Presidential Candidate Replaced With Reruns Of The Apprentice
A hesitant knock is heard on a large, golden door, then silence for a beat before the door slowly opens a crack and a bald head appears, glancing into a lowly lit office.
“Mr. Trump sir? I came to check on you. You’ve been cooped up in your Trump Tower office for a week now and well…people – I’m worried about you.”
The sound of static fills the room faintly then a voice with a thick Queen’s accent overpowers the room, “Just keep pushing and pushing ‘em, you don’t want to drive them over the edge but push them as far as you can.” The assistant nods to himself, while he slowly approaches Trump’s desk. His eyes nervously flicker around the gigantic room as he takes in the mess of papers scattered everywhere.
“Right, of course, you’re the businessman and our next President, only you know how to deal with people the best.” More static is heard then, “Manhattan is a tough place. This island is the real job. If you’re not careful, it can chew you up and spit you out. But if you work hard, you can really hit it big, and I mean really big.”
The assistant pauses in his walk to Trump’s desk and fidgets with his hands. “I know that better than anyone here sir. I’ve worked for you for what? Ten years now. I understand what kind of cruel place Manhattan can be.” Awkward silence permeates the air, the assistant clears his throat nervously, makes a move towards Mr. Trump’s desk again and begins to ramble, “You’ve helped me through hard times Mr. Tru -”
“Sit down.” Trumps voice is almost three times the normal volume of his voice and the assistant tries to cover his hears from the assault while taking a seat in front of Mr. Trump’s gold desk.
The usual static begins again, “Hey look, you claim to be like me, the difference is I work hard. You’ve been lazy, you’ve been nothing but trouble, and now you cut them off as they’re fight each other for who should be fired.” The assistant wears a shocked expression, “Mr. Trump what are you talking about? I’ve been the most loy -”
“Michael, Michael…you’re fired.”
The assistant wears a blank expression, before lunging at Trump’s chair, yelling, “my name isn’t Michael you burnt hash brown!” The assistant whips Trump’s desk around, ready to smack him, when he sees that Trump isn’t sitting at his chair. In Trump’s place is a small, vintage TV playing the credits of The Apprentice.
Suddenly, a ringing is heard. The assistant opens a drawer in Trump’s desk and locates a clunky, old cell phone. He picks the phone up and presses the answer key. “Huuuge! That’s what Mexico is! Huge boobs, huge butts, huge bottles of tequilla! It’s like the best casinos in Vegas, owned by me of course! Makes me almost not want to build a wall! Almost! How’s business back home Trump Jr.?”
The assistant’s hands tremble as he stutters, “M-Mr. Trump, this is not your so -” The dial tone is heard as the line suddenly goes dead. The assistant drops the phone and pivots to the door, rushing to alert someone about the discovery he has made, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees four looming figures blocking his exit.
It is four of Trump’s kids that stand in the doorway. Trump Jr, Ivanka, Eric, and Barron. Trump Jr. steps into the light of the office, “I was very, very, very impressed with the fight that Frank put up.” Trump Jr. steps back into the shadows only for Eric Trump to set forward, “you know my world is a very complex world.” Eric steps back and Ivanka takes a step forward, “And, I’m all about, all about, taking every advantage you can, but you crossed the line.” Ivanka steps back, and Barron Trump, the youngest, finally steps forward. “I win, you lose peasant.” Barron hits a button on his wrist, and his siblings’ heads slump forward. “You’re in my castle now bitch.”
The assistant, too shocked for words, falls to his knees. Barron continues smugly, “You’re speechless right? Of course you are, because I’m the best. The best son, best brother, best friend, and best campaign manager.” The assistant frowns at the campaign manager part, confused. Barron smirks, “What? You never thought a selfish, hot-headed ten year old kid who thinks girls have cooties could run a campaign for a selfish, hot-headed, grown-ass man who thinks women have cooties? Well surprise loser!”
Barron makes his way over to the assistant, “Since Pops had been in Mexico for the past week, he hasn’t been able to make public appearances. Lucky we have reruns of The Apprentice, basically the same thing as a real Trump. People are so dumb!” Baron finally stops in front of the cowering assistant. “But now you know too much, and you might try to alert the liberal media about all this…so I’m going to have to turn you permanently into a TV with re-runs of The Apprentice, just like my siblings over here.”
Barrons motions with his thumb to his siblings, who still have their heads slumped, and the static channel playing in their eyeballs. “It’s nothing personal, just the art of the deal dude.” Barron presses a button on his wrist, and his siblings wake-up and move robotically toward the assistant. “No please I won’t tell anyone! NOOO!” The assistant is knocked unconscious by Trump Jr., and is never heard from again.
Olivia Blees is a fourth-year TVR major. You can email them at email@example.com.