Millionaire Ronald Cornelius Clump was tranquil in the throes of a wonderful dream in which he’d just won the American presidential election, an achievement for which his recently deceased billionaire father would certainly have been proud, and for which Ronald had spent nearly a third of his vast fortune. In his dream, well-dressed men and women cheered and smiled up at him with splendid white teeth as he stood tall on a big stage bathed in bright spotlights, striking in his blue suit which looked fantastic, handsome with his blonde hair which looked splendid, like a bronze Zeus in his Florida tan which evoked masculine health and vitality, and he had zero eye wrinkles or puffiness, and everyone cried out that he was the most splendid, fantastic, virile, puffiless winner they’d ever seen in their lives.
“We love you, Ron!”
“Thank you, thank you very much,” Ronald said, his hands waving down as if playing a piano, trying to calm the fanatic adoration. “You’re all so wonderful.”
“You’re the best, Ronald!”
“Don’t call me that.”
“We love you so much!”
“Yes, I love you, too.”
The moment was so rapturous that Ronald could not bear leaving it, so upon mid-conscious realization of the need to urinate, he chose not to awaken but to instead relieve himself in bed, and the warm urine melted down around his crotch and to his thick thighs and it made him feel absolutely wonderful. He waved to the people, who only cheered harder now for Ron and his urine, and he basked in the trumpeting praise of his joyful well-wishers, and congratulated himself on a job well done… very well done, indeed.
“Make love to us, Ron!”
“Turn off that light. It’s too bright.”
“It’s the light of God, Ron! Make love to us in the light of God!”
Between the curtains, a narrow beam of sunlight seared his closed eyes, rousing him awake and fragmenting his beautiful dream into a thousand pieces, and ultimately into grayness. Fully conscious, he opened his eyes and felt an overwhelming sadness at leaving so many who’d loved him. He sat up, looked himself over, and pressed his index finger hard onto the mansion intercom. “Rosita,” he said quietly. “I peed the bed.”
“Sí, Mr. Clump.”
“Come here and clean it right away, Rosita. This is unacceptable.”
“Yes, Mr. Clump. Right away.”
“Call me ‘El Presidente.’”
“Sí, El Presidente.”
“Ooo, I like it when you speak Spanish. That’s good. Do that again.”
“Sí, El Presidente.”
“Yes, that’s it. Thank you, Rosita.”
Ronald entered the bathroom where he wet a small washcloth. He proceeded to wipe down his large, overweight body, removing the stickiness though the smell still lingered. He draped himself in his dark purple silk robe and slid into his red velvet slippers. He exited his bedroom and walked through his second-floor hallway, down his bronze marble staircase, and finally into his large mahogany-paneled, bronze-trimmed kitchen where his head servant had already begun preparing breakfast, which this morning smelled like roast turkey and fajitas. “Good morning, Manuel,” Ronald greeted. Ronald sat on one of the four red Crocodile leather-cushioned barstools at the massive marble kitchen island where he picked up the New York Times, his favorite periodical as they wrote about him a lot, mostly in caustic criticisms his father had labeled “sulfuric editorials laden with putrid bile,” but which Ronald dismissed because, again, they wrote about him a lot.
“Good morning, Señor Clump,” Manuel greeted, handing Ronald a cup of hot coffee. “Will you be having a swim this morning, sir?”
Ronald had to think carefully. “I think I will. But I’m not sure, yet. I might. But I don’t know yet. I’ll have to check back with you on that later because right now I don’t know for sure. So, I guess the answer to your question is: that’d be a temporary no.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Tough call.”
“My brother Jesús cleaned the pool yesterday,” Manuel said, flipping pancakes on the stainless steel six-burner range. “So, it’s a perfect time.”
“Hey-soos? That’s spelled like Jesus, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t that funny?” Ronald mused. “It’s almost like Jesus was Mexican.”
“Sí, Señor Clump, very funny.”
“A lot of Mexicans look like Jesus, you know.”
“Sí, I suppose they do.”
“What’s that on the TV?” Ronald suddenly cried, his hand reaching for his coffee as he gestured to the fifty-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. “What are they saying, Manuel? I can’t hear what they’re saying. For crying out loud, can’t you turn up the damn TV volume so I can hear what they’re saying?!”
