up as President, at least for this week.

Air Force One is ordered to fly home from Saudi Arabia, leaving the Trumpencritter behind.

The Saudis, realizing which side their bread is buttered on and not wanting to have any batshit crazy SCROTUS-in-exile dudes hanging around, quickly shove Trump into the Air Force One cargo hold as it’s taxiing to the runway.

Once airborne, Trump, helped by a loyal squad of Cub Scouts that were along for the international trip, tries to take control of Air Force One by force.

As Air Force One crosses the Atlantic the pilot tells air traffic control that they’ve been hijacked. ATC refuses to allow Air Force One entry into US air space.

Forced by the alien which has been living on Trump’s head as a fluorescent toupee, the pilot press onward despite the denial of permission to do so.

F-18s are scrambled.

The F-18s intercept Air Force One and confirm its identity. They fire warning shots to prevent an approach to Washington DC, herding the 747 Jumbo Jet away from the major population areas and toward the Midwestern states.

The Air Force One pilot breaks away and heads toward Mexico, as over the radio Trump can be heard screaming, “Take me to Zihuatanejo! They love me down there!”

The nation watches, riveted, as OJ Simpson’s classic low-speed chase is repeated in the skies, the pokey 747 trundling along off course on the orders of a batshit crazy madman, followed by a whole squadron of F-18 interceptor aircraft.

Will the Mexican government allow Air Force One to fly south of the border? Will they try to shoot it down? Will our F18s yell, “Dibbs!!” and shoot it down first? Will Trump do a D.B. Cooper and skydive out the back of Air Force One to set up a government in exile in the Ozarks? Will Trump forget to take a parachute and instead make a small, greasy, orange crater just south of Fayetteville?

Tune in tomorrow to seek answers to all of these questions, and more! Such as, when will I ever learn to stay off of the dill pickles, chocolate ice cream, and Red Bull smoothies? They’re doing some really weird stuff to my creative process…

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