There was a time when selling or trading one’s immortal soul would entail a trip to the local cemetery, being there precisely at midnight, preferably in the company of a devilish coven, and drawing a few drops of blood from one of your fingers with a very sharp knife in order to sign the bottom of a parchment paper filled with words in a cryptic lingo while chanting an oath in the midst of humming converts.
Not anymore.
Nowadays, these unholy actions are carried out in the top floor of a high-rise building and formalized with a rare special edition gold plated Sheaffer pen in a scenario pretty much like the one that will play in the following story.
The characters and events portrayed in this story are purely fictional (cross my fingers behind my back) and any similarities to real persons from real life are purely coincidental (cross my fingers again behind my back).
Donald Duck is a registered trademark of the Walt Disney Company.
The Ronald MacDonalds clown in a registered trademark of the MacDonalds Corporation.
Don Aldo is a registered trademark of Martinez Mega Productions Incorporated.
Drumpfy’s Wall is a trademark of whomever wants to claim it.
A man dressed as a flamboyant top executive sitting behind a wide luxurious desk shuffles thorugh the pages of a paperback with the title The Subtle Art of the Crooked Deal while saying to himself:
-The guy who wrote this stuff is a genius, a true genius. Not an apprentice, but a true master in the fine art of the crooked deal. He should be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, the Pulitzer prize, or the Purple Heart...
-The Purple Heart, Mister Drumpfy?- exclaims with amazement one of his subordinates standing up in front of him, trying to correct his boss without actually correcting him.
-Something like that.
-As always, Mister Drumpfy, you are right, your voice is the voice of true reason. You are the greatest.
-Yeah. Well, time is money, my money, and we must continue on with this briefing, since I wanna keep getting richer and richer until I have become richer than Uncle Scrooge, richer than the Crown Prince of Qatar, richer than...
-...that Mexican impresario named Carlos Slim?- adds the subordinate, unwittingly provoking the anger of Mister Drumpfy:
-You’re fired!
With a mean look in his face, the Donald asks his remaining subordinates:
-Any more wise guys here?
Unable to utter a single word, the subordinates leave all the talking to Mister Drumpfy:
-What else is new?
-A pesky Mexican blogger who has never been very fond of you has just published another spoof on you.
-He has?
-Indeed he has, Mister Drumpfy, indeed he has.
-Let me guess. By any chance, does he happen to be this guy... I believe his name is Romano, or Armado, or something like that... and his family name is Martini, or Martino or Marzini, or something like that?
-Something like that, Mister Drumpfy, something like that.
-Who or what does he think he is, to question my greatness?
-He has also written two new books entitled Let Don Aldo be Don Aldo, a book about a mischievous businessman who goes into politics and ends up cuckoo, and The Crazy Antics of Don Aldo, a book about the same devious businessman who goes even nuttier after losing a major presidential election and is kicked out in disgrace from the political party he hijacked, both of which are flying off the shelves, these beside another book due to come out on Christmas describing the clownish blunders of a former Mafia boss who was kicked from the Syndicate due to his erratic behavior and who later became an entrepreneur-turned-politician who ends up becoming the laughing stock of the establishment...
-He won’t take the bait, he’s not that dumb.
-In that case, make the usual phone call to Immigration denouncing him so he can be deported.
-He doesn’t even live in the USA, nor does he want to.
-He doesn’t?
-Nope.
-%#@*^%@#$*! (Curses!)
With his face redder than usual, taking a deep breath, Mister Drumpfy asks for more updates.
-So what else is new?
-Don’t look back, Mister Drumpfy, but outside the main window pane two guys have unfurled and placed a Mexican flag, one of them disguised as El Santo and the other one disguised as El Zorro.
-What the...? So what are you waiting for? Call some of my goons... err... I mean, my security guards, so they can nab those latino punks and bring them to me for their proper punishment.
-Impossible, Mister Drumpfy.
-Wadda ya mean, impossible? Because this is the top floor of my high-rise Drumpfy Tower?
-No. Because they just jumped a few minutes ago all the down, releasing their glider parachutes, taking them off quickly along with their disguises, and disappearing into the subway.
-%#@*^%@#$*%#@*^%@#$*! (Curses, foiled again!)
Taking another deep breath, Drumpfy adds:
-This briefing is over! Everybody out!
Hastily obeying his command, his subordinates clear the room in less that two seconds, while Drumpfy takes three deep breaths before seeking reassurance.
