50 lawsuits a day

By David Grima | Nov 12, 2020

I am reliably informed the New York Times website crashed several times, the morning after the recent election.

Possibly this was because people were interested in the news, that day.

* * * * *

The Lady Melancholia Trumpleton asked me to deliver a very special message to both of my readers this week, to thank them for voting to set her poor husband free from a life of trial and tribulation in the White House.

I told her I would be honored to convey her message of heartfelt gratitude to the good people who read The Curious-Gazette.

In fact, the Ol’ Boy himself mentioned to me how pleased he is, and said how much he is looking forward to the life of a normal citizen after the miseries and problems of the last four years.

Not that he will make these sentiments public in the ordinary way, for he knows a certain portion of the American Public is still slightly miffed the election went in the opposite direction.

“The truth is, I actually voted against myself,” he confided. “Tell nobody!”

But it is on account of these loyal supporters that the Lord Prez Trumpleton agreed to publicly put up as much resistance as possible, yea, even unto the bitter end. However, the truth is he is quite relieved at the outcome of the election.

I could tell how pleased he really is to be done with the whole mess. For the first time in many years he had that mischievous smile about his lips we all used to love when he was the darling of reality television, and he particularly enjoyed telling me about a small private joke he has prepared to welcome the incoming president.

Taking me through the secret door in the Oval Office and through the long corridor that leads underground, he brought me into the special chamber where all the levers of power are kept. He has allowed me in here at least once before, even though the sign on the door says “Presidents Only.”

For a moment, I could not see what it was he wanted me to see. Then, as the gloom cleared and my eyes adjusted to the low lighting, I realized he carefully switched all the labels on the various levers and wheels which presidents over the last hundred years have used to guide the country and steer the economy.

“It’ll take Sleepy Joe weeks, maybe months, to figure out which levers do what,” he laughed, feeding the original instruction booklet into the office shredder. “I’m not even sure I can remember which label goes where!”

I told him I think this is an excellent joke to play on the new president, all in the spirit of good, clean, fun. A wonderful jest.

Then we sat down and reminisced about his many exploits of the last four years, and how he completely changed the way politics work in America.

Of course, now that he will no longer be able to call upon the use of the Presidential Hang Glider, he will not be able to visit me as often as he used to in the concrete towers at the foot of Mechanic Street, where I am forced to live. But I do hope, some day, to be able to raise enough money to install a modest plaque on the towers to commemorate the many times our president stopped by and shot the breeze with me up there.

Nevertheless, he does have a well-earned reputation to uphold, and still has to put on a stern face in these final weeks of his presidency for the sake of his supporters. He told me, in confidence, that Vice-President Mike Pinch has discovered a new computer app that, when they can both figure it out properly, will automatically file 50 lawsuits a day in a wide range of federal courts across the nation.

“Should be enough the gum up the works for a while,” the Lord Prez said, barely able to contain his glee. “I appointed half those idiots,” he continued, referring to the federal judges who will have to read these automatic lawsuits. “Time to make them work for a living, for a change!”

We turned out the light and went up toward the White House kitchen, where the Lord Prez told me he stashed a large quantity of his favorite hamburglars.

“Melancholia doesn’t like how this is all I eat,” he said, twiddling the dial and entering the combination on the hamburglar safe. “But I think I am entitled to some kind of celebration.”

There is a mirror on the wall next to the refrigerator in the White House kitchen, which I think Richard Nixon installed so Henry Kissinger could not creep up behind him when he was putting together a nice midnight snack. Catching sight of the mirror, I asked the Lord Prez if he would do me a special favor, for old times’ sake. It only took me a minute to explain.

So it came to pass that, simply to please little old me, the Lord President Reginald K. Trumpleton marched up to the mirror, stared at his own fierce reflection in it, jabbed his finger in the direction of his own image, and announced in that perfect TV voice we all once knew and loved, “You’re fired!”

For the first time since he unintentionally wiped the floor with the rest of the Republicans who were hoping to secure their party’s nomination for the presidency back in 2016, I swear I saw a twinkle in his eye.

David Grima is a former editor with Courier Publications. He can be reached at davidgrima@ymail.com.

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