Donald Trump Is Not Attending John McCain’s Washington D.C. Funeral

 

“Why can’t I go to the funeral?” Donald whined. He was sitting on the Presidential Shitter and watching Fox and Friends.

“John didn’t want you at the funeral,” the hair said.

“Why not?” Donald said again, the whine settling into his voice like a badly-tuned radio station.

“He didn’t like you,” the hair said patiently. He had explained this already, multiple times over the last few days.

“You beat Hillary and he didn’t,” the hat said, perched on the Presidential Shitter Paper Dispenser. He tore off another square of the luxurious bum wipe and chewed it.

“Hillary,” Donald said scornfully. “I used to be friends with her. She used to be so nice. Bill and I…”

“Oh, God, no…” the hair began.

“Please, Donald, please, just, no,” the hat began.

“Spit roast her,” Donald continued blithely. “She was a hell of a piece of ass. And Bill was just so much fun.”

“Next, on Fox and Friends,” the TV chirped, “Has CNN infected the nation’s strategic reserve of frozen yogurt? Yes! Yes, it has! Steve Ducey reports.”

“Donald, stop. Just stop,” the hat moaned.

“She let me piss in her…” Donald said wistfully. “Most hookers charge you extra for that.”

“DONALD!” the hair screamed in agony.

Donald smiled to himself and watched the commercials run on the TV. “Gold coin?” he asked. “I’m on a gold coin?”

“Yes. There are a bunch of companies selling coins with you on them,” the hair said.

“I want one! I want one! I’m on a coin!” Donald said excitedly, squirming on the Presidential Shitter.

The hat carefully spat a wad of chewed toilet paper at the hair and missed. He pulled off another square and began to chew it grimly.

“How much is it worth?” Donald asked.

“It’s not real money, Donald,” the hat said around his wad of paper.

“Not real money?” Donald asked. “It’s a coin! Coins are money!”

“It’s a commemorative coin,” the hair said tiredly.

“I could use it to buy McDonald’s on the way to the funeral!” Donald said.

“Commemorative coin,” the hat said. “Like a plaque or a memorial.”

“One Donald’s worth of McNuggets, please,” Donald said proudly, miming going through the drive-thru.

“It’s not real money,” the hair tried again.

“I said ‘ONE DONALD’S WORTH OF MCNUGGETS!’” Donald yelled. “These damn speakers never work.”

The hat spat another wad of toilet paper at the hair. It hit Donald in the shoulder and fell to the floor.

“Stop doing that,” the hair said tiredly.

“This toilet paper tastes like shit,” the hat replied.

“Yes, you can get a coin. No, it isn’t real money. No, you aren’t going to the funeral,” the hair said.

“Barry and George are going,” Donald said sullenly.

“Make sure to join us later in the week,” the TV said breathlessly, “For the Fox News Special, John McCain: Funeral for a Traitor.

“Barry and George were invited to speak,” the hair said. He glared at the hat as it tore off another square of toilet paper and began to chew it.

“Barry and George and Bill and George get to do everything,” Donald pouted. “I bet even Jimmy goes.”

“Mike is going, too,” the hair said.

“Mikey? Mikey gets to go?” Donald whined.

“Ghost Goes To Funeral,” the hat intoned spectrally. The half-chewed toiler paper fell out of his bill and dropped to the floor. He began to laugh so hard he followed it down.

“Is Mike Pence really a g-g-g-ghost?” Donald asked the hair in a frightened whisper.

“Yes, Donald,” the hair said seriously. “He really is.”