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Trump Card

This is a semi-true story. The question is, where do you find the truth?

Before the euphoria wore off I watered the one surviving plant, locked the doors and windows of the double-wide, then climbed up in the pickup and turned the ignition key. I double-checked my wallet to make certain Trump was still with me. He was! Ten hours to Vegas where I could bask in the luxury and golden goodness of the Big-Time.

If you’re like me you chose the card with ‘offical’ on it, ‘cause fuck those people who said Trump can’t spell! Haters are everywhere, man. Can’t let them get in our way. You’re either with us or against us—no in between: That was the progressive motto and way of thinking. That was part of the problem with the country: no forgiveness anymore. The left couldn’t let anything go. Make a minor mistake and you were ridiculed at every turn. Atlantic City was a mistake for Trump, no doubt about it. The casinos didn’t work. And the media wanted to remind us about it all the time, as if it showed incompetence. Hell, JP Morgan filed for bankruptcy five times but they don’t turn him into a villain. So a casino went under, that’s happened more than once.

Anyway, it was a long drive to Vegas through the desert. I had lots of time to ponder things, but the conclusions never changed. Trump is my man, I thought several times, and patted my wallet with that beautiful red and gold card inside.

It was a glorious time of day when I arrived in Vegas, the golden hour. The setting sun was magnificent as it reflected off Trump International, clearly the jewel of Vegas. That’s probably why it wasn’t built right on the strip next to all of the casinos. He wanted its brilliance to stand out.

I grabbed my overnight bag from the front seat and tossed the keys to the valet and stood in line at check-in. When I finally got to the front of the line a nice young lady asked, “Reservations?”

“No, no reservation. Just got my card and felt like taking it for a ride.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s find you a room. Is it just you?”

“Just me.”

“No problem, sir. We have a room with a king bed. Does that work?”

“Works great, thanks.”

“ID and credit card, please.”

I handed her my driver’s license and new Trump Card. She used the driver’s license info to enter me into the system.

Then she looked at me, puzzled. “Uh, sir? You can’t use this card.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t a credit card.”

“Well, I would think it was good here, of all places.”

“I understand, sir, but we need a different card.”

“Well, how much is the room?”

“Forty-five dollars a night, sir.”

I handed her my debit card. I’m sure she was confused. The Trump Card was brand new so they probably didn’t have any protocols or systems in place yet.

I was starry-eyed as I walked the halls of Trump International. The place glittered, gold everywhere. Eventually, I got into the room, tossed my bag on the bed, and opened the curtains of the window. I had a beautiful view of I-15, the interstate that runs through Vegas from the North. The one I had just come in on.

I hadn’t noticed when I entered, but there was a Trump infomercial running on the television. It reminded me there was a MAGA rally the next night in Phoenix. I hadn’t considered it before, but it wasn’t that far away. I thought about getting up in the morning and driving to Phoenix. That might be the thing to do.

In the meantime, I walked down to DJT to get a bite to eat. I was underdressed but fortunately I had found my t-shirt with the flag on it in the bottom of my bag. That shirt had always bailed me out in a tight situation before. Nobody can question whether you belong or your loyalty when you wear the flag. Besides, it was Vegas and they had seen all sorts. I was certain I wouldn’t stand out. I should have worn my MAGA hat, though, if I really wanted to blend in.

DJT is a pricey restaurant, too much for me, to be honest. I showed my waiter—a flamboyant little wisp of a guy—my Trump Card, “Does this get me anything?”

“Just a pat on the back, honey.”

The waiter flashed me a smile that made me feel uncomfortable. He was flamin’ and I knew he wouldn’t last long working for Trump so I let his behavior slide. The last thing we needed was more out of work socialists. I ordered the fifteen dollar burger and a twelve dollar Miller Lite.

Later, I saw a lot of MAGA people when I walked through one of the casinos a few blocks away. I overheard several conversations about the rally in Phoenix. It made me feel good so I thought about going to the rally and then booking the room in Vegas for another night afterwards. I figured there was probably a cheap flight to Phoenix on Trump Airlines.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the lady told me on the phone several minutes later. “I’m pretty certain Trump Airlines went bankrupt a while ago.”

“Bankrupt?” That had to be a mistake.

“Either way,” she continued, “there are no Trump Airline flights to Phoenix. Shall I see what else is available?”


She found a cheap flight and I booked it. Then, before going to bed, I reserved a room at Trump International for after my return from Phoenix. I was exhausted by then. It had been a long day.

The following morning I had a twenty-one dollar omelet at the DJT before I hopped on the shuttle to the airport. The driver and most of the people on the bus were wearing masks. He scowled at me but I flashed my Trump Card and took a seat. He nodded and grinned and shut the door and pulled out of the lot. It was good to know that some people had gotten the memo. Really, it’s what I would have expected of the Trump staff. Maybe the organization had gotten the word out the previous evening.

The airport wasn't quite so easy. The FAA hadn’t squared things with their people.

“I don’t care about your Trump Card. You have to wear a mask at all times in the airport and on the plane—even if you happen to be vaccinated and can prove it.”

“Vaccinated?” I felt sorry for the woman for multiple reasons. First, she was just doing her job—but she was a tool of the left. Second, she clearly believed in the hoax. Third, she didn’t understand that being vaccinated was just another way for the Deep State to control us. And on top of all that, now they wanted you to carry a card that proved you were vaccinated! It was deeply offensive to my sense of liberty. How did we even inhabit the same country?

“Being vaccinated doesn’t matter,” she said.

“Oh, it matters, a lot.” But I didn’t pursue it. People like her didn’t understand the grip of socialism and the vice she was caught in. I took the mask she was offering. It was a short flight to Phoenix and I could play along.

