Swiftboating

Counter-diva in effect!

[The Throne Room at Mar-a-Lago. TRUMP’s seedy pseudo-Secret Service agents prowl the periphery.  Down center in front of the Supplicants’ Bench is former SNL cast member VICTORIA JACKSON, wearing a garish tulle dress — like this, except less tasteful — and carrying an acoustic guitar which she idly strums, quietly warming her voice. Down right, DONALD TRUMP in one of his Jackie Gleason in Miami Beach outfits is talking sotto voce to his Filipino factotum PINSY, dressed in a black sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and bearing the SYRACUSE logo in orange lettering, camo khaki pants and flip-flops, and the superannuated sidekick DIBS, unshaven and dressed like a butler from an old screwball comedy.]

TRUMP: I told you get me the one who did the cheerleader thing. The one who sniffed her armpits.

[Small pause. PINSY laughs.]

PINSY: How you gonna sniff on your armpit? Is no good! Too far!

[PINSY mimes this, then shrugs. TRUMP slaps him. DIBS whistles.]

TRUMP: Don’t be a wiseguy! This is the one that’s nuts! I can’t trust her!

PINSY: No, is funny! You see!

[PINSY gestures toward JACKSON. TRUMP lumbers over toward her. JACKSON curtsies.]

JACKSON: Charmed, Mr. President.

TRUMP: You were on SNL? I don’t remember you, what’d you do? You do any bits I’d remember?

JACKSON: Well —

TRUMP: You weren’t Pat, that one that was a he-she? I hated that.

JACKSON: No, sir.

TRUMP: That’s how all this trans stuff started if you ask me.

JACKSON: Mr. President, on Saturday Night Live I did Weekend Update, I danced around and did acrobatics on the desk.

TRUMP: Huh, you musta been a lot thinner.

JACKSON: I also did Sally Struthers.

TRUMP: Yeah, me too. OK, I hear you got a bit where you rib this Taylor Swift.

JACKSON: Yes, sir, you want to see it?

TRUMP: OK.

[TRUMP folds his arms high and strenuously mispronounces:]

Ee-toe-nez-mwah.

[JACKSON takes a moment, arpeggiates a chord, then starts thrashing E and A chords in the rhythm of the chorus of “Shake It Off”:]

[warbling] ‘Cuz I’m a fake fake fake fake
The money I will make make make make make
My booty I will shake shake shake shake
I eat a lot of cake cake cake cake cake
The sheeple never wake wake wake wake wake
I —

[Momentary pause.]

Uh…

[JACKSON resumes, same rhythm:]

I’m gonna kill my ba-a-a-a-by
Because I am a whore-and-I-like-abor-shun
I worship Satan Satan Satan Satan Satan
I take a lot of vaccine! In my blue jeans!
The Democrats are –

[TRUMP, who has been stone-faced throughout, waves his arms.]

TRUMP: OK, that’s enough.

[To the seedy pseudo-Secret Service agents prowling on the periphery, twirling his finger in the air:]

 Get her out of here.

JACKSON: But sir, I didn’t have time! They dragged me in here in a burlap sack —

TRUMP: [To the agents] C’mon, chop chop.

JACKSON: [Mad] You piece of shit! Heather Nauert was right about you!  

TRUMP: [In the manner of Jackie Gleason on The Honeymooners expelling his mother-in-law] Ouuuut! Get out!

[The seedy pseudo-Secret Service agents swarm in, grab the screaming JACKSON, stuff her in a burlap sack, and carry her away. TRUMP walks back and forth, red-faced, shaking his fists. DIBS whispers in PINSY’s ear; PINSY hits some buttons on his phone; DIBS goes to TRUMP, solicitously:]

DIBS: You OK, boss?

TRUMP: She don’t know Heather!  Heather wouldn’t know a pig like her!

DIBS: Boss, you’re jonesing. Ya gotta calm down.