Holding his spatula, Manuel leaned over and retrieved the remote next to Ronald’s coffee. He turned up the volume of the TV. A news anchor was speaking as a selfie showed Ronald with the presidents of Russia and North Korea all grinning widely with raised mugs of beer to the camera.
“…and apparently, the dinner party at Mr. Clump’s Florida estate took place last night, just as NATO and Russia are in tense negotiations to end the Russian invasion of Poland and while North Korean troops are massing along the Korean DMZ…”
“Oh, they’re talking about me!” Ronald said excitedly, pointing.
“No one knows how late the impromptu meeting went or the final outcome, but all are wondering the purpose during these ongoing tense negotiations. With one wrong diplomatic misunderstanding, a regional war could easily break out in Europe as NATO troops prepare for the worst, and in Seoul only some thirty thousand U.S. troops stand prepared against a million-strong well-fed army while the rest of North Korea starves to death…”
Manuel refilled Ronald’s coffee. “Will the Russian and North Korean presidents be joining us for breakfast this morning, sir?”
“I don’t think so,” Ronald replied, still staring at the TV. “They got pretty drunk last night. I’ll check in on them later.”
“It was a good party,” Manuel said, nodding. “Especially the karaoke.”
“I honestly didn’t know I could sing that well, Manuel. I’ve come to realize I’m actually quite a fantastic singer.”
“Sí, like Señor Steve Perry from Journey.”
“Knock, knock, anybody home?” came a voice from the hallway. A smiling young blonde man in a blue suit and red tie entered, holding a briefcase. It was Brad Radcliffe, Ronald’s personal assistant. Brad smiled widely and pointed at the coffee. “Gettin’ your mornin’ cup a joe, sir?”
“Yeah, Brad, you want some?”
“No, it gives me leakage.”
“So, what’s on the docket for today?”
“Well,” Brad said, coming to Ronald at the kitchen island. He opened his briefcase and retrieved his laptop, already on, and scrolled to a pre-written schedule. “We’ve got meetings scheduled with two Congressmen helping block that bill granting free health coverage for all Americans for an extra twenty dollars a month on their taxes.”
“Oh, excellent. I hate that bill. It’s so Socialist.”
“And afterwards, we’ll meet with Senator Mucus about halting the food stamp program.”
“Good. It just stops people from getting jobs.”
“Then there’s a phone meeting with your lawyer on how to plead against the six different court cases against you.”
“Total witch hunt. They’ve only got a handful of witnesses who said I did all those things.”
“And finally, a quick interview with an Iowa podcaster about your stance on the issues.”
“Do I have to?”
“Sir, we’re just weeks away from the election. All these actions are helping send a clear signal that you’re behind the scenes and very involved, but you need to tell the American voters what you’re doing.”
Ronald relented. “Fine. Anything else?”
“Well,” Brad said carefully, folding his laptop. “People have been asking me about this big dinner last night with the Russian and North Korean presidents…”
Ronald nodded thoughtfully. “Hm. Okay. I’ll issue a statement later. But right now, I have to eat. Are you hungry? Manuel made a fantastic meal.”
“I already ate sir, but thank you.”
“Really? We’ve got turkey and waffles and fajitas. What else, Manuel?”
“Pork chops and eggs, with steamed chicken, peaches and bacon. And a green bean casserole.”
“And look, there’s watermelon! Have some watermelon, Brad.”
“No, really, I’m full.”
“You’re never too full for watermelon.”
“True, but –”
“Oh, c’mon –”
“No, really –”
“Seriously –”
“No –”
“Eat it, c’mon –”
“No –”
“Seriously –”
“Sir, no –”
“Shit, c’mon –”
“Oh…okay, twist my arm.”
“Attaboy.”
“Vhat shmells so good?” Russian President Alexy Tupin spoke, standing at the doorway in his red and green boxer shorts and rubbing his mussed hair, looking in dire need of aspirin.
“Oh, you’re wearing your Christmas boxers!”
“Are doze fajitas?”
“Sí, Señor Presidente.”
“Alexy, have some waffles and casserole. It’s outta this world.”
