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Entries in Armageddon (1)

Wednesday
Oct052016

Imagined White House Press Briefing, January 2017

(Newly appointed Press Secretary Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino saunters to podium, looking fly.)
Pause.

Reporter 1: You… you got a statement, or anything?
The Sitch: Nah. Whatchoo nerds wanna know?
(Hands shoot up.)
The Sitch: No print. TV only.
(Many hands drop. Single murmured "Aw.")
The Sitch: You. Where you from?
Reporter 2: TMZ.
The Sitch: I will take your question.
Reporter 2: Will the President be releasing his tax returns?
The Sitch: Get out.
(Nervous press corps laughter. Exchange of uncertain looks.)
The Sitch: No joke. Out.
(Reporter 2 is escorted from briefing room.)
The Sitch (to Secret Service.): Take his thing.
(Secret Service agents confiscate Reporter 2's press credentials.)
The Sitch: Now find a some stairs to throw him down.
(Nervous Secret Service laughter.)
The Sitch: Not a joke.
(Sound of Reporter 2 getting hustled to a staircase, and tumbling painfully down, bones crack.)
The Sitch: Next.
(Couple tentative hands raised.)
The Sitch: You. Where you from? 
Reporter 3: E!
The Sitch: Bring it.
Reporter 3: According to documents obtained by--
The Stich: Ho. What's "document"?
Reporter 3: Sorry. Ah. Papers.
(Nothing.)
Reporter 3: Um. Read-y things?
The Sitch: With you. G'head.
Reporter 3: According to documents obtained by Talk Soup, President Trump acquired Rumpelstiltskin in 1989, from Andrew Dice Clay--
The Sitch: DICEMAN! 
(Voice of Andrew Dice Clay, from backstage)
Dice: You know it, bro!
(Polite applause from press corps as Dice pokes his head out from curtain, finger guns press corps.)
The Sitch: Fuckin' LOVE that guy.
Reporter 3: Totally. 
The Sitch: Continue.
Reporter 3: And that Rumpelstiltskin was, as late as 1994, shackled in the basement of the Trump Casino in Atlantic City, literally spinning straw into gold.
The Sitch: Yeah. So what?
Reporter 3: But that President Trump declared a loss of nearly a billion dollars the following year.
The Sitch: Yeah. And?
(Mugs to Dice backstage.)
Dice: (Leans out, to Reporter 3.) Ya dildo!
(Hold for press corps laughter. This takes a while)
Reporter 3 (Composing self, wiping away a tear.) Sorry. (To Dice.) This fuckin' guy. So my question is: how is it that one year, President Trump had sole possession of a magical figure, providing him with a literally unending supply of gold for the asking, but then declared a significant loss the following year?
The Sitch: Simple. He kilt him. Who's next?
Reporter 3: I'm sorry. Quick followup. He… he killed him? 
The Sitch: Did I fuckin' stutter?
Dice (from backstage.): OH!
Reporter 3: You did not. I'm just trying to understand. President Trump. Took the life of. Rumpelstiltskin. Who was spinning gold for him. As a… business decision?
The Sitch: Yeah, that's right.
(Stunned silence.)
Reporter 3: Was… was Rumpelstiltskin… sick, or anything?
The Sitch: Nah.
Reporter 3: So. President Trump. Had a limitless profit center. And he… killed that guy?
The Sitch: Guy. Come on. It's not hard.
Reporter 3: No, I know. It's just. Gold. Like, basically infinite gold. For, I don't know, the cost of feeding the guy.
The Sitch: And he choked him out, yeah. What's the mystery?
(Pause.)
Reporter 3: Did… did he have, like King Midas lined up and he fell through, or something?
The Sitch: Look. Friend. Step off, OK? Little man got fat. Prez got a rule. No fatties. So. He kilt him. Big whoop. Move on. Quit bustin' balls. Now who wants a fuckin' t-shirt?
(VP Pence emerges from backstage, wielding a t-shirt cannon. Press corps clamors for an awesome Trump/Pence/Diceman T. Pence fires. Over and over. And it is so fucking sweet, you guys. So, so fucking sweet.)