On the evening of his acquittal from impeachment, President Donald John Trump injured himself in a frenzy of chest thumping. He was seen doing the gorilla strut up and down the hall of the Executive Residence, thwapping his chest and screeching, “Me won, me won. Me fu**ed the so-called Constitution, me won me won. Come here, Melania, and kiss me.”
Trump beckons her forward, “Plant one on me, baby.” She retreats into her bedroom and calls the White House doctor. In the background she can hear Trump hollering, “Me King. Me the King. Want banana.” Three Secret Service agents stand back, jackets open, casting worried glances from side to side.
Dr. Sean Conley, the White House doctor, rushes down the hall.
“Hi, doc,” Trump says and grins like the Joker. “Didja hear didja hear didja hear?”
Conley nods and gently ushers Trump into the exam room, always at the ready for any medical emergency. Conley whispers to the Secret Service agents to wait outside. They nod in relief, re-button their jackets.
“Wasn’t that something?” Trump hollers at Conley and thumps his chest. “Didja see, didja see, I’m not guilty!! Those scumbags can’t bring me down. Now I can do anything, swing from the trees if I want, fire anyone I want, I’ll get back at those bastards. I just fired Vindman, Pelosi, Sondland—you wait and see, nobody messes with The Donald! I’m just getting started, damn enemies ...”
“Yes,” said Dr. Conley, “I know. But, Sir, you cannot fire Nancy Pelosi.”
“What? That’s bullsh*t! Article 2 says I can do what I want!”
“OK, Mr. President, if you say so,” says Conley. “But right now what I need you to do is don this gown and to sit down over there.” He points toward the exam table and hands Trump a paper gown. “Leave it open at the back.”
Dr. Conley turns around. Trump complies, but not without groaning. Dr. Conley then listens to Trump’s heart, examines his eyes and his taps his knees to check his reflexes.
Dr. Conley next asks Trump to count down from 100 by 7’s, one of the questions on the Mental Status Exam, routinely given to patients exhibiting questionable behavior.
“What the …” hollers Trump. “You can’t ask me that. I have accountants do that kind of sh*t.”
“Sir.” Conley steps back and points at Trump. “I am your doctor. I need to do a thorough examination.”
Trump leaps up, shoves the doctor to the floor and thumps his chest.
“You know what, doc? You’re fired.”
Rosie Sorenson is a humor writer in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can contact her at: RosieSorenson29@yahoo.com.
From The Progressive Populist, March 15, 2020
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