“Sir, the media outlets have seriously been calling me non-stop about last night,” Brad continued as the Russian President walked drowsily to the kitchen island and sat next to Ronald. Manuel poured a cup of hot coffee and served it to the president, who nodded, a scene Brad watched with amazement. “…and,” he continued, turning back to Ronald, “not even the conservative networks can let this go. Everybody’s wondering what the hell this was all –”
“Oh, let them wonder. Screw ‘em. We had fun last night, didn’t we, Alexy?”
“Streetlights…people…up and down zee boulevard…”
“Could I schedule an interview this afternoon with Fox? Jackie Sphincter and Judge Buttricia Blathersplat would love to talk to you in order to clear this whole thing up.”
“What’s there to clear up?” Ronald responded, pouring syrup on his casserole and peaches as Alexy began to eat. “We had a great time.”
“Dah. Great time.”
“There’s not gonna be a war. Everybody’s gonna be at peace. And NATO’s gonna back off. I mean, what are they gonna do without the United States military?”
“Well, sir, you’re not currently the President, so you have no control of –”
“Yet,” Ronald stressed with a mouthful of beans and peaches and holding up his finger. “I’m not the president yet.”
“Ah, no problem,” Alexy said loudly, patting Ronald on the back. “Only few months. Then you president.”
“That’s right.”
“I give you funding. Make fake ads.”
“That’s okay, Alexy. Really.”
“I use bots. Spread over internet.”
“You tell Jackie Sphincter I’ll talk with him at six p.m. after we hit the golf course. Then it’s dinner and back to karaoke.”
North Korean President Kim Dong Dum then appeared at the hallway door, wide-eyed and looking shaken. He stared forward, and everyone turned to look, not moving. He was wearing red boxers and a red silk robe. “I no sleep,” he said softly, shuddering.
Ronald looked concerned. “What’s wrong, Kim?”
“House have ghost.”
Alexy looked alarmed, but then continued eating. Ronald gestured for Kim to come to the kitchen island. “Come, Kim, come…” he said, patting the countertop. Kim walked slowly forward, and sat next to Alexy. Manuel poured a cup of coffee, which Kim refused.
“How do you know it’s a ghost?” Ronald asked carefully.
“It say mother’s name,” Kim responded in fear, still not fully awake. Manuel then offered a cup of oriental tea, which Kim accepted with a nod.
“Well,” Ronald said with finality, turning back to Brad, “we’ll get this all cleared up this afternoon. But first I need to poo. And then I need to tan. Manuel, get my tanning bed ready. I’ll need at least thirty minutes.”
“Why you tan, Ron? Your face already like oompa-loompa.”
“Sí, Señor Clump.”
After breakfast, Ronald took his morning poo during which he tweeted his morning thoughts, sparking titillating excitement and furious activity amongst his followers. He then went out to be with Alexy and Kim by his large pool, who were listening to Steely Dan from Alexy’s JBL as they enjoyed mimosas and discussed this year’s NFL lineup. Kim then stated he suddenly felt depressed and wanted to sing karaoke again, but Alexy and Ronald distracted him by pushing him into the pool, which inspired joyful cries and laughter. Then Ronald and Alexy jumped in and they all played in the pool together before Brad reminded Ronald of his meetings with the Congressmen, arriving shortly.
Ronald met with Congressmen Buttkiss and Shlapper to stop the health care bill which they all agreed was fantastic but which needed killing since they hadn’t thought of it first. The congressmen then decided to stay and relax with mimosas while Ronald met with Senator Mucus on how to kill the food stamp program, who also decided to stay for mimosas afterwards. Ronald’s lawyer then called, which Ronald took by the pool, and they considered paying off the many witnesses in his numerous lawsuits, but ultimately agreed the best way to achieve victory in the trials was simply to be elected president. “Then I won’t even need to go to trial, right?” Ronald questioned. “ ‘Cause I’ll be president. I’ll have diplomatic community.”
“Presidential immunity, sir,” his lawyer corrected over the phone speaker, “and yes, you won’t need to go to trial until afterwards.”
“Until after what?”
“Until after you’re president… when you’re a civilian again.”
“Ooo. But I don’t wanna go to trial. Maybe I could pull a Roosevelt.”
