January 20, 2017

“AGHHHH!?”



The enormous baby wailed at the sight of his silvery butler standing by the bedside.



“Merlin’s balls! Alfred… I thought you were him.”

Insulted, yet accustomed to this brash greeting, the butler leaned over the foot of the triple king sized bed and gently laid what his master considered to be lavish breakfast platter on top of the pine green bed sheets.

“Sir, I really think it’s about time we update the fine china,” gesturing towards the silver tray where a gilded bowl of Lucky Charms rests accompanied by a carton of Gerber’s new pedia-light recipe.

“Trust me Alfonso I already tried to fine China. They’ve got as much debt as I do. Lot of debt. Too much debt.”

“Sir, please, it’s Alfred. My mother would be horrified..”

“Listen old man, and don’t get me wrong I love ya — we’re great friends, but if I wanted your advice I wouldn’t keep you in the kennel until 2 pm. I’m sick of your nag nag nag nag nag, sometimes you just gotta shut it.”

An appropriate silence fizzled through the air until the enormous baby launches a mammoth snot rocket onto the silvery polished butler’s perfect shoes. Giggling, the orange tinted man child continues,

“Fine Alfy, you know I need you’, but what’d I say about waking me up so early when I’ve been out all night? Look Olaf. Look! It’s not even 6 yet…”

“But sir, we are approaching 6 PM! And you are still in your ‘dolla-dolla bills’ night gown.”

“What’s your point?”

Another uncomfortable silence dripped into the room.

“Well sir, Commissioner Christie has illuminated the signal and I don’t think they would be the appropriate attire.” He trails off, mumbling “even for you…”

“Stop being such a cabal Albert”

“Sir I don’t think that was the word you were looking for…”

Rolling his eyes, the billionaire laughs and reaches for his toupee on the nightstand beside him, sliding his sallow naked body from beneath his custom-made quilt of 20$ bills.

“Who is it today, Alby? No wait, let me guess. Harley Quinnton is making another play for my doll house?”

“Very good sir, although I imagine her husband is who you should really be afraid of…”

The man entertained the thought for a brief moment and got distracted by his Rick Astley alarm clock blaring ‘Never Gonna Give You Up.’

“Bite me, it really is 6 PM? Well at least that means it’s dinner time” he motions to the gilded bowl of Lucky Charms, “grab those suckers and pop ’em in the microwave for me.”

“Very well Master Trump, but I must warn you about using that word…”



“Microwave?” the Donald said confusedly.



“Grab sir, grab.”

He paused and then spelled out “LOL Alfred. LOL”

As he sat there picking at his peeling spray tan, he looked more like a bougie alley cat than a most powerful man on the planet. He then wondered aloud:

“I bet Mikey would be great at this game…”

Noticeably disgusted, Alfred cleared his throat purposefully.

“SIR, shall I ready the helicopter or will you be taking the Bat Mobile today?



“That depends, is Robin still locked in the quarantine room?”



“Why of course sir, even I wouldn’t dare let Mr. Pence out of his cage”



The feint orange glow disappeared from the room as the billionaire ducked beneath his green cotton paper blanket.

“What the hell did I tell you about he who must not be named, Alfred?”

“But sir, he is your side kick after all, don’t you think you should get used to him being around?

A third silence diffused between them, swallowing all sound.

“….no Alfred. No.”

Alfred stood blankly and cocked his head. After a moment, his master croaked:

“Alfey, if I wanted a dog I would have rang Melania for my breakfast…

“Zing!” He grinned, visibly proud of himself.



“But wait actually, don’t tell her I said that — she’s a good girl. Great girl, we’re quite fond of each other”



“Whatever you say Master Donald.

“J.”

“Whatever you say Master J”

“Ready the Conn Aldo. Ready the Conn.”

“But sir that’s the wrong –“

“JUST DO IT OLD MAN”

“Very well Master J warp speed to the White House.”



“Shit… I forgot about that…”