"My fellow Americans, winning has become won so I resign with a happy heart turning over the presidency to Vice President Donald Trump Jr."
The sound you just heard was ten million liberal heads exploding at once.
You beat me to it; I was going to post somethings similar, but you did it better!
A park bench, somewhere in Middle America. Two people sit side-by-side, sharing a grease-stained bag of popcorn, occasionally throwing a meager kernel or two at the grackles pecking gravel at their feet.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it Jimmy? Just two years ago, we were well-known TV personalities, living the high life back in civilization, telling everyone what to think. Then…”
“Yeah, Chels. Then that bloated pig barged into office on the back of Facebook ads paid for by Vlad The Enabler. God, I couldn’t believe it! You know, I got canned for kneeling during my monologue? Could you have ever imagined? Fired for speaking truth to power at 10 pm in front of ten million obese idiots who voted for a dumpy moron? Me? With a degree from Columbia!”
“I bared my boobs during prime time.”
“Well, Chels, if you’d have had that lift you need, first…”
“I will not be dictated to by some pseudo-male just because he Tweeted “How low can you go?” She takes off her hat and beats Jimmy with it.
“That wasn’t the reason, Chels, and you know it. It was the tattoo of his face on one and the letters POTUS on the other that got those manipulated white supremacists to throw their flat screens into the street and drive their monster trucks over them.”
“But he is a boob, Jimmy.”
“And so was your entire audience. Past tense.”
“I thought the entire skit was funny, didn’t you?”
“Chels, you copied it from a graffiti on the men’s room stall!”
Chels pulls back, outrage expressed in every line of her body. “How did you know that?”
“I put it there. What were you doing in the men’s room, anyway?”
“I was having a fluid day.”
Both people sit up straighter and nudge each other. “Quick! Hide the popcorn! Someone’s coming!” Jimmy dumps the popcorn on the ground, to the delight of the birds.
A woman pushing a stroller walks slowly by. From behind his back, Jimmy pulls a crudely lettered sign. “I’m a Trump victim.”
“Spare change?” Chels says, hopefully. The woman gives them the once-over, then bends forward to shield her child’s eyes, whispering, “We don’t wanna see the ishies, do we, sweetie?” as she hurries past. Once the stroller is safely past the bench, she turns her head and hisses, “Get a job, you freaks.”
The woman with the stroller continues down the path as Jimmy and Chels scrabble in the dirt for the last few kernels of popcorn. One grackle lands on Jimmy’s head and deposits bird residue. Chels laughs. Jimmy pushes her. Grackles converge and peck them both to death.