A Very Trumpy Christmas Carol

Trump woke with a start.

He could hear the steady jackhammering of the ballroom construction nearby. His phone was still nestled in its charger beside the bed, next to his morning McMuffin. Miracle of miracles! It was all still happening! The spirits had managed that!

It was all as it had been the night before, when he had drifted off to his troubled and eventful sleep, beset by stomach rumblings and something -- what was it? Misgivings? Second thoughts about a tweet? Humbug! He had thought to himself. It’s just losers being losers, he had muttered to JD Vance as the younger man was giving his feet their nightly attentions.

But now! Awake! Alive! The Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future had made their visitations! Trump was perplexed as to what to do next. Should he tweet out a series of kindnesses? Merry Xmas to Sweet Rosie O’Donnell! Or perhaps a cheery Happy Holidays to our Wonderful Chair of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System! Or a more somber note: Some of my recent remarks on this and other platforms were cruel and regrettable and beneath the dignity of the Office of the -- No, no, too many words! Trump twisted and tangled his sheets in excitement.

He sprang from his bed with such an energetic start that he needed to sit down for a moment to catch his breath. There would be no time this morning for the usual hair and makeup! No time for Fox & Friends! The spirits had given him a second chance and he refused to waste a moment of it. I shall send measles vaccines to South Carolina! I shall have James Comey to supper! I shall allow all children to have more than two dolls!

He was stopped in his thoughts by the church bells ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding, hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!

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Running to the window, he tried to open it and put out his head. Thankfully, he could not! The spirits had left the elaborate security windows intact! But outside: no fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sunlight; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious! And the workers building the new ballroom, here this morning despite the Christmas holiday! Yes, of course that might mean triple overtime, but the ballroom was important and the TDS Trump haters could bite my big American --

Wait! Trump caught himself. That was the old me, he cried out. The new me is forgiving and generous. The new me is new!

“Hallo! Whoop!” cried Trump. “Hallo! Anyone out there?” he shouted with joy, laughing all the while.

“Father?” came the nervous reply, as his son Donald Jr. entered the bedroom. “Father, are you unwell?”

“Quite the opposite,” cried Trump. “In fact, my dear Donald Jr., I am quite transformed! I was unwell but now am cured! Hallo! Whoop!”

“Father,” said the boy, “I’m actually Eric.”

Trump roared with mirth! A charming lad! A delightful lad! Of course it is Eric!

“Dad,” said the boy, “I think you are having what some neurologists call a cerebral episode. You’re not making any sense and you’re hopping around the room like a crazy person. Careful! You’re all wrapped up in the duvet and twirling like a -- ”

Crash! Trump came down with a thud! Eric and the security detail guided him woozily back to his bed. “My phone . . . my phone . . .” murmured the dazed president of the United States. As they handed him his phone he gazed at a half-sent Truth Social, eyes struggling to see the words: I realize now that we are a nation of immigrants and I am truly sorry that I --

Humbug! cried Trump. And he fell back on his pillow and into a fast and deep and untroubled sleep.