While combing his hair meticulously, the big man stands in front of a wall mirror and asks:
-Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest, most clever, most wisest of them all?
The genie behind the mirror responds:
-You really wanna know? You really wanna know? Here it is. It is that Mexican guy named...
-Get lost!
At the behest of an irate Mister Drumpfy who calls one of his thugs... err... security guards, the mirror is promptly dismounted and taken to the edge of the outside window, being dangled like a pendulum while the mirror wails to save itself from its crushing fate.
-It’s seven years of bad luck, Drumpfy. For you, that is. Don’t throw me out, don’t throw me down, please! I beg you. You are the greatest! Honest to goodness!
-You’re fired!
And the mirror begins to fall all the way down towards its Drumpfy-decreed fate, but not before reflecting back the image of Mister Drumpfy not as Ronald MacDonalds but as Twisty the clown while adding:
-You are no Ronald. You are a freak of Nature, you are scum among the scum, I’m more than glad that I will never see your ugly face again nor will I have to endure your bad breath. Yipes!
-%#@*^%@#$*! (Even more curses!)
After everybody has gone out before Drumpfy gets another gripe, a gorgeous blonde secretary in stiletto heels gingerly dares to enter into his office, saying to him in a soft voice:
-Mister Drumpfy. There is a man outside your office who is eagerly waiting to see you.
-Does he have an appointment?
-Yes, he does. He came here to sign the Eternal Pledge of Allegiance and Unconditional Loyalty Contract.
-Very well. By the way, is he a Mexican?
-He doesn’t look like one, Mister Drumpfy.
-In that case, you can let him in.
Fidgeting with a plastic figurine of Donald Duck, Mister Drumpfy stands up while the man enters into his office, feigning good humor and exclaiming:
-Welcome to my lair! Donald’s my name, and casinos and gambling... err... I mean... Donald’s my name, and dealing’s my game.
Putting up front a wide and deceiving smile, the top gun adds:
-Are you related to any Mexican either by marriage, love affairs, business related relationships or whatever?
-No, Mister Drumpfy. I don’t even have a Mexican maid. As a matter of fact, my grandfather used to be a Grand Dragon of the KKK.
-Are you ready to swear by what you are saying?
-Yes, if that’s what it takes to be called one of your very own.
-In that case, put your hand over this paperback I’m holding, and repeat after me: I do most solemly swear that I do not have anything to do with any Mexican immigrants, legal or undocumented.
-Do people from Europe, I mean, from Spain, true hispanics, none born in Mexico or South America, also count as the forbidden ones?
-They’re all the same, Mexicans, chicanos, latinos, spaniards, you name it. Now let’s continue with your pledge.
-I think I would like to check first if I have a nobleman from the Spanish empire whom my mother once told me he could be my great great great great grandfather. If so, I would be unworthy to kneel before your presence.
-Are you going to waste my time? Because if so, I’ll have my goons, err... I mean, my security guards, throw you out the window just as they did with that blasted wall mirror for which I do not have any more use. Don’t forget that this is a fifty stories high building, and we’re at the top floor.
-No Mister Drumpfy. I’m one of your tens of thousands of admirers. I will support you no matter what you say, no matter what you do, no matter what happens.
-Cross your heart?
-Cross my heart.
-In that case, all is well. Take a seat. It is now time for you to sign your Eternal Pledge of Allegiance and Unconditional Loyalty Contract.
-Can I have a copy of the contract?
-Of course, but only after you’ve signed it.
-Do I have any right?
-Sure you do.
-I don’t see any mention of them in the contract.
-It’s all in the fine print.
-What fine print?
-It’s at the end of the document.
-I can’t see anything except a very thin line.
-That’s the fine print.
-I can’t read any legible text in that thin line.
-Of course you can’t. You need a high power scanning electron microscope in order to read it.
-And where am I supposed to get one?
-You can borrow mine here in this building, but only after you have signed the contract.
Feeling a little bit uneasy, the aspiring parishioner of the Drumpfy cult takes with his shaky right hand the rare special edition gold plated Sheaffer pen handed over to him by Mister Donald Drumpfy, putting his signature on the contract that will bind him for all eternity to the Donald. Once the point of no return has been reached, Mister Drumpfy adds:
-Did you bring the offering?
-The offering?
