Donald Trump was eating brains. He was always hungry and he had a new idea.
The brain had arrived on a platter of white rice. Each of the lobes was a pristine purple pink, with a thick band of tissue – the corpus callosum – was sprinkled with orange chili powder a shade darker than his hair. His favorite! Sure this brain had tasted a little funny, a little foreign, but it had gurgled back at him and he had laughed back at it compulsively. “I’m a natural comedian,” he thought to himself, approving the whole deal, his mullet tickling his neck.
The brain, rather small now that he thought about it sulkily, was placed in a gray plastic bowl on a high chair striped in the American flag. In front of him a TV blazed, embedded in a throne made from the suspended bodies of alcoholic factory workers, who were kept in a perpetual state of paralysis by tubes running whiskey into their nose, glued together by a special substance Donald had commissioned from General Electric after he’d humiliated them shortly before the election. The whole setup was quite grand and he idly considered turning the workers’ skin gold with the same tanning solution he used for himself. But the thought made him jealous and he snarled his upper lip and pouted.
He was a complicated man and for some reason, this had given him a boner. Maybe it was the hysteria on show for the night on TV, which had made him a fetid combination of angry and horny. He poked the brain with his plastic spoon and searched PornHub for himself on his phone. He curled his hand into a fist in anticipation. That’s when something strange happened.
Above him, the sound of helicopters juddered as search lights lit the White House lawn. A streaker was running across the manicured lawn, ostensibly a granny. The puff around Donald’s eyes thickened as he squinted – suspecting a plot, suspecting Hillary had finally grown a pair and was attempting to gun him down in person. But as the wrinkled figure got closer he saw that it was in fact a phantom of a woman he faintly recognized and hadn’t groped recently. The Secret Service had already opened fire before he could wipe the last gummy trace from his lips and shout at them excitedly to stop. The bullets’ guttural explosions chopped up the ground beneath the ghost granny’s feet.
“Don’t eat it Donnie!” cried the specter.
But of course, Donald had been eating American brains for years now and had no respect for those without a taste for home-grown cannibalism. The culture had been feeding on itself for decades and he’d gorged himself on brain and titties since he could remember. But this was too much! His thoughts made and mangled coherent forms like a kid on a crayon rampage.
“It’s not American!” shrieked the spectral granny as she combat rolled her way into the Oval Office, quite unnecessary given her immunity to real world events. Donald hurled his phone away in disgust and adjusted his pants.
“Sad! Not funny! Totally failing!” he roared. But he’d already made a tragic mistake, and the spectral granny dived for his phone.
“Your Twitter feed!” she shouted as Donald hurled a haymaker straight at her head, which went right through where her brain should have been. As if this was a signal, the half-eaten brain on the table shuddered and swelled, ballooning, squirting, with blood and cellular chemistry electrifying the floor. The granny was desperately trying to pick up the Donald’s phone, but of course her fingers kept going right through it. The fluid oozing out of the brain had covered the floor alarmingly fast, and it drowned the phone in moments, the light flickering and dying as it was absorbed, its component parts disintegrating.
She turned to him in horror. And that’s when he recognized her – his own mother – an angel booted out of heaven for trying to save him. “Mommy!” cried Donald as the rising tide of brain fluid swept him off his feet.*Ding!* A notification went off. *Ding* *Ding* *Ding* Somebody was… tweeting?
“Donal-“ The spectral Mrs Trump was covered by bloody fluid as the brain and Donald himself was buoyed upwards by a rising tide that blotted out the Secret Service, who were diving madly into the mess and being savagely electrocuted by the chemical thoughts as the brain began to come online.
Around him a thousand thousand voices began speaking together, coalescing into the language of Babel, the original language that had unified mankind – the language that God himself had destroyed when men had once had the temerity to build a tower tall enough to reach heaven. The brain was tweeting in the first language that all people could understand! It was calling them to the White House!
“THE WALL! THE FOREIGNERS! THEY’RE INVADING!” Trump spluttered helplessly.
In desperation, Donald dove down into the brain fluid, his clothes melting off and his fat body looking strangely infantile as he scrambled blindly for his phone. But he too was absorbed into the great fluid, deconstructed into bacteria as the fluid spread from the White House and reformed with all those who came to witness him turned into a single-celled organism. Across the sky, lightning blazed as the Earth revolved around the sun.
Comments