The BEST Funeral Ever
What would happen if Trump died? A speculative fiction satire.
The king is dead, long live the king. He lay in repose in an orange taffeta lined casket, draped in multiple American flags. Garish? Yes. Unexpected, no. The bloom on his cheek, drawn on as in life. He smelt vaguely of fried chicken as a slight grease stain spread on the taffeta.
The mourners where inconsolable. They screamed and tore at their tee shirts, cut-offs and Mega hats. What would they do if reality came rushing back into the country? Would it be possible to control the population without him?
Let’s go back to the beginning of the day. It began at the barbershop with a quick tint of golden highlights. A man’s got to keep up appearances, for in fact what is a man but an illusion. He is what he says he is. Honestly, how do you gauge a person? He thought a lot about his presentation. The visual was everything. He seemed to forget that a spoiled core would eventually leak out and stain the sharpest suit.
The unseen counts in many aspects of life. His heart knew that, as did his various blood vessels. They screamed for some relief. The fried chicken for breakfast had been the breaking point, quite literally. Three or four lumps of cholesterol broke off at the same time traveling through his veins till they reached a narrow junction in the brain and stopped his bid…
