Act One: Has Been

Hillary:

Talk about having to suck it up--big time. Suck-job from Hell, it is. They should call me Hillary Hoover, Sucker-Extraordinaire, i.e. the go-to-gal of vacuum cleaners.

Hillary Hoover--hah! Just thought of how pathetically apropos that is today, twice over. Mrs. Hoover was First Lady too. Just like me, once upon a time in an Arkansas Fairy-Tale turned Nightmare-on-Pennsylvania-Avenue. In Part One, Governor's Mansion, at least I got to keep my "Rodham" and skip the insipid "Mrs." Once we hit the Big House my identity was unceremoniously stripped and I morphed sans consent into that loyal little lady, always-by-his-sidekick, "Mrs. Clinton."

I hate the "C" word. It's his name, not mine. And talking about his name, while we're at it, I propose that we change it. Change his first name--from "Bill," to "Dick." Because he is a Dick. A total Dick, who can't keep his namesake in his pants.

I blame him for this travesty. Not just the utter humiliation back then. The impeachment, where he barely escaped conviction--thus we, barely, eviction! --by the skin of his you-know-what. I shudder to recall how we came this close to being escorted from Penn. Ave. to Penitentiary Row.

But bad as that was--this tops it. Back then, the worst that could have happened was I'd have been canned as First Lady. Big Effin' Deal. I never aspired to that dubious distinction to begin with. From day one, all I wanted was his job. I was just paying my dues, biding my time, was all. But he had to go and eff-it-up. After all that I've done, these past thirty years, of public service, my just deserts eluded me in the end. And, really, when it comes down to it, it's all his fault--Dick's. Oh, he managed to finish out his eight years, fine and dandy for him, Mr. Teflon-President-Take-Two, but all the scum he spewed stuck to me but good. Call me Ms. Sleaze-by-Association.

And that, my fellow Americans, is the reason that I'm sitting here today, out in this audience of assorted fawners and lackeys, along with kindred wannabes, rather than Up There Where I Belong. Let me tell you, it's a toss-up as to which sucks more--today, Inauguration-of-The-Fool-Day, or The-Election-Day-That-Will-Live-In-Infamy.

Yes, that's right, folks. Ringside seat, here at the circus, having to clap and cheer, while watching as my rightful title President-of-the-United-States-of-America is bestowed upon Donald-the-Clown. Yes, sirree, step right up, sideshow-of-the-century-and-many-more-to-come, free tickets to one and all, courtesy of my-soon-to-be-ex, Big Dick.




Act Two: Will Be

Melania:

Irony. I've been told the word is so often misused to refer to coincidence or misfortune, that--especially considering I'm not a native speaker--I figured I'd better look it up. The upshot is that irony applies to an occurrence "contrary to what is expected."

For example: the person who was predicted to win hands-down loses the election to a man with no political experience whatsoever.

Certainly he didn't expect it! Despite all his bluster that he would win, he couldn't for one moment have believed it! I mean, really, nobody, not even his most fervent supporters thought he'd win. They all--we all--just talked the talk.

Yet now, here we all are, having to Walk The Walk. Me, all I signed up for was big-city--but small-time--glamour girl. I wanted the rich husband, the status, sure, but I also wanted a genuine family life, a child, specifically.

And I got one, God help him. How the hell can Barron have a normal life, with real friends, now? It's hard enough for the poor kid as it is and this business brings a whole mess of other problems. Barron will be trailed by bodyguards everywhere he goes. Out the window goes any semblance of social life. He'll either be tormented or ignored for the next four years.

I don't want to even think about eight. Everyone assures me that there's no way he'll get re-elected at age 74. But they all swore he'd never even get nominated--much less elected!--this time, and look what happened!

Does Donald have what it takes? I sure hope so, God help him. I sure can't help him. I know nothing about politics or government and, quite frankly, I don't want to know. But I'll have to start learning ASAP. Had I known I'd be facing this "mother--rather, 'First Lady'--of all tests" I'd have damned well done my homework.

