HUMBUG!
Three Christmas Ghosts Visited Donald Trump Last Night
A Trumpian parody of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol
Former President Donald Trump called into Fox News today to share a wild story in which he claims he was visited by three Christmas ghosts last night:
Last night the strangest, supernatural thing happened to me, and it really opened my eyes! This experience has totally changed how I want to spend the rest of my life! It started off while I was busy doing my “Executive Hours” at Mar-a-Lago, and Eric was complaining how I was making him work on Christmas Eve, and how he was freezing because I wouldn’t turn up the heat, and how he wasn’t comfortable signing all the financial disclosures that the Trump Organization was submitting to the IRS solely by himself.
So I started yelling at him about how easy he has it in life, and how my dad was way tougher on me than I’ve ever been on Eric. He started tearing up a little so I told him I was docking his paycheck $100 for being a pussy.
Then my son-in-law Jared Kushner came into my office and invited me to a Hanukkah dinner. I have always worshipped my daughter Ivanka, and of course her body full of sexy, dominant Trump genetics, but Jared has been real stingy with the $2 billion he got from the Saudis that I deserve a cut of because he got the deal while working in my administration, and he’s refusing to give me a cut of it. It was only because of me letting him use government-owned airplanes that he got to go to Saudi Arabia so many times for free throughout my presidency. But he’s hogging all the money, and it’s not like I can sue him because then everyone will find out the details of the deals we made with Mohammed bin Salman that were maybe not as squeaky clean as we’ve claimed.
So I screamed at him to get out of my office, and never invite me to a “globalist” party ever again because it makes me look bad in front of my friends like Kanye West and Nick Fuentes. The 2024 election is looking like it will be real close, so I can’t afford to lose the Nazi vote by breaking bread with a bunch of Jews, even if one of them is my incredibly smoking hot, bangable daughter Ivanka! I need to keep my Nazi fans’ enthusiasm high because I might need them to try another coup if I lose to Biden again.
Finally I went home and got into bed, cracked open a Diet Coke, and fell asleep to the soft, relaxing sound of Newsmax hosts calling for all my political enemies to be tried for treason. But then I was suddenly awakened by the sound of chains dragging around on the floor, and discovered it was my father, Fred Trump, somehow back from the dead!
At first I assumed I was imagining him, perhaps because of some indigestion from eating too much fried chicken at lunch, or maybe the late-afternoon snack of two Big Macs and a chocolate shake had upset my stomach. But he shook my bed, slapped my face, and called me a loser in the same way I had called Eric a loser earlier that day. He then told me the chains he was wearing were forged throughout his lifetime of greed and selfishness, and he warned me the chains I was currently forging were much longer and heavier than his own. He warned me that I was going to be visited by three ghosts throughout the night, and that, if I didn’t learn from any of their lessons, I was doomed to wander forever carrying chains in the afterlife like him.
The first Ghost to visit me was the Ghost of Christmas Past, and he took me to a Christmas morning many years ago. It was when Don Jr., Ivanka, and Eric were all little, and I was still married to Ivana. We were all playing games, and were so happy.
I sat there with Ivanka sitting on my lap, smiling the biggest smile of my life as she told me she wanted to someday marry someone just like me, and Don Jr. was showing me the D.A.R.E. pledge he signed at school vowing he’d never do drugs, and Eric was sitting on the floor precociously playing with a science experiment kit involving thermometers and various elemental substances I had picked out for him because all the teachers at his school agreed he was the smartest student in all of his classes. It was the best Christmas of my life because it was before Ivanka started puberty and became interested in boys other than me, before Don Jr. stopped ‘giving the cold shoulder’ to drugs, and before Eric put one of those thermometers in his mouth, accidentally broke it, and swallowed all the mercury, forever poisoning his brilliant, gifted, developing brain.
Then the Ghost of Christmas Past snapped his fingers, and took me to a different place, an apartment where I was having an affair behind Ivana’s back. It was the first sexual liaison me and this woman had that didn’t take place in the dark of night with the lights off, and she shrieked when she saw me naked in the light of day. She screamed, “Ew, get that mushroom thing away from me! Is that some kind of freaky STD? Aw, Jesus! Have you infected me with it?” Then the Ghost kept rewinding and replaying her screaming at me over and over, at least fifteen times, until I yelled out for him to take me back home! In a very haunted voice, the Ghost reminded me, from that night on, I’d never have sex again without having to pay for it in cash upfront to get the woman to sign a nondisclosure agreement.
