The Formula, Revisited
[An exam room deep in the bowels of Walter Reed. DONALD TRUMP, his face grey and slack, is wearing a paper gown and sitting in an exam chair, playing with his phone. The president’s personal physician SEAN CONLEY, wearing scrubs, and Trump’s former New York doctor HAROLD BORNSTEIN, wearing stretchy slacks, docksiders and an IZOD golf shirt, stand by. TRUMP is hooked up to a patient monitor and a crash cart is nearby. CONLEY approaches TRUMP with a bowl of powder and a small spoon.]
CONLEY: OK, Mr. President. We’re going to try a new formula.
TRUMP: [Still playing with phone] Yeah okay.
CONLEY: Okay, I’m going to ask again: You’re sure you haven’t had any formula, or any other medicine today?
[Pause.]
Mr. President?
[TRUMP stops with the phone, looks up, stares into space. Then he turns to CONLEY.]
TRUMP: You say something?
CONLEY: [Sighs] Never mind. Okay —
[CONLEY puts some powder into the spoon.]
— here comes the choo-choo.
[He lifts the spoon to TRUMP’s nose. TRUMP snorts the dose.]
Now, you just relax, sir. We’re standing by.
[TRUMP goes back to his phone. CONLEY goes over to BORNSTEIN. They speak in hushed tones.]
BORNSTEIN: So far so good.
CONLEY: What? It’s been five seconds.
BORNSTEIN: One time I gave him something and immediately he went into afib. Hit the ground like a tree, boom. Boy, was I scared! I was ready to call some guys I knew to dump him in Bushwick. But I gave him some digitalis, and he was good as new.
CONLEY: What was it?
BORNSTEIN: What I gave him? Huh. I forget. We tried a lot of crazy stuff back in those days. He was in pretty good shape and, well, it was the ‘80s, there was all kinds of stuff floating around the clubs —- you know, the frozen addicts and all that. I figured, better he should have a prescription so we know what he’s taking.
CONLEY: Well, we don’t want to jack him up too much. We just want a little more pep. Apparently everyone’s sweating that speech he made about Iran.
BORNSTEIN: Boy, yeah. [Whistles] Blunted affect, slurring his words — and who does his makeup?
CONLEY: Yeah, really. That general with the bags under his eyes, he was so freaked out I thought he was going to tackle him and declare a coup.
[They both giggle.]
We shouldn’t make fun, though.
BORNSTEIN: I wasn’t making fun, I was just being polite.
[TRUMP sets his phone aside. CONLEY watches.]
CONLEY: Vitals are up, consistent with mild excitement.
BORNSTEIN: He doesn’t look excited.
[TRUMP breaks into a big, simpering grin.]
Ah, he looks happy. That’s good.
TRUMP: [Hoarsely] Ring a ding ding!
CONLEY: [To TRUMP] How are you feeling, Mr. President?
[CONLEY and BORNSTEIN approach and study the monitor and TRUMP.]
TRUMP: Feel terrific. Really good. [Pulls at his gown] What am I doing in this hospital shit? C'mon, guys, let’s get dressed and hit the clubs.
[TRUMP starts to slide out of the chair. CONLEY and BORNSTEIN steady him.]
CONLEY: Easy, Mr. President! You’ve had a hard day.
BORNSTEIN: Yeah, simmer down, Donald. One step at a time.
TRUMP: Whattaya talking about? I haven’t felt this good in years. I feel good, oooh oooh oooh! I said I knew that I would! Feel gooooooood!
[TRUMP wiggles obscenely in his chair.]
C’mon, let’s go. I'm getting out of this stupid hick town, goin’ back to the Big Apple. [Loud] The Big Apple, baby!
CONLEY: Maybe not just now —
TRUMP: [Grabs CONLEY’s shirt] Listen, listen up, you stupid piece of shit, I’m the President of the United States. [Enunciating sharply] U-ni-ted States. Pres-i-dent. Hey, I talk pretty good now, huh? Wow! Mick Mulvaney’s not gonna give me shit about this speech! And boy, I’m gonna give ‘em a beaut.
[TRUMP counts off on his fingers.]
About the niggers and the spics and queers and the slopes, and the, and the bitches. They’re all gonna be in it. Especially that fucking Puerto Rican bitch AOC.
[TRUMP remains jazzed but is losing breath and his face is turning red.]
Goddamn, goddamn, I wanna, I wanna fuck her tits, I wanna fuck her tits and come on her face. AOC. AOC.
[Screams in his throat.]
Oooooh, I feel good! I said I knew that I would! Let’s go. Where’s that Slovak cunt? Slovak cunt! I’m gonna rape her ass, fuck her then kick her the fuck out. Put that in the speech! Goddamn. Goddamn —
BORNSTEIN: Donny, listen, Donny —
[TRUMP notices BORNSTEIN, touches his chest. Warmly:]
TRUMP: Hiya, Harry. Good old Harry. Listen, Harry, got a big night, need a little something to keep me up. You know what I mean by up, dont’cha? Up? Keep me? Huh?
BORNSTEIN: Oh, sure, Donny! Sure I do! I’ll whip you up something that’ll keep you up all night!
[To CONLEY, pointing with a jabbing motion at the crash cart.]
Dr. Conley, the syringe!
CONLEY: Of course, Dr. Bornstein!
[CONLEY takes a syringe from the cart and sticks TRUMP, who almost immediately falls asleep. Pause. Finally:]
BORNSTEIN: Maybe cut back on the Molly?
[CURTAIN.]
LOL Roy.
It has always amazed me that just because Trump doesn’t publicly drink and claims he doesn’t take drugs, the media just….believes him and reports it as fact. This is a guy who lies so much and so obviously if he told you the grass was green you’d go to the window to check for yourself. I understand the reluctance to armchair diagnose someone but there was plainly something medically or physically wrong with Trump during his Iran speech.
It’s a sad comment on where we are that imagining Trump in a drugged-out stupor while others run the government is actually a reassuring thought.
I assume Trump’s bizarre enunciation is the result of President Dyslexia trying to read words off a teleprompter.
That and his ever shrinking cerebral cortex.