Future imperfect: Secession satire by Quentin R. Bufogle
Custom Search 2
It's the year 2022. In her second term, President Hillary Clinton has lifted the nation to a new level of prosperity. There’s a chicken in every pot. (And pot is legal!) Things are good.
Not so in the Independent Nation of Nevada, which seceded from the union shortly after the re-election of President Barack Obama.
With the state now under the iron-fisted rule of Sheldon Adelson and his minions, unions are a thing of the past, and the average hourly wage has dipped below that of a fluffer in a Bangkok brothel ...
“Mr. Adelson? Mr. Trump is here to see you.”
“Again, Karl? Can’t you put him off?”
“Sorry, sir. He insisted.”
“OK, OK. Send him in -- then give it 10 minutes and call me on your cell. I’ll pretend it’s Mitt threatening to jump again.”
Rove smiled. “You’re the best.”
Trump was ushered into Adelson’s palatial office at the Venetian, where the mogul, seated on a throne, held court. The years hadn’t been kind to The Donald. After the Democrats took over, The Apprentice plummeted in the ratings and was cancelled. Now operating out of a refrigerator box, the once-proud real-estate tycoon hustled Trump-brand silk ties on the Strip.
“Shel, thanks for seeing me -- ya look fantastic! Mind if I don’t genuflect and kiss your ring? I’ve been on my feet all day and the knees are killin’ me.”
“Donald, no need to stand on ceremony. We’re old friends -- and it’s ‘Mr. Adelson.’”
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Adelson,” Rove said, “I have an important phone call to make.”
Adelson winked. “The sooner, the better …”
“Hey," Trump said once Rove had left, "Karl looks like he’s dropped a few pounds."
“Yeah. I keep him pretty busy around here.”
“The ‘consigliere’ thing?”
“That, and I have him fill in whenever someone calls out sick.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. Takes an awful long time to work off $53 million at $6.50 an hour! Yesterday I had him deal blackjack. Night before he worked a shift for a fry cook in the coffee shop. Tonight he’ll be filling in for a cocktail waitress who’s having bunion surgery.”
“Shel, I like your style!”
“It’s ‘Mr. Adelson.’ By the way, how’s business?”
“Not bad. Sold six ties today. Even thinking of expanding! Got a guy with a refrigerator box outside the Fashion Show Mall who wants to franchise. Speaking of business, I’ll get right to the point. The Donald is ready for a comeback -- Trump-style! All I need is $50 or $60 mil to get me rollin’ again ...”
“A loan? Are you pulling my leg?”
“Shel … er, Mr. Adelson, we go back a long way. You know I’m good for it.”
“Out of the question.”
“But you gave $50 million to Rove and that idiot Romney!”
“Really, Donald ... I’d like to help, but times are tough. I’m shelling out $6.50 an hour to run this place. This isn’t China, y’know …”
Adelson’s telephone rang. “Hello? Oh, Mitt! How’re things? Mitt, Mitt, I know he was born in Kenya, but that election’s over ...” He turned to Trump. “Look, Donald, it’s Romney. He’s off his meds again. I’m gonna have to take this. We’ll talk soon!”
“Nice work, Karl,” Adelson said once Trump was out of earshot. “I thought I was gonna have to call security to get rid of him. By the way, make sure you’re on time for your cocktail shift tonight -- and easy on the lipstick and mascara. It makes you look cheap ...”