Trump is dreaming. He's building the biggest wall, the hugest wall, thousands of feet tall and a half-mile wide. But it's not on the border: It surrounds the White House and Trump Tower and features "Mexicans and Muslims: Keep Out!" in huge block lettering, over and over for all 226 miles.
He slowly comes out of his stupor, induced by a handful of valium after a big-league meth and Adderall binge the night before. His chin and tie are slathered in drool. It's 11:48 a.m.
"Bannon?" says Trump groggily. "Steve, get in here."
Weaselly little Reince Preibus pokes his head in the door. "Sorry, boss, he's at a big Breitbart Youth recruitment event. What's up?"
"Where's Pence?" bellows Trump. "Goddamn it, bring me Pence!"
Reince shakes his head. "Mike's at his conversion therapy session. Just a little tune-up after his big spree seeing shows on Broadway."
Trump grumbles. "Bring me Ivanka!"
"Uh, she's on QVC selling officially licensed Trump Administration jewelry," says Preibus.
"You fucking rat!" shrieks Trump. "Bring me Donald, Jr., and pronto!"
"He's shooting endangered animals somewhere."
"She won't see you. She says you are dead to her."
"This is all your fault!" yells Trump. "You fucking fuck!"
Preibus takes the verbal assault without missing a beat. He's getting used to it. "How about Eric? He's downstairs."
"No, he's a feeb. No!" Trump begins to sob.
A rare expression of concern crosses Preibus' face. "Can I help you out, chief?"
Trump, naked from the waist down and seated on his gilded toilet, raises his head, despondent. "Yes, Reince. Bring me some toilet paper. All this meth is wreaking havoc on my system."