“Pull a Roosevelt?”
“Yeah. More terms.”
“Oh. Sure, but that was during a time of war –”
“And this isn’t? We’re in a time of war, now, Dick. A great big fat war for our freedoms.”
“Um, sure, okay. I think I could make that stick…”
“Make it stick, Dick.”
“I will.”
“Are we done?” Ronald asked Brad, turning to him quickly. “I wanna go golfing.”
“Let’s do fifteen minutes with that Iowa podcaster. Then we’re done.”
Brad logged into Skype as Ronald sat anxiously, shirtless and sweating in the afternoon sun. He turned to see the three Congressmen now in the pool, all stripped down to their underwear talking shop with beers. But suddenly one pointed and they turned excitedly to watch as Kim threw a can of beer at Alexy coming down off the waterslide, which Alexy caught in mid-air before splashing into the water. “Nine point nine!” Ronald yelled with joy, raising his arms high and standing. All three congressmen jumped and cheered from the pool with arms raised.
Brad established the Skype connection and turned the laptop to face Ronald, who sat back down, still grinning. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Clump,” the young woman on the computer screen nervously spoke. “I’m Jill Branson at Republican Hawkeyes for Clump. We in Iowa are…well…to be honest, sir, we’re teetering. Our listeners need to hear some encouraging words to reinforce their faith and get back on board.”
“I’m all about encouragement, Jill,” Ronald spoke happily. “Let’s break the logjam. Shoot.”
“As a seventy-year-old man who inherited all his wealth from his father, how do you think you relate to lower and middle-class American voters?”
“Well, I don’t relate, Jill. That’s why people like me.”
Jill winced. “Um, please explain.”
“They like me because I’m not like them. I’m rich and powerful, so they see me as a winner and better. That’s why they’ll vote for me.”
Jill stared back at him.
“Next question.”
“Um, you have literally no experience in politics. People have said it’s like hiring a fry cook to do your taxes. Why should people trust you to lead the government?”
“Because sometimes you need someone who knows absolutely nothing about the job in order to do a good job.”
Again, Jill shook her head. “Please explain again, please.”
“Because… sometimes… you need someone… who knows nothing about the job… but a lot about something else… in order to do a good job.” Ronald clarified.
The young woman winced again. “That’s essentially what you just said.”
“It’s totally different.”
“Let’s move on. You’ve said you want every American male to eat a steak every day to produce more testosterone so as to produce more babies so we can beat China.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Beat China at what?”
“The Olympics. We need more athletes to get more gold medals. We also need more soldiers to fight them in the war.”
“What war?”
“The war with China.”
“You mean…a war in the future?”
“Yes. And they have a lot of soldiers, like twenty million.”
“You’ve also said we should invade Mexico and kill everyone in the prisons and insane asylums to stop them from coming to America.”
“Yes, I said that.”
“You don’t think the Mexicans might have a problem with that?”
“It doesn’t matter. Our helicopters and tanks will stop them at the border. And dogs. Fierce dogs. Crazy Mexicans hate dogs, especially German Shepherds because they’re trained so well in Germany.”
“Lastly, there are six court cases against you, ranging from rape to fraudulent business practices to election tampering to public intoxication and indecent exposure.”
“All lies.”
“There are some fifty witnesses who corroborate all these allegations.”
“They were paid off.”
“By who?”
“The Justice Department.”
“The Justice Department doesn’t have any money.”
“They stole it from Fort Knox.”
“Who stole it?”
“They did.”
“Who’s they?”
“Ninjas. Sub-contracted by the Justice Department and my enemies in Japan.”
“Ninjas?”
“And magicians. Dangerous ISIS magicians from the Middle East.”
“And how did they get into the country?”
“Tunnels.”
“From where?”
“Cuba.”
“So, they flew to Cuba and then came to America by tunnels to rob Fort Knox?”
“That’s right. And they’ll just keep doing it, too, if we don’t stop them.”
“Keep doing what?”
“Entering America illegally and stealing our gold. That’s why we need to eat more beef.”
Jill stared back at Ronald.
“To build up our testosterone to have more babies to make more athletes to beat the Chinese at the Olympics to get more medals to replenish the stolen Fort Knox gold! Isn’t that clear?!”