After that, I was visited by the Ghost of Christmas Present, who took me to Jared and Ivanka’s Hanukkah party. They were with their friends, and everyone was having a great time eating and laughing, and they began playing a game of “20 Questions.” I got really into it, and shouted out questions and guesses — though no one could hear me — until it slowly dawned on me that the answer to the round of the game was me! Once they figured out the subject was a politician, they started asking questions like “Is he racist and divisive,” “Has he ever lost reelection?” and “Are his hands the size of a toddler’s?”
They all laughed at me, even Ivanka, who raised her glass for a toast, and announced they should all drink in honor of the fact that she and Jared retired from politics and no longer had to make up excuses for my behavior, like my having dinners with Nazis, or my scamming my supporters with dumb trading card NFTs. It made me a little sad to see how my beloved daughter didn’t respect me, or think of me as the paragon of patriarchal masculinity anymore like she did when she was young.
Then the Ghost of Christmas Present took me to Eric’s house, where his family was eating a meager meal because I dock his pay every time he acts like a loser, which is about every seven minutes. Eric was telling his kids one at a time how much he loved them all, and how he wanted to break his family’s generational cycle of paternal abuse. Then his kids started asking lots of questions about why Grandpa was so mean to him all the time.
One asked, “What’s an abortion, and why did Grandpa tell you you should have been one?”
Then another asked, “Why does Grandpa always put blue candy sugar in his nose and snort it? I’ve heard of a sweet tooth, but not a sweet nostril!”
Then one more said, “When Grandpa took me golfing, I saw him kick his golf ball into the pond when no one was looking, pull a new ball out of his pocket, and toss it much closer to the hole than where the first ball had landed!”
The first one asked, “Grandpa’s hands sure are small for a grown man, aren’t they?”
The second asked, “How come we never see Grandpa and Grandma Melania in the same room together?”
The third said, “Grandpa has had three wives, and I’ve heard him say bad things about all of them!”
And the first said, “I’m not going to fetch Grandpa any more Diet Cokes until he pays me. He says he’ll give me a dollar for each can that I go get for him, but he never pays!”
Eric told his kids that Grandpa had been abused emotionally as a child by his dad, and that’s why he can’t help himself but be a mean jerk to everyone in the same way. “It’s all he knows how to do, unfortunately,” Eric said. He explained that it wasn’t Grandpa’s fault that he didn’t get enough love as a child, but the lack of parental affection did leave him unable to open up his heart and love others like a normal, emotionally stable, and psychologically healthy person. Then Eric opened up his arms to hug all his kids, and told them that he’d always love them no matter what, and that he’d never be mean to them like Grandpa is to him, no matter how much the mercury in his bloodstream fogs up his brain.
I was silent while watching, and sniffed a little, at which point the Ghost of Christmas Present asked me what was wrong. I told the Ghost it was nothing, but that maybe, possibly, I had been a little cruel to Eric earlier in the day. The Ghost started laughing at me with a big, deep chuckle, and I commanded him to stop, but he wouldn’t for quite a while.
The Ghost then removed me from Eric’s house, and I found myself in a cold, dark alley. In front of me in the shadows I heard some footsteps getting closer, and discovered two emaciated children creepily shuffling toward me. The Ghost told me their names were Treason and Insurrection, and I should beware them. The children were growling terrible, guttural sounds, and I tried to run away, but the alleyway led to a bricked dead-end. I turned around to see the children sprinting toward me like crazed zombies, and, right as the children nearly got to me, I blacked out and woke up back in my bed.
Finally the Ghost of Christmas Future, paid me his visit. His face was obscured in his great, big, black cloak, and he didn’t say a word to me. I shouted out for him to show his face, but he just raised his gaunt skeleton hand and pointed at me. I demanded again he show himself, and asked if he was Stephen Miller playing one of his famous “I’m-a-serial-killer-and-I’m-gonna-murder-you” pranks on me, but he walked toward me with his bony fingers until he touched my forehead.
Suddenly I found myself at Mar-a-Lago, but the whole resort was abandoned, in a state of alarming disrepair, and very dusty. I asked the Ghost to explain what happened to all of my belongings, but he just pointed again, this time down the main staircase to the lobby where I discovered Melania and all my kids talking.
“It’s too bad he never actually was a real billionaire, and all this gold stuff is cheap, gaudy, and fake,” said Ivanka.
Then Don Jr. said, “After the estate pays off all his debts, sells off the money-losing properties, and makes all the back payments due from decades of tax fraud, we won’t even inherit enough to buy a dime bag of coke!”
Melania spoke next, and said, “You think you’re disappointed, I spent two miserable decades married to that disgusting, orange slob waiting for him to die and leave me the money, but clearly that money never existed, and I wasted my best years pretending it didn’t fill me with revulsion and fury every time he tried to hold my hand in public.”