-Something to pay homage to me in order to be considered worthy of joining those who worship me. It is a prerequisite to seal the deal with which you will honor me and praise me and obey me and...
-Ah, yes! A present, a gift. I was told over the phone of such a condition in order to close the deal and become one of your loyal followers in order to enjoy the happiness of being a Donald Drumpfy soldier. With such a thing in mind, I gave my wife quite a bit of money in order in order to procure a meal fit for a king, and it is here in this box I brougth along with me. Bon appetit!
Mister Drumpfy does not waste time savoring what appear to be delicacies brought from afar, perhaps the Orient, especially the crunchy and spicy corn chips covered with cheese-based sauce, the smashed avocado mingled with coriander and onion bits, and the delicious fried corn treats filled with chopped meat, lettuce, tomatoes and cheese. With a grin in his face while tasting the smorgasboard of fine cooking, The Donald cannot resist the urge to ask:
-This is indeed foodstuff fit for the gods, I mean, for someone like me. What exquisite cuisine have you brought me as offering?
Searching inside the box for the menu list, the face of the aspiring apprentice displays shock as he begins to read the description of the food he has brought as proper homage to Mister Drumpfy whose face becomes puffy as he gorges the meal.
-Well, what is the type of cuisine you have brought me?
-Oh, no! Mister Drumpfy, please forgive me, please forgive my wife. I will teach her a lesson she will not forget as soon as I return home.
-What? I order you to tell me immediately, what have you brought me?
-Among the items in the meal, I read here that the crunchy and spicy corn chips covered with cheese-based sauce are Nachos and without the cheese-based sauce are simply tostadas, the mashed avocado mingled with coriander and onion bits is actually guacamole, the delicious fried corn treats filled with chopped meat, lettuce, tomatoes and cheese are tacos spiced with a tinge of chipotle sauce, and there is of course a big enchilada spiced with jalapeño peppers.
-The whole enchilada?
-The whole enchilada.
Displaying an anguish he cannot hide, Mister Drumpfy cries out:
-You mean that all this, all of what I have eaten, is Mexican food?
-Yes Mister Drumpfy. I’m truly sorry. Please forgive me. It was a special order from Mighty Taco, that Mexican outfit from Long Island. I should have checked before bringing this offering to you.
With his face turning blue, falling down to the floor while contorting as the possesed little girl in the motion picture The Exorcist, Mister Drumpfy begins to scream and cry in deep agony.
-What have you done, you unworthy fink, look at me, just look at me!
His body lying across the floor and jumping like a Mexican jumping bean, Mister Drumpfy adds:
-I’m melting! Melting! Oh, what a world, what a world!
After contorting and twisting and turning for a while, with a poof just like the one portrayed by Jack Nicholson near the end in one of the final scenes of The Witches of Eastwick with which he makes his exit, so does Mister Drumpfy. In a burst of exhilaration, the thugs, err... the security guards and the employees and the secretary and all the assistants of Mister Drumpfy begin to jump and sing with joy frolicking as if it was Christmas:
-Hail the newcomer! Ding, dong, the wicked boss is gone! The wicked boss is gone!
All the while, a mariachi band down the street plays Cielito lindo and other famous tunes as El Son de la Negra. The fiesta doesn’t last long, for the heirs of Mister Drumpfy as well as his wife and ex wives storm into the office looking for... Mister Drumpfy? Hell no! His final will and testament. His heirs, wife and ex wives will most surely fight to their last breath in order to grab most of what they can get out of the wealth left by behind by Mister Donald Drumpfy. Like father, like sons and wife and ex wives.
And what ever happened to Mister Drumpfy? Well, he has gone all the way down to the welcoming arms of El Diablo in a very hot place decorated with lava flows where he will have time to chat with El Diablo for a long long time, no doubt trying to make a deal with El Diablo using the art of the deal, trying to make amends for a job poorly done. He will be very busy attempting to strike a deal with his only true boss and master, while all his greedy inheritors at the Drumpfy Tower including his greedy lawyers will keep themselves very busy trying to kill each other in order to get a hold of all the money left behind by Mister Donald Drumpfy.
Ode to the Donald
Humpty Drumpfy sat on a wall, (the Trump wall, that is)
grumpy Drumpfy had a great fall, (he fell on the US side, fortunately)
and all of his friends
and all of his goons
and all of his crowds
Republicans too
could not put back Drumpfy
together again.
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