Thread by @torriangray

A nearly 80 year old Donald Tump in the presidential debates in 2024, slumped over on his stool looking like an overstuffed haggis marinated in turmeric, rambling about Hillary Clinton killing Vince Foster.

“You know that’s a very interesting question, Tim.”
“My name is Chris, Mr. President. And I didn’t ask you a question.”
“Thank you, Tim. I appreciate that.” *stares into the distance horrified* “I still hear his voice, Tim. Can you hear it?”

“Mr. President, if we can move on. Polling shows that climate change is a key concern for the public, how do you propose to address it.”
“Great question, Tom.”
“Chris.”
“Exactly. Change concerns me too, ok. How does a woman change over night, Dom?”

“Dan, you sleep next to someone, not even 100 yards away from them, for fifteen years then one day they wake up and they have the cold, dead eyes of a killer. A killer, Doug. It’s like staring into the eyes of a shark. It haunts me.”

“Mr. President. How about energy policy, any thoughts there?”
“Dave, let me tell you. Some mornings I wake up and I have no energy at all, ok. I stare at the ceiling wishing I had enough strength left in these hands to end this hellish existence. Then I think of my sons.”

“Your sons, sir?”
“I’m not giving those shits the pleasure of burying me. Talking to Eric is like talking to a fucking vacuum, Dom, do you understand? All he knows how to do is suck.” *words trail off as he tilts his head to hear some inaudible sound*

“Any closing words, Mr. President?”
“I really don’t want to go out like Dave Carradine. My men have orders to cut me down if they find me swinging with my pants undone. They’re to burn the body and make Eric eat the ashes so I can live on in another form.”
“Sir?”
“It’s cold.”