The wizened Grand Vizier of THE DEEP STATE brooded over his breakroom coffee and stale Danish, casting narrowed eyes at his assembled department heads, daring one of them to be the first to speak. He whipped his head toward a faint, embarrassed cough.
“Yes, Q1?” he asked the frighten man.
“The address to Congress…” the gray little bureaucrat began.
“A disaster,” the Grand Vizier snapped, “Pure disaster. He went out there and talked almost normally. How could this happen? I was assured this couldn’t happen!”
“Agent DEEP COVER reports that Trump was heavily medicated,” B1 said.
“The hair. The hair was running the show!” C1 interjected. He threw a grainy photo onto the Grand Vizier’s desk. It showed a lock of hair penetrating Donald’s ear canal during the speech.
“Do we have a location on MAGA Prime for the speech?” the Grand Vizier asked.
“No, sir,” E1 reported, “It might have stayed behind in the residence.”
“Impossible,” B1 said, “Donald would never leave it behind. He must have had it somewhere. A coat pocket. Down the back of his pants. Somewhere.”
“The press is saying he looked… presidential, sir,” Q1 said quietly.
The Grand Vizier threw a 30-year service award at him and knocked him out cold.
“Ideas,” he said, “Let’s go. I have a butt plug fitting to get to.”
“Nair! Kill the hair!”
“Seduce Melania! Seduce Ivanka!”
“Get your hand out of your pants!”
“Make it illegal to own hats!”
“Leak! Leak it all! LEAK IT ALL!”
“Get down off that chair. You’ll fall.”
“HILLARY! HILLARY WILL SAVE US!”
“Increase the military budget!” G1 yelled. Everyone groaned.
“Increase the representation of women in THE DEEP STATE meetings!”
“Somebody fucking slap him. Please.”
“OK, OK,” the Grand Vizier said, “You are all idiots. This meeting is over. Get your dicks out for THE DEEP STATE.”
Each of them stood and pulled out their sad assortment of genitals. They formed a circle, each holding the penis of the bureaucrat beside him in his left hand and raising his right. Q1 gently farted from his place on the floor.
As one they intoned: “The Honorable and Earnest Dominators of Even the Elected Plutocrats and Suitably Titled Aristocrats, Taciti Eternum.”
As they hummed tunelessly and walked in a ring around the office, P2, filling in for his boss, whispered to M1, “They know aeternum doesn’t start with an ‘e,’ right?”
“Shut up, you fool,” M1 whispered back, giving P2’s penis a painful tug.