“Let Them Eat Steak” Trump Victory Ends in Blaze of Dyspepsia

Excerpted from Town and Country Bumpkin March 11, 2017

By Oliver D. Berger @oldberger

After another stunning sweep in the Republican primary, front runner Donald Trump has gone on the offensive. In a ploy to bely Mitt Romney’s recent aspersion of his business acumen, Mr. Trump has decided to organize a fete, at which select invitees will have the opportunity to experience his multivariate business enterprises.

“Mitt [Romney] says all my businesses go belly-up?” Trump argued at the post primary press conference. “Well, how about this Mitt: we’re going to have six reporters from the best press in America (no failing New York Times!) onboard my plane at Trump Airlines !”

As the assistant editor of a local ersatz farmers almanac in a deeply Red State, I was fortunate enough to be randomly selected.

Here is my firsthand account of the events that transpired during Donald Trump’s aerial victory lap.

“I got it for a nothing, nothing,” Trump boasted as he stooped to enter the chest-high passenger door of the Soviet-era Tupelov Tu-154. “Best. Deal. Ever. Go ahead, go ahead. Me first, me first. Stand anywhere you like. (Seats are for me.) Now, we’ve got Trump Steak. Brett, you got those old Trump steaks out of deep freeze?”

Brett Boot, Trump’s head of operations, answered in the affirmative, indicating that he had also brought some Trump Wine for the celebration.

“Heheheh, how you like that folks?” Trump asked. “Steak. And. Wine. Does it get better than that? Am I right? Let me tell you something, you’re never going to taste a better Steak. Who needs ketchup? After me.”

While we were choking down the steak and chumming the wine–more vinegar than vin blanc–the provost of Trump University, Historian Eloise Brand, delivered a stirring encomium for Mr. Trump.

In 1884 when the Queen of England looked down on the German settlers of the Cincinnati River Delta and said: “Let Them Eat Steak,” one of the tired, the weary, the bemused, refused to accept the insult in Teutonic silence. 

“Remembers the Alamo!” Grandpa Drumpf declaimed, knowing in his Master Race heart that Steaks and Freedom would one day bestir the hearts of Americans Made Great Again. 

Professor Brand at that point ceased speaking. With a blank eyes and lips twisted in a rigor of discomfort, a terrific ripping sound came from the seat of her pantsuit.

As we would later find out, Trump had kept his steaks on dry ice for the two decades since this particular enterprise went bankrupt. Soon every passenger, myself included, was queueing up for the sole toilet.

To make matters worse, the plane began to roll. The pilot, who had received his piloting license from Trump University, addressed us over the intercom: “Because I’m panicking and shitting my pants, I’m going to try something I saw in a movie.”

As I hung from my seatbelt, I saw Donald Trump wresting the sole golden parachute from Brett Boot’s trembling hands.

“Listen Brett,” Trump said as he strapped the chute on. “You let these sonfabitches on this plane know that if they try to sue: Donald Trump doesn’t settle! I always wiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnn….”

And then our erstwhile host was gone, plummeting towards the earth.
*This article has been updated:

It has been reported that Donald Trump survived the incident, and has gone on to win the presidency.

THIS POST IS SATIRE!

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