Jill breathed out slowly.
“Anything else?”
“No, I think that about does it.”
“Great!”
Jill was about to shut down, but looked through the computer screen past Ronald at the pool. She spoke slowly, uncertain of what she was seeing. “Is that…the North Korean president on the shoulders of Russian President Tupin?”
Ronald turned around, and immediately pointed and screamed with glee. “Chicken fight!”
“Are those U.S. Congressmen on the other team?”
“Sorry, Jill, I gotta go! It’s gettin’ wild!”
“But –”
Ronald abruptly stood up and ran over and jumped cannonball style into the pool, much to the delighted, splashed shrieks of everyone within.
“Do the slide, Ron! Do the slide!” screamed Senator Mucus on the shoulders of Congressman Schlapper.
Ronald struggled at the ladder to get out of the pool, but continued to fall back in. “Jesús! Jesús! Help me!” Jesús the pool cleaner ran over to the edge of the pool and grabbed Ronald’s hands, and strained with all his might to pull him up, exerting excessive grunts and flatulence from both men but to no avail. Congressman Buttkiss quickly glided over, set his beer on the pool’s edge, and pushed hard on Ronald’s behind, providing sufficient support to force him up the ladder, which knocked over Jesús onto the wet deck, where he hurt his hands and knees and yelled out with an “Ow!” Ronald ignored Jesús and ran past him, laughing to the waterslide.
Emerging from the sliding glass door, Brad watched this scene unfold with a smile. He walked over to the reclining lounge chair, and sat down.
“Brad?”
Brad turned to the laptop computer, still on, showing Jill Branson’s face staring forward, mouth agape, watching the scene before her.
Brad’s eyes widened, and he turned back to look at the pool, at Ronald’s bright face full of joy as he arrived at the top of the waterslide and took a bow. He extended his legs and propelled himself forward down the waterslide. On the shoulders of the Russian president, Kim Dong Dum timed his beer throw perfectly, which Ronald caught beautifully in the air coming off the slide before splashing butt first into the pool amid jubilant cheers.
Brad turned back to the screen. “It’s just…guys having fun, Jill,” he sputtered quickly.
Jill turned to look Brad in the eyes before reaching forward to the camera.
The computer screen went blank.
Brad pursed his lips, and swallowed.
Hours later, when the video was released by Jill Branson of Ronald Clump going down the waterslide, no one was quite sure what to do.
But in North Korea, a young military commander misunderstood Kim Dong Dum’s beer can throw to Mr. Clump as a secret signal to nuke Japan, the sworn enemy of North Korea and also Ronald Clump.
In response, Japan quickly launched missiles against North Korea.
Thinking the Japanese were launching missiles against them, China launched missiles against Japan and also Taiwan because, well, why the hell not?
Seeing a launch against Taiwan, U.S. Navy ships in the South Pacific launched missiles against China and its ally Russia, which both in turn launched missiles against the United States, which then emptied its full stockpile of land-based missiles against North Korea, China and Russia.
NATO countries France and the UK, seeing missiles launched against its U.S. ally, launched their missiles against Russia and China, which in turn launched its remaining stockpile against NATO countries.
“Ronald?” President Tupin said, staring up at the sky with Kim still on his shoulders, “What are those streaks coming down?”
Still laughing, Ronald had just arrived again at the top of the waterslide. He yelled down at the North Korean president. “Kim! Kim! C’mon!”
Kim looked down from the missiles and over at Ronald as Alexy thrust another beer into his hand. Kim beamed up at Ronald, and prepared his next throw.
Ronald laughed and pushed himself again down the slide, and Kim’s timing could not have been better, for he threw the beer at just the right moment as Ronald flew fast down the slide and soared off the end, and it was picture-perfect as he caught the beer can at the highest point in mid-air, just as the missiles came down with a thunderstrike to pummel Florida.
Underwater and grinning with his beer can, Ronald looked up and saw the sky transform into the color of blood, with black clouds of vaporizing debris, trees, cars, people and buildings swirling maddeningly overhead in a hellish collage of colors and forms, and he held his beer can tightly, staring, for the remaining two seconds of his life.
And then it was over.
THE END