This was my fourth MAGA rally so I knew what to expect. For instance, I knew that my one hundred thirty-five dollars would be put toward proving the election was stolen. I was good with that. When I flashed my Trump Card at the gate a big guy wearing a safety vest smiled and said, “Welcome home, brother.” It was nice to be mask-free amongst a group of like-minded people. A lot of people at the rally were wondering about the Trump Card, as I had been. Most figured Trump was waiting to get back into office before activating them. That made the most sense to me. People figured their donations would be refunded at that time, too. I was good with that, being out of a job and all.

The MAGA speakers were nice but I’d heard most of what they had to say before. It was good to hear the wall that kept the Mexican rapists out would be finished and that the Arizona election had definitely been stolen. There was absolute proof of the election theft thanks to Cyber Ninjas and Mike Lindell. My long-held suspicion was being proved correct: the Chinks were behind the election fraud—and the virus, too. Trump would be restored to office any day. That lifted my spirits. I felt a great weight lifted from me, which was much needed. I’d been unemployed and stressed for too long and the rowdy carnival atmosphere of the rally helped restore some balance.

The other speakers were good, but it was Trump who stole the show on the big screen. He was literally larger than life. It must have been in 4K or something because he was crystal clear. The crowd went nuts with everything he said and I could understand why. There is nothing like seeing him over satellite from Mar-a-Lago on the big screen in person, especially in hi-def.

At the start of Trump’s speech, I turned to the guy next to me and asked him to take a photo with my phone of me with Trump in the background, which he gladly did. The first one wasn’t too good because he coughed when he took it, but the second was perfect. I posted it to Facebook immediately. Facebook knew where I was and what I was doing and titled the photo appropriately—Phoenix MAGA Rally—so I approved and posted it to the site. Before Trump had said, “Do you miss me yet? Do you miss me?” I had seven likes.

I could almost have given the speech myself after the other rallies I had attended. But things started dragging on for me after a while and I realized I had heard most of what he was saying, plus it was difficult to hear much because so many people were cheering and coughing. I decided it would be okay if I snuck out early to beat the crowd. No one noticed me slip away. They were enthralled by the president, by 45, The Donald. All in all, it was a good trip, and definitely worth it, but not one of his better performances. I’d rate it at maybe a season two Apprentice-level performance. Also, they had blocked off the top section of seating so the crowd was smaller than I expected, but that may have been for safety and security reasons.

When I got back to the airport in Vegas I saw the socialist who was up in my business and demanded I wear a mask everywhere. I tore the mask off right in front of her and pulled out my Trump Card and held it high in the air as I walked out the doors, “Screw socialism! Trump this, bitch!” I owned her. That was another nice relief. As I said before, they are either for or against, no in between with the people on the left.

I checked into the Trump International again and realized I was running low on funds. I had enough to get home and all, but I wouldn’t be able to eat at DJT any more. I felt bad about that, like I owed Trump for not eating his food. But, hey, I figured if Trump could eat five or six Big Macs a day I could, too. There was a McDonald’s a mile or so away so I walked along the road and tried to figure out more ways we could take back the country from the socialists and people who hated America. I wasn’t certain what more we could do, but I knew this: no way I was going to get vaccinated. The last thing I needed was for Bill Gates to track me because I had let them plant a bunch of microchips in me. Also, I don’t believe in the magnetism that goes along with the vaccination. So, there was that. They’ve always said being a patriot is difficult. I guess I was learning that.

My phone pinged. Facebook wanted to know if I had any more MAGA rally photos to post. I didn’t so I cleared the notification.

I knew Bill Gates didn’t matter because the virus didn’t matter. A hoax is a hoax is a hoax. You can spin it any way you like but another variant of the virus is still a hoax. Besides, who knew what sort of side-effects there could be from the vaccine? I could end up autistic like all those kids who got vaccinated against polio.

I was having trouble breathing as I walked along and I coughed a couple times. I figured it was the change in altitude—Vegas being a couple thousand feet higher than Phoenix—and all the traffic along the road. Plus, I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten yet that day.

Cars and trucks rolled past me, their tires banging through the potholed road. I hadn’t spent much time in cities but Vegas was in bad shape. The road looked like a war zone, crumbling under our feet and tires. I sat for a few minutes at a bus stop to rest and looked at the war zone before me. I shrugged off the cough and shortness of breath, figuring it was all related to Vegas. The city stressed me out and I needed to put it behind me.

I started feeling down again and thought it was because of my financial situation. But I realized I was just upset about being surrounded by all the socialists. It wore on me. I started thinking about getting in the truck and heading home for the peace and quiet of the double-wide. Besides, it had been two months since my unemployment ran out and by now my Welfare check should be in the mailbox. That thought lifted my spirits.

And there was one thing I knew, one thing I was certain of after the MAGA rally and spending time at Trump International, the Trump Card in my wallet meant I would definitely get to vote in the next election. Trump knew who I was and where I stood. I could be trusted with a ballot. That made me feel good and the card in my wallet made it offical.

Please note, given the dire state of things on the Stars and Stripes portion of this blue rock that flies through space, I think it important to note that this piece is what you call satire. I’m not a fear-mongering, religious bigot, mega-liar, racist, misogynist . . . (Whew! It’s too tiresome to list ALL of the horrifying attributes. Help yourself.) So, my Trump Card is fictional, made up, complete bollocks—like most things in Trump World and the MAGA alternate reality. If you are angry because Comments are turned off for this post then you probably belong to one of the groups listed above and you should understand something: Comments are turned off because of you.

in category Life

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