McTrump: A Shakespearean Farce, Act IV

My Shakepearean tragedy of McTrump is nearing its end. Well, the end of his presidency anyway, since the Trump administration is finally drawing to a close but the Orange Pig is determined not to go gentle into that good night. I started the satire right after Trumpy was inaugurated in 2017 with previous David Desk blog posts, and included references to the Scottish play, King Lear, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, and Richard III. Links to Act I, Act II, Act III, and Act III, Scene 2.

Here is the Fourth Act of McTrump

Scene: The White House and McBiden's home in Delaware on opposite sides of the stage, McTrump is being armored for battle by Giuliani, his groveling, troll-like toady.

McTrump: I have no fear of McBiden. The weird sisters prophesied that no man of liberal born could defeat me. Also that I need not tremble until mailboxes and ballots move to Washington. And that will never be.

Giuliani: Aye, my lord, thou art invincible. Armed with the might of rumor, lies and deceit, thou shalt reign in this divided land another four years.

McTrump: Quiet, sycophant! Spray more tan on my noble visage, tis too pale by half.

Giuliani: Aye, my good lord.

McTrump: And you could use a touch-up on that hair. What about McBiden's troublesome offspring. Hast thou gleaned any dirt on him. Hast been to Ukraine e'en and thy expensive voyage have thus far come to naught.

Giuliani: Do not blame me for Ukraine, McTrump! I was just following orders.

McTrump: Shut up or no pardon for thou.

(Lights shift to McBiden's home. Democratic operatives strap on his armor. Kamila Harris is also arming herself for battle.)

McBiden: How looks the day, my friends?

Jen O'Malley Dillon, campaign manager: All is primed, my liege. The great orange beast is bloated and tottering on a fragile throne. His deluded followers venture forth maskless on this day, but we have the mail-in ballots.

McBiden: Let each voter take up a mail box and march on the White House. There I shall challenge the monstrous McTrump in single combat. Though I be four years his senior, I possess twice his youth and vigor.

(Light shift back to the White House. A howl of female grief rips through the room.)

McTrump: What dire cry was that? (Kayleigh McEnany rushes on.)

Kayleigh: Oh, most grieved king, I am loath to tell thee what latest calamity has befallen thy benighted house.

McTrump: Speak, dolt! Am I not McTrump, do not I command the love of the masses? What harm can possibly strike the favorite of the gods?

Kayleigh: A massive wave of mail-in ballots approacheth the White House, my dread lord. They move like a paper army, their stamps like shields. Also the Queen swoons over having to do Christmas decorations again.

McTrump: Bah! E'en though the witches' prophesy comes true, with enough money and the right lawyers, one can do anything.

Giuliani (a jet of hair dye sprays from his temples and he farts a few times): That's right!

McTrump (Turns to Giuliani and waits for the audience laughter to die down): I'm doomed. (pause) Anyway, I still have the promised charm on invincibility. No man of liberal born shall take me down. (He holds up his sword) For untruth, dishonesty, and my ego, we fight!

(Scene changes to the battlefield. The forces of right and left clash, the stage becomes a mass of confusion as ballots and mail boxes are counted until finally McTrump and McBiden meet center stage)

McBiden: Finally we meet, hell-hound. Thy vile reign of bigotry, misinformation, con games, and bad taste is at an end. Yield to my certain right or face my steel, tempered of compromise and coalition.

McTrump: Never! Thou snivelling, senile old man. The throne is mine and shall ne'er be ta'en til mail-in ballots move to the White House.

McBiden: Done!

McTrump: Though a paper army has moved to Washington, still I do not fear thee. No man of liberal born shall reign in the White House for a century.

McBiden: Then look on McBiden and tremble, wretch. For I am no liberal's offspring, but a true moderate born.

McTrump: No! (He throws down his sword) I'll not fight with thee, McBiden. Moderation is my downfall.

McBiden: Then give o'er to the will of the people and be exhibited in our media as our greater monsters and losers are!

McTrump: Never. Lay on, McBiden, and woe be to him who thinks this is the end.

(The two fight with their swords, the three witches appear on the edges and cackle. Finally McBiden defeats McTrump who is now on the ground.)

McTrump: This is not over. (McBiden takes the crown from McTrump and walks off to claim the White House. The three witches continue laughing and walk off. Trump continues to rant and rave as the lights dim. This is definitely not the last act) Wait, come back. There was fraud in the battle. Did you see him trip me? I won, I won by a lot. You can't count those mail-in ballots. The witches told me I couldn't lose, this isn't right. Wait! Wait! (A crowd develops on the edges of the stage and waits for instruction as McTrump rails and the lights dim.)