Or maybe I wouldn't have. Maybe I'd have cut and run. Taken Barron, moved out. Or told Donald to take a one-way hike to the hills. Either way, I'd have lived on easy street. He'd have had to support us in the-style-to-which-we've-become-accustomed. I'm not ashamed to say that I do like my creature comforts.

I'm not going to be a hypocrite and tell you that I married Donald out of Love-At-First-Sight-Money-Doesn't-Matter. Of course money matters. The scenario was not quite the simplistic Gold-Digger-Marries-Millionaire, however. I was attracted to Donald's sheer power, his utter hubris, that he could conquer the city, be the "King of New York," that he could do anything--anything!--even become President of the United States.

And so he has, goddamn him! Even after all that sleazy stuff came out about his grabbing women by their, shall we say, "business-ends." Yeah, sure, those tapes were from nearly twelve years ago--when Donald was just a mere boy of 59. Yet I know--we all know!--for a fact that he hasn't changed his attitude--or actions!--one whit in the interim. Indeed, the very reason the tapes didn't ruin him was that they were superfluous.

That's another word I've learned recently. Superfluous, means redundant, as in not-necessary-already-been-there-done-that. In other words, who cares what Donald did/said back in 2005 when there is such an abundance of crude and obnoxious on-camera behavior in the here-and-now. Hillary came right out and accused him of calling women "pigs" and "dogs," and he didn't--he couldn't!--deny it. Nor did he even bother to pretend to be contrite.

Here's another word I learned recently, one that fits Donald to a "T." Or, I should say, to a "D." That is: Dick. He's a Dick. And here's another "D" word for you--Dick--Divorce. Four years, and I'm outta here. Don't even think about eight.



Act Three: Wink, Wink!

Bill :

Talk about anticlimactic! Hillary had it in the bag--so we thought. Then--wham! --the esteemed fellows of the Electoral College snatched it away in one fell swoop on The-Election-Day-That-Will-Live-In-Infamy.

Funny how Donald railed against the "corrupt" Electoral System, ranted that the "fix was in" and that he was going to sue (who?) for voter fraud, and on and on until--surprise!--he won, thanks to the "Good Ole Boys" of the E. C.

Hillary, for her part, when things were going her way, had lauded that same "august institution" which, post-fiasco--surprise! --has morphed into "a total travesty of the democratic system."

As I sit here at the Inauguration Ceremony, I imagine that everyone scrutinizing my expression would be impressed by what they'd construe as a brave attempt to convey good sportsmanship. I've taken great care to make my smile appear unforced, yet understandably subdued out of respect for Hillary's devastation. It's a delicate balance I tread. A surreptitious "thumbs up" to Trump so as to convey an understated "Way-to-go-guy!-No-hard feelings!" on the one hand, whilst, on the other, trying not to come across as unduly jolly and thus risk pissing Hillary off even more than she already is.

Anticlimactic, indeed! Just thought of how apropos is that word, today, twice over, as we appear in this Sham-Show-of-Solidarity.

First: what should have by all rights--and all predictions! --been Hillary's day of triumph has--poof! --devolved into the degradation of a last-gasp suck-it-up job, with rest-of-her-lifetime unemployment pending.

Second: had things gone her way, I, erstwhile Leader of the Free World, would have--poof! --devolved into the degradation of becoming pathetic consort to Madame Prez.

Yes sirree, folks. But for the unfathomable vagaries of our democratic system, I'd have been duly and unceremoniously demoted. I'd have been dubbed the first "First Gentleman (?)" in history. I suppose that dubious distinction might have afforded me a bit of consolation.

It may have, admittedly, provided more than a bit of relief, too. By virtue of being in such an inconsequential position, I'd have been safely beyond deer-in-the-headlights range. Far enough away from the interrogation-room-like-illumination such as had so harshly glared upon my Presidency. Tough times those were, for sure, through no fault of my own.

First: Herr Kenneth Starr and his Gestapo forced me to admit to an "inappropriate" relationship with that woman, despite our never once having had sexual relations. Rest assured--and I say this with clear conscience--that I did not penetrate.

Next: The Holier-than-Thou contingent got on my case for--big effin' deal! --having toked in my college days. Rest assured--and I say this with clear conscience--that I did not inhale.

