Satire/Rosie Sorenson

What Goes Around

Midnight, Wednesday, November 27, 2019.

The sophisticated radar system of the United States failed to detect the three Russian stealth cargo planes as they swooped in one by one and disgorged themselves of 3,391 Kurdish refugees over the White House lawn.

Roused from sleep by the night duty crew, Sgt. Ben Burke, a 50-something husky man, waves his rifle over the crowd and hollers, “Does anyone here speak English?”

“I do, Sir,” says Baz, the slightly built head translator, sitting still, his hands waving in the air.”

The officer approaches. “Stand up, please. Are you armed?” he hollers.

“No, Sir, no Sir,” says the man, quivering.

“Good thing or you’d be dead before you could say Allah. Who sent you here?”

“Mr. Erdoğan, Sir,” he says. “He borrowed the very fine planes from the Russians. I have in my pocket a letter from President Erdoğan, Sir. May I reach for it now?”

Sgt. Burke nods, his rifle aimed squarely at the translator’s head.

The translator pulls out a paper, written in Turkish, from his pocket, unfolds it and reads aloud in quavering English:

“Dear President Trump,

“Since you are so concerned about the Kurds, but not enough to stay and protect them, I am sending them to you. This is but the first shipment. There will be others. As you can see, I have Russia’s support for this journey. They loaned me their very fine planes and pilots for this mission. I hope you extend them every American courtesy as they are your friends. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We wanted to give them something to be thankful for—America.

“Kind regards,

“Recep Tayyip Erdoğan.”

“Uh-huh,” says Sgt. Burke. He turns and hollers to his second-in-command.

“Watch these people,” Burke says. “I’ve got to speak to the General.”

* * *

General J.K. Rasmussen arrives at the Oval Office. President Trump stands and hollers, “So I hear we have an infestation of Kurds on our lawn. How the hell did this happen?”

Still standing at attention, General Rasmussen says, “Sir. They were sent in the new Russian stealth cargo planes. Our radar could not detect them.”

“Well, why the hell not? I give you hundreds of millions of dollars to protect us, and this is all you’ve got to say?” said Trump, red-faced.

“No one knew these planes were ready to fly.”

“You mean the CIA, the FBI and whatever are supposed to protect me and they missed this?”

“Yes, Sir, I’m afraid so, Sir.” He shifts his weight to the other foot.

“I’m going have their heads. Never liked me, the bastards!”

“But. Sir. What are we to do with these asylum seekers?”

“They are not ‘asylum seekers’, Rasmussen,” Trump says in a sing-songy way. “They’re riff-raff. Get them out of here. Send them to Mexico, send them to hell, I don’t care. This is a nightmare. I want them gone before the press finds out. Do it! Now!”

“Yes, Sir,” the General says, salutes, and heads toward the door.

After he leaves, Trump picks up the phone and calls President Erdoğan.

“You’re up awfully late, Mr. President,” says Erdoğan. “Is everything all right?”

“No, Mr. President, it isn’t. Why did you send me all those Kurds? What the hell do you expect me to do with them?”

“Ah, that. I admit it was not very nice, but your sanctions are killing us. They must be removed.”

“You drop 3,000 Kurds on me and you expect me to reduce the sanctions? You must be out of your mind, Mr. President.”

“No, I am not. I have been counseled by your very good friend Mr. Putin. He assured me you would gladly accept these asylum seekers.”

“They are not asylum seekers! You people don’t get it. They’re a pain in the ass, do you hear me? A pain in the ass. It’s an election year, have you forgotten that?”

“No, Sir. I have not. Mr. Putin showed me the dossier the Russians have on you, including photos.”

“That lousy …” said President Trump and cleared his throat. “Message received. Now, can you promise me you won’t send any more of these scum bags?”

Click.

“President Erdoğan, can you hear me? Are you still there?” Trump shouts. “Dammmit, talk to me or I’ll sic Rudy on you!”

Rosie Sorenson is a humor writer in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can contact her at: RosieSorenson29@yahoo.com.

From The Progressive Populist, January 1-15, 2020


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