Donald Trump presidency: Retirement plans for America’s greatest president

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PREMIUM

THOSE crowds were bigly. They were the bigliest he had seen.

His hands gripped the iron and the clubhead pressed into the grass as he adjusted his feet. He didn’t need the extra help to balance. No, since recovering from the Invisible Chinese Virus he was the fittest he’d ever been. Twenty years younger. At least. Forty.

His neck cricked and his wattle undulated as he turned to check the blimp was still flying on the horizon.

There it was. Those idiots said Scotland was trying to ban him from coming. STONE COLD LOSERS. “Little Scotland, doesn’t even control its own borders,” he thought.

 Trump impeachment: Democrats build case alleging ‘dangerous crime’

“Everyone knows I control the borders. All of them. I protect borders, like I protect large portions of the world.

“Little loser Scotland needs to have protection.”

He looked at his caddy. “I could buy it, you know. England loses $700 million a year carrying it. I could do a good deal. A great real estate deal. I make deals.”

“I’m sorry, sir?” The caddy was on triple time and had taken the shift in the understanding it would remain secret, this shameful agreement to work with the man. She needed the cash.

“It’s Mister President,” he replied, his pursed lips forming emphatic ohs.

“I’m sorry… Mister President?”

“That nasty woman,” he replied, the impending swing now forgotten. “She isn’t even Scotchish. Where was she born? Ur-vyne

“That has to be the Middle East. Someone oughta check her passport. Has anyone checked her passport? I bet its a fake.

“Little Scotland asked their owners to ban me from coming to the country. IDIOTS. I own one third of the land here, four thirds.

“Britain Trump loves me. He welcomed me here, he begged me, ‘Please, Mr President, come’. The crowds at the airport were the biggest crowds I’ve ever seen. Bigger.

“They’re still outside my golf course now. Listen. They love me. Those signs. There’s an effigy of me flying on the horizon.”

He gazed up adoringly at the sight of the blimp. Its thick, thrusting hair was just as he imagined his to be. Its firm, angry mouth was how he pictured himself in the eyes of those crazy and incompetent world leaders.

“And I love Scotland.” He had insisted he didn’t need a seat. Seating is weakness and he was the strongest he had ever been. Thirty years younger. Fifty. He really wanted to sit down.

 Trump impeachment: Democrats build case alleging ‘dangerous crime’

“The best haggis is made in the Trump Tower Grill,” he said.

“I tried to protect your unicorns. When they wanted to put up the wind turbines I told them, Obama’s wind turbines kill 13 to 39 million national animals every year. Save your unicorns, symbol of your nation.”

“Yes, Mr President,” said the caddy.

Across the green expanse, to the far right of the course, low drilling could be heard. “Look at that. They’re putting up a wall.

“I said I wanted a big wall, a big, big wall, right around my golf course. I told them I wanted a wall. And they’re paying for it. Suckers. So humiliating.”

He started to resume his position next to the tee.

“You’re so beautiful.” He looked straight at the caddy. “You remind me of my daughter.”

The young caddy looked at the old man. The paunch sagging into his crumbled chinos revolted her. The two defeated lumps of his flabby chest were pronounced, even under his sleeveless woollen pullover. 

She distracted him from the line of thought. “Is that club suitable, sir? You have the world’s best collection of clubs here. No one has any better.”

She had dealt with her share of delusional rich old men and normally felt a pity for them, in a strange way, at their desperate illusions of reciprocated feelings.

Not this guy though, not even a pang of pathos. He had escaped impeachment, he had escaped legal action. So they were planning to wall him up here where he could happily potter around the golf course, stare out to sea and believe he had bought the country in his final great deal.

No one had tried to hide his fate from him. But his ego, his delusion, his all encompassing belief in his own myth meant he hadn’t even noticed.

He swung the club back and sliced it down hard towards the green. It whiffed. “What a fitting end,” the caddy thought. 

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