So, yeah, those days of persecution are, thank God, behind me. Still, who am I kidding? Kenny Torquemada and his senatorial torturers were Pussycats compared to Hillary and her wrath. Had she won, I would have been her whipping boy--and boy! --she would have whipped me but good. For the next four -- eight! -- years. Yeah, I admit, she sure went through Hell-and-a-Half-to-the-Power-of-Ten on account of what they put me through way back when. Payback's a bitch, so they say. And so, say I, is she.

That said, I did, of course, vote for her. Rest assured--and I say this with clear conscience--that I did not pull the lever.


Act Four: Which Way the Wind Blows

Donald:

I laugh when they call me a sociopathic, narcissistic, egotistical megalomaniac. (Did I forget an adjective or three?) Yes, I laugh.

I've been laughing all the way to the White House.

The truth is that I am indeed all the things they say I am, and I make no apologies. I wouldn't be answering to "Mr. President" of even a one-man company--much less of the whole-effin-country!--had I not been ruthless and power-driven. Guilty as charged, and damn proud of it.

That said, my fellow Americans, allow me to proceed with my real Inauguration Speech, the one that I wrote, not that trite clap-trap some suck-up speech-writer foisted on me. Forget that I said that stuff. That's right - disregard every single word I so eloquently enunciated yesterday. Scratch each ennobling phrase, every uplifting sentiment that I uttered with such fervor. I assure you all were issued with tongue firmly in cheek--albeit interspersed with equal parts of said tongue in teeth so as to better bite down my mirth at the farce.

Not to boast--rather, YES to boast! --I must say I did a masterful job conveying my sincerity. And I had a hell of a time hamming it up. That's why I went along with it--I couldn't resist pulling one last, over-the-top prank on you all. Certainly, I could have spit out the insipid words they shoved in my mouth before they could be inflicted on the unsuspecting audience--after all, I am Leader of the Free World and take orders from no man! --but I couldn't resist the amusement of watching you folks swallow them.

Fun's fun--and it sure was! --but now game's over. Time for you yoke-d yokels to take off your blinders, and stare at the business-end (the front one) of the Highest Horse in The Land. Read my equine lips:

The answer, my friend, is: "Blowin' in the wind." That is, in regard to your question: "How the hell did he do it!"

I am, ultimately, after all, a pragmatist. Successful self-promotion depends, first of all, on skillful forecasting. Step one, in this case, was a no-brainer. We've just completed 8 years of a Democrat presidency, preceded by 8 years of a Republican...preceded by 8 years of....Beginning to see a bit of a pattern here? After every two terms, during which time the party in power fails to Make America Great, the voters say: Time for a Change.

So, although I am, of course, a Trump-o-crat at "heart "(or approximation thereof) - it behooved me to declare myself Republican. Okay, so that was step one.

Step two: Scope out the Citizens' Weather Vane. Strong easterly wind: i.e. to the Right. So you go with the flow: blow plenty of hot air in that direction. The people are pissed: illegal-aliens want to take out their jobs (the ones that haven't already been taken out to India); Al Qaeda terrorists want to take out our country; gays want to take out our sons; aspirants-to the-other-gender want to take out their "superfluous-ities"...

Whatever Is This World Coming To!

So, you gotta fan those flames of fury, keep the fire going long enough to get the folk to vote for you--for me, Donald J. Trump--The Man who will Make America Great Again.

And, so I did. I got their votes. Got your votes. So, now that I'm safely installed in Office --you can't touch me, hah! --I've got a little confession to make:

I don't give a flying fig about the influx of immigrants or the out-flux of jobs.

I've spent nary a sleepless night contemplating Jihadian Apocalypse.

I couldn't care less if my sons take husbands or whether men's and ladies' rooms are overrun by vice versas.

So, my fellow Americans, surprise, surprise. All that stuff I spouted off, on and on, was nothing more than a two-year spew-fest of What-You-The-People-Wanted-To-Hear. At the risk of losing my chances for a second term, I decided to come clean because frankly--I couldn't resist telling you what suckers you've all been!

As for that second term? Who knows. Stranger things have happened - such as my getting a first term! So, you never can tell. Guess it all depends on which way the wind blows.