[TRUMP raises his fists in front of his chest, looks up and cries out like Bruno Ganz in Downfall:]

TRUMP: God, how I loved that fat-titted bitch!

[TRUMP growls pathetically. A BUSBOY runs in with what look like a bucket of movie theater popcorn, holds it out to DIBS. DIBS takes it and the BUSBOY runs out; DIBS proffers the bucket to TRUMP.]

DIBS: Here, boss. We got a swell act now. You’re gonna like it.

[From upstage left, former national security advisor/Nazi STEPHEN MILLER, wearing a sleek brown suit, comes in with a young blond woman who strongly resembles Brigitte Nielsen in her prime, wearing something like one of Taylor Swift’s stage leotard outfits and with an acoustic guitar slung over her back, and a young man in a track suit and shades carrying a boombox. Meanwhile TRUMP has dipped his face in the bucket and snorted a bunch of The Formula; he lifts his face out of it, becalmed and with white residue all over his nose and chin, which DIBS wipes off with a handkerchief.]

MILLER: My liege! I have brought with me the young woman of whom I spoke!

[TRUMP seems dazed.]

My liege?

PINSY: Is OK moment, he had a bad scene.

[TRUMP stares at the woman, walks toward her, looks her up and down. She regards him with cool assurance.]

TRUMP: How ya doin’, sweetheart.

WOMAN: [Deep voice, like Nico’s] Fine, Mr. President. How are you?

[TRUMP hands DIBS the bucket.]

TRUMP: [In his ladies’ man mode] Much better now than you’re here, darling. [To MILLER:] You gonna introduce me?

MILLER: Forgive me, sir. This is Inga Goebbels. She has quite a large following on X and on TikTok, she has been performing with great success at our “heritage” events —  

TRUMP: [Holding her hands] Well, you’ve made an impression on me. That name’s kind of a mouthful. Not that I have anything against mouthfuls, if you know what I mean.

MILLER: Her name is —

TRUMP: That’s a double entendre, by the way.

MILLER: — Mr. President, her name is a very powerful signaling device for our drive to —

TRUMP: OK, Steve. [To GOEBBELS] Maybe we change it for Hollywood. Sweetheart, just so you know, we’re having trouble with this Swift woman, she’s with the Democrats and they got her playing stadiums and rigging football games, I don’t know how she does it, she don’t have the kind of va-va-voom you got, not by a mile, sweetheart. Hang on a sec.

[TRUMP spins around; DIBS holds out the bucket; TRUMP dips his face, takes a huge snort, comes up, wipes his face with his hands, wipes his hands on his pants, fixes his hair, then turns back to GOEBBELS.]

I’m offer you some but I understand you’re gonna grace us with a number, the kinda thing that’s gonna get the kids to give up this what’shername and make you a star. How do you like that, sweetheart?

GOEBBELS: Your terms are acceptable, Mr. President.

TRUMP: Oh, you haven’t seen my terms, wait’ll you see my terms, I’ll, I’ll show you my terms. Schatzi. But business first, I’ll back up here —

[TRUMP walks backwards, tottering. PINSY takes his arm to make sure he doesn’t topple; DIBS steps to TRUMP, who grabs the bucket from him. TRUMP stops. PINSY runs, grabs the Supplicants’ Bench, places it behind TRUMP; he and DIBS gently urge him down to sit. ]

OK, doll. Ee-toe-nee — whatsit.

[The kid turns on the beatbox, which plays a peppy pop background; GOEBBELS comes in clear and strong on voice and guitar, on a lively version of an old showtune:]

The sun on the meadow is summery warm.
The stag in the forest runs free.
But gather together to greet the storm.
Tomorrow belongs to me.

[Everyone sways to the music. MILLER is vaping and, in a quiet voice, singing along with GOEBBELS. TRUMP tugs PINSY’s sleeve. PINSY stoops. TRUMP whispers in his ear. PINSY makes a confused shrug. TRUMP mimes taking a pill and popping a boner. PINSY gives him the thumbs-up and runs off. CURTAIN.]