Then Ted Cruz and Steve Bannon walked into the lobby, and Ted explained that I had made him do “some Sodom and Gomorrah stuff” in exchange for me endorsing him in his next election, and that he was hoping they all would honor his humiliations by giving him their endorsements.
Steve Bannon announced he had only come by to grab the signed-by-Hitler copy of Mein Kampf he had let Trump borrow. Bannon then said he had used the toilet, but had managed to both miss a little and clog it.
The Ghost snapped his bony fingers again, and transported me to an unkempt gravesite. It was foggy, but, as I walked closer to inspect the gravestone, I was horrified to find my name etched into the stone. It said “HERE LIES DONALD TRUMP, 1946–2027, FAIR & SQUARE LOSER OF 3 POPULAR VOTES.” I let out a scream, and grabbed the Ghost’s cloak. “Tell me it isn’t true!” I demanded. “Ghost, tell me I’m not a loser! Tell me the elections were rigged, and I was cheated! Tell me I’m a winner!”
The Ghost said nothing at first, and just started laughing the most terrifying cackle I’ve ever heard. He roared with a laughter that shook my bones, and he bellowed out in the deepest voice I’ve ever heard the word “loser” over and over until I covered my ears with my hands. It wouldn’t end, and I began sobbing. I collapsed to the ground and rolled around in the mud begging for a chance to change things. I yelled out to the Ghost that I would change, and, in between sobs, I begged him to take me back to my room so I could wake up in the morning and become a different man. If only I could be allowed to try and avoid the prophecies I had seen!
At last, I woke up in my Mar-a-Lago bed, and was relieved to discover it had all been a dream. This Mar-a-Lago wasn’t dusty and empty. But how vividly the dream remained in my mind! Then I remembered Christmas. I wasn’t sure what day it was. Had I missed Christmas? I jumped out of bed, and ran downstairs to the breakfast buffet where I found an oddly youthful servant I hadn’t remembered ever hiring.
I said, “Boy! You, boy there! What day is it? Tell me at once!”
The boy said, “Dad, it’s Christmas morning,” and I giggled like a child. So I hadn’t missed Christmas!
“There’s still time!” I shouted. The boy said, “Dad, are you okay?” so I reprimanded the servant for calling me “Dad,” and I told him he was fired, and demanded to know who had hired such a young child for my house staff.
He yelled out, “Mom, I think Dad did too much Adderall this morning, or huffed too many Sharpie markers!”
But I was too filled with relief that I hadn’t missed Christmas to further admonish this disobedient, suspiciously juvenile waiter. I had so much I had to do to make good on my promise to the Ghost of Christmas Future!
So I picked up my phone and made a bunch of calls to ensure that the vision of the unkempt gravestone recording for all of history that I was a loser would never, ever come true. I called Don Jr. and told him I was suing him for $5 billion for damages to my brand tarnishing my name with his drug habits.
I called Ivanka and told her that because she was now over 40 and was Jewish, my new favorite daughter was Stephanie, or Bethany, or whatever her name is.
I called Eric and told him to stop being so soft and loving with his kids because he was going to turn them into even bigger failures in life than he was.
I called Melania and told her I was divorcing her because she was over 50, and that, while I had thought for a while the plastic surgery was making her hotter, I could now see she had done too many operations and was getting a creepy alien look in her eyes that made me worry Alex Jones was right when he once whispered in my ear that she might be a reptilian shapeshifter.
I called Ted Cruz and told him that, even though he had done so many disgusting, violating, and criminal things for my endorsement, I was still never going to give it to him because his desperate attempts to curry favor with me were the most pathetic displays of self-emasculation I’ve ever seen.
And, finally, I called Steve Bannon and told him that, as long as he promised to bathe at least once a week, I was ready to agree to his plan to publicly deputize all the Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, 3 Percenters, and QAnon conspiracists as “MAGA Knights” to do another coup, fight against the US military, and make me Dictator of America at any pyrrhic cost.
So thanks to all the Christmas Ghosts last night for showing me the horrible future that could have awaited me in 2024 had I not changed my ways! I was going to act on all the lessons the Ghosts had for me, and not be a loser. Because Donald J. Trump is a winner! The Ghosts showed me I have been far too soft, generous, humble, and obedient to the law, and I was about to let it ruin my legacy!
There is no future more sad than a gravestone that says “LOSER,” so I vow right now that I’ll do whatever it takes to defeat all my enemies in 2024, crown myself as a dictator on day one, win my vengeance, and etch “WINNER” myself on my gravestone with a pressure washer using as much blood of this great nation as it takes.
As the Ghosts of Christmas as my witness, and all the Fox News viewers watching this right now, I will destroy all my enemies! Our enemies! God damn them, every one!
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