DREAM A LITTLE DREAM WITH TRUMP

"Whatz The Day Trump Goes Away (For Good)?” 

Author STEPHEN WEIR's business card

FICTION: A Windsor U Creative Writing Assignment by STEPHEN WEIR

The gentle tap tap quickly birthed a knock knock followed by a kick kick at the base of my front door. Someone wanted me wide awake, like yesterday.

“Hey Dream Boy, rise and shine,” barked a loud voice from the other side of my solid oak front door. Was that a faint French accent lurking in that military staccato?

“ Mange la merde”, I screamed back.  I wasn’t going to give up on my disturbing nightmare without a fight and I knew this man.

“ It’s Justin, he knows.” My unrequested wake-up service out shrieked me. This wasn’t going to end well.

“What does his majesty know? And why does he suddenly want to speak to me after the last time? “I took it down a notch.

“The PM knows about you and Monsieur Trump. Aussi Mr. Joe.”

‘How could this be?’ I asked myself.  I only finished the dream when he started kicking the door minutes ago.

‘“Come in asshole.” I swung open the door and gave a sweeping one-arm salute. Standing ramrod straight in front of me was a tall, tall soldier. White hair. Braided hat tucked stiff under his armpit. Five stars on each shoulder.

I don’t have to modesty up. I had come home from the Press Dinner last night in my 20-year-old suit and almost pressed black dress shirt. I musta blacked out as soon as I walked through the door. I don’t know what my fully dressed face plant in the front hall was all about. I haven’t had a drink since that Putin dream 1 year, 11 months and 11 days ago. 

Shame about PooTee. It wasn’t my fault, or at least I don’t think it was. Anyway, not even the Red Square generals shed tears.

“This is strictly off the record.  There is a special prison cell waiting for any grandbouche fifi grappeau "

He wasn’t kidding. Last time we’d met he and two bully boy CSIS officers had picked me up by my armpits and waddled me out of a full blown. speaking-in-tongues Black Methodist service.

I had dreamt that Trudeau was going to join the congregation in a hush hush revival service. Flash. I woke up, grabbed my camera and hit-the-door-running. Minutes later I was embedded at the far back reaches of the church. It was to be my stop-the-presses front page spread. A TikTok pay day moment. Justin had that sixth sense that all A-list celebs do. Preternatural. He could smell the media!  Canada’s number one guy nodded at his “team” and I was out the door. I stood on the sidewalk hoping to snap a picture of him walking down the steps ahead of the fawning congregation. No way, Jose. My escort stood chest to my chin until the limo pulled away.

No Stretch this time. As I was getting pulled out of my house and down to the street, an armoured Hummer with a machine gun turret and sharpshooter at the ready, screamed to a full stop at the sidewalk’s edge. Horrors. It was a NO PARKING spot, in Toronto no less. I knew the PM was PO’d.

The Hummer door opened. Justin was in full body armour. So, chic. “Bonjour mon amie, been to church lately?” He sneer-laughed at me.

I don’t kiss ass to any man that brings a combat tank to a Sunday drive. I let my morning burps, grunts and farts do my talking.

“It is for your own safety, Steve”. The PM was suddenly all serious.“ Trump didn’t like that latest dream. He really really didn’t like that dream. Don’t suppose you can take it back? “

“ He knows? “ I gasped. “And about my success rate?”

“ Yes he knows, everybody knows” Justin yelled at me. Spit hit my mouth and chin (at least one of us got to brush this morning - he actually tasted pretty good) 

“  Like Alex Jones, Tucker Carlson and ex-Canadian Ted Cruz?” I went all gape mouth.

“Stephen. When I say the whole world. I mean every single person on the planet that dreams in English. Everyone. Look out the window.”

Author STEPHEN WEIR's business card

I guess he is the spitter in command. I used the elbow of my shirt to wipe the side portal glass clean-dry. He was right. Thousands were surrounding the Hummer.  Many held crudely written lipstick signs.

“ Whatz The Day Trump Goes Away (For Good)?” was one of the more popular. My fav was written by Jimmy Kimmel.” One Million US for 10 minutes tonight.”

“IF you get me a mill in cash, I will join you” stage whispered Justin.

Time for my Big Question. “ How much do they know? “

“It was at the dot of midnight,” explained Trudeau. “ It was like one of those Amber Alerts you get on the phone, only louder.”

“We could see your back. You were leaning your head through a small door. We could hear you Tsk Tsk and Mon Dieu”, he continued. “Everyone knows you are the dude who dreams people into death.”

“It was the big one. The liar and chief. The orange guy. You said Sweet Dreams 45, today on the 11th.”

I thought it was case closed but apparently not. I neglected to say how he will die. Murder. Suicide. An overdose of Adderall? How about a past-dated Whopper (or three)? And what is the lucky month?

Timing is everything. The think tank on Parliament Hill is working on a trade deal with the US. Should they rush it through before the Orange Guy keels over, or wait until after, when there is a new mood in Washington.

The Republicans want to know who to blame. Melania wants to know how long until she is free. The banks want to know when they should start foreclosure. Fox News wants to know when they have to change formats.

 

And So Time Passes

 

Everyone wants me to dream and tell. The demonstrations in front fade. Okay I am a patriot. I did tell the PM the two digits before 11, but the rest of the English dreaming world will have to wait.  I hear Trump has taken back the dime he has tried to drop on me. He now crows I have lost my mojo and only he knows how to beat my nightmare predictions. 

Last night I went to a church revival with Justin.  He had remembered what today’s date is. He said I fell down on the alter and screamed in some ancient 

language. 

I woke on the floor behind my door. The army guy had dumped me there. What was happening to me?

KFC Arm Band worn at the news of Trump's demise

I can hear cheering from every direction of the compass.  I can see flags at half mast. The lights are dimmed at McDonalds. KFC staff wear black arm bands. I was right. Today is December the 11th.

I think I will call Jimmy Kimmel. One lingering question, is TV America ready to hear how the big guy died?

I know the answer, I dreamt it last night. And yes Trudeau joins me on the show when I laugh and say Trump pulled an Elvis (or was it a Genghis Khan?)

(Ⓒ Copywritten STEPHEN WEIR November 8, 2022