Every holiday season, the phrase “Bah, humbug!” inevitably rears its overused head as a nod to the seasonal lessons garnered from Charles Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. Thanks to this particular piece of Victorian prose, we are all well-aware of how a typical Christmas should pan out: a wildly-flawed human being gets advice from some visiting ghosts (which I’m pretty sure was the Victorian equivalent of Scared Straight!), learns the true meaning of Christmas, and lifts a tiny boy up on his shoulders.
Using this logic, it only stands to reason that Donald Trump, our modern day equivalent of Ebenezer Scrooge, would learn the errors of his offensive and ill-advised behavior with the assistance of some helpful Christmas eve ghosts.
When Trump goes to bed on December 24, wearing his antiquated nightcap and dressing gown (as rich people do), Dickensian logic dictates that he will be visited by four spirits, who will attempt to get through to him and offer a bit of humanity. (And if you’re wondering where Melania will be, I think it’s pretty obvious that homegirl sleeps in a separate bedroom.)
The whole ghost parade is set off when Trump sends out one last tweet on Christmas Eve before going to sleep: “A Christmas Carol is very overrated. No one appreciates hardworking Ebenezer Scrooge, and they’re all jealous. SAD.”
The Ghost Of Marlee — Marlee Matlin, That Is
Ebenezer Scrooge was visited by his former business partner, Jacob Marley, to caution him against living a life of greed. However, since it is unlikely that many of Trump’s chosen business partners would choose to issue him words of warning on this matter, I predict that Trump will instead be visited by the spirit of Marlee Matlin — the esteemed actress whom he mocked on The Apprentice for being deaf (who is very much alive).
Marlee (dragging the heavy chains of the patriarchy) will deliver some wise words about the meaning of life, and Trump will pretend that he cannot understand her when she speaks. Marlee will tell him to sit back and ready his ass for some f*cking ghosts, the likes of which he has never seen. Trump will pretend that he still cannot understand what she is saying.
Marlee will then give him the universal hand signal for “bite me,” which is obviously the finger, and disappear in a puff of Emmys (all of which evaporate when Trump tries to touch them).
The Ghost Of ‘Pieces Of Ass’ Past
The first ghost will appear as the clock strikes one, and will inevitably be an amalgam of all the women that Trump has made inappropriately sexual remarks about in his past.
The ghost takes Trump back in time, and forcing him to relive every sexist and crude bit of commentary that has ever crossed his lips. Trump doesn’t bat an eyelash, and remarks instead on how good he looks in all of these past memories — although he will express some remorse that he didn’t succeed in persuading more of these women to sleep with him.
“That’s not the point,” the spirit sighs, exasperated.
“I’m just saying, my hands are yuge,” he replies.
As a last-ditch effort to impart some empathy, the spirit then shows Trump a vision where he is competing in his very own beauty pageant. In the vision, the judges verbally lambast him with the same level of criticism that he himself reserves for women. Trump scoffs and calls the spirit’s vision “highly unrealistic.”
The spirit returns him to his bedroom, and disappears before he has the chance to proposition her.
The Unpaid Workers Of Christmas Present
Trump wakes up a while later and notices a light coming from the next room. He gets up to investigate, and discovers that the second ghost is raiding his refrigerator, and has taken the shape of one of his contractors. Trump scolds him for eating his food, and the contractor gently reminds him that it’s the least Trump can do, since he has avoided paying the contractor his due salary.
The ghost then takes him on a flyover journey of Manhattan, soaring over buildings and skyscrapers, while Trump’s straw-like combover flaps freely in the night wind. They fly over residences, and the ghost gleefully points out all of the workers that Trump has still neglected to pay in full. Trump dismisses the lot of them as “losers” who simply didn’t work hard enough.
“What if I didn’t like their work?” Trump asks. “Doesn’t that allow me to subtract money from the previously agreed-upon amount?”
“That’s not how contracts work,” the ghost replies.
“Okay, but what if I didn’t like their face?”
“I’m not explaining this to you again.”
The ghost drops Trump back in his bedroom, and disappears, leaving behind a subpoena.
The Ghost Of Scandals Yet To Come
Trump is awoken by the presence of the third ghost, which looms over his bed in a dark, hooded cloak. For once, he is scared speechless. The ghost does not speak, but merely beckons for Trump to follow it into the darkness.
Trump gazes upon a room full of reporters, who are mercilessly grilling the White House press secretary with questions about an unnamed President, who was recently impeached. The press secretary reveals that the former President perpetually sided with foreign interests over that of his own country, and that his affair with Vladimir Putin was simply the final straw for the American people. The unnamed President was finally impeached for treason.
Despite the somber words, everyone in the room seems happy, and there is laughter in the air. Trump is confused, but the general spirit of the room is contagious, and he finds himself smiling and applauding at the end of what has to be the most emotive press conference that he’s ever witnessed in his life.
“Who was this idiot anyway?” he asks the tall, cloaked ghost.
The ghost does not respond, but simply holds up a notepad. On the pad, the words “You, dummy” are written in bold letters.
Trump is utterly aghast and falls to his knees, weeping and asking the spirit if he’s showing him a future that is yet to come, or a future that has already come to pass. The spirit, as usual, gives him the silent treatment before disappearing.
Trump wakes up in a cold sweat, tangled in his bedsheets, and realizes he still has time to alter his future and avoid becoming an American disgrace.
Unfortunately, this notion lasts about five seconds before Trump simply dismisses all of the evening’s events as a bad dream. He checks the time, and receives a phone alert telling him that he has an intelligence briefing in twenty minutes. He presses “Ignore,” and promptly rolls over and goes back to sleep.