Get a whiff

Eau, the humanity

[Press conference: DONALD TRUMP in traditional suit, at podium with a zillion flags behind him. He is doing something weird with his fingers. There are some people behind him, off to the sides so as not to steal focus, and reporters in the audience, pretending this makes sense.]

TRUMP: You used to get rubber bands, you could roll up a newspaper, ten newspapers maybe, and a little skinny rubber band, you put it around like this –

[TRUMP squints. The thing with his fingers gets weirder.]

And it would hold it so when it was rolled up, so you could hit the dog with it or if you were a kid with a little cap, who delivered the papers, when American was great and it will be, again, you throw the paper at the, what, the thing, the place in front of the house, what is it, a stoop, someone said, you threw it at the stoop and it would stay there, because of the rubber. But we don’t do it anymore, the Mexicans do it and it’s a shame.

[Suddenly there’s a loud shart. The people behind Trump freeze.]

And that’s the rubber. What they did with it.

[TRUMP points into the audience.]

Got a question.

VOICE: Mr. President, yesterday while you outlined your plan to invade Antarctica, you said you would, quote unquote, kill Fauci, you didn’t take questions but I wonder —

[Some of the people in the back loudly gasp and hack; one of them gets behind Trump, looks back and forth, seems panicky, others flee. Some talking off-camera.]

— I’m sorry, Mr. President, there seems to be some commotion —

TRUMP: [Shrugs; blandly] No, no commotion, I don’t know what’s going on back there, maybe somebody dropped something, had a baby or something.

[More groans and gasps from all quarters.]

VOICE: What —

ANOTHER VOICE: Mr. President, there seems to be a, uh, biohazard, happening.

[Quiet laughter. TRUMP looks mad.]

TRUMP: Biohazard? What the hell is wrong with you? No biohazard. Nobody sees a biohazard.

[A man in a suit gingerly and uncertainly approaches TRUMP from behind with what looks like an absorbent bed pad held at ass level.]

YET ANOTHER VOICE: Sir, there’s — well, reportedly, a smell, it’s —

TRUMP: It’s ice cream. What’s the problem. I’m making ice cream in my pants. No, it’s delicious ice cream, delicious and nutritious. These people, they’re amazed how good it smells, they’re like falling down back here —

[The man with the pad is chokeholded by a security guard and dragged offstage.]

I can’t say I blame them, it smells so delicious, my poop. Really delicious, everybody says. I’d give you some but it’s for a kid’s birthday party, and everybody says it’s the best and the tastiest, the best smelling ice cream in my pants and everybody says so. Thank you.

[TRUMP lumbers off, liquid shit dripping down his pants legs and onto the floor. REPORTERS call out; STEPHEN MILLER, in his traditional crypto-Nazi uniform, storms onto the press gaggle, slashing with his riding crop, crying RAUS!]

               THE NEXT DAY

New York Times:

Dessert, or Descecration? Trump Sweetens a Sour Situation

When an unusual smell interrupted his press conference, President-elect Donald Trump defused the situation with Good Humor, claiming it was from his own small-batch “ice cream” — once again confounding a flat-footed media.

Washington Post:

The nose knows? Fragrance sparks debate at Trump event

For years master chef Mario Batali was famous for promoting cheeses that exuded exotic aromas, as well as for charges of indecent assault. Similarly, Donald Trump was at the center of yesterday’s scent-roversy, as attendees of his press conference debated a smell the President-elect described as “ice cream.” [Sidebar: Top chefs rate Trump bouquet.]

L.A. Times:

S**t or Sherbert? Trump is Emperor of Ice Cream in latest provocation

President-elect Donald Trump brought levity to a wildfire-weary nation by employing a cheeky cognomen for the ice cream served at yesterday’s press conference: “My P**p.” It signals a raucous, Millennial-friendly new order in Presidential p**s-taking.

[Etc. etc.]