The Bard, musing on his task.
The Oval Office. Enter Kelly, Pence, Huckabee-Sanders, Carson, Pompeo, Bolton, Conway, Mattis and Sessions.
TRUMP: What tale from yonder source leaks? Believe it not, for the midterms have come.
PENCE: Ay, Mr. President, but not gone.
TRUMP: Go about your purposes. May they thrive like my Washington hotel.
SANDERS: (to Kelly) He wishes our purpose to thrive! I fear we may be discovered!
KELLY: Only if our plans are revealed to Fox News, for executive time approaches. We must make haste! Before the next commercial!
SESSIONS: Most high, most mighty and most puissant Trump! I come before you with a humble heart…
TRUMP: Begone with your intemperate whining, southern wretch! Why dost thou not resign already, so I can switch thou for some yeoman who will rid me of the plague of raging Mueller? Tuck thy misshapen ears beneath thy cap and bugger off. Hey, who let the blackamoor in here? Oh, ‘tis Carson.
SESSIONS: I seek only to coat thy behind with the drool of flattery, oh noble Trump. Should I not bring you news of pardons?
TRUMP: Only of the brave Manafort, not the cursed Cohen.
CONWAY: Stormy doth wax the Daniels.
TRUMP: What meanest thou? The squire Avenatti doth pursue my throne? This I know, but he shan’t have it. I shall be emperor for life anon. So has said the Senate’s O’Conner and his lad Ryan. These midterms shall be the last by my decree. Let fly the blue bird of Twitter! Or mayhap I’ll be crowned at a rally. I shall rule until I perish!
KELLY: No soothsayer could have uttered a more pungent omen!
Drawing a knife, he leaps forward and stabs Trump. All of the others follow suit, stabbing at Trump repeatedly with knives they have pulled out of their pockets or purses.
MATTIS: With this blade I seek thy heart, idiot.
SANDERS: (Aside) How did we get all these knives through the detectors of metal?
POMPEO: Pence has a 3-d printer in his office
A line forms, as OTHERS rush the office to stab Trump. Knives are passed around so that the unarmed newcomers can stick him at least once.
TRUMP: (Dying) Ah, this suffers me more than an anonymous editorial in the Times of New York! (He opens his eyes to
behold his final assailant) Et tu, Ivanka? Thus dies the stable genius!
PENCE: Oh, mighty Trump, dost thou lie so low? Thy blood is as red as thy bottom-feeding-tie. Thy coif has been disarranged. Thy remote dangles from thy limp hand, never to turn on CNN again. Thy spray tan has turned red from the juice of this… aw, fuck it. I’m President now. Somebody bring me a Bible.