Chapter Text
Trump’s smirking face glowed an angry orange in the glaring sun. He turned to point his sausage-like finger at the numbers on the screen to the right, grinning triumphantly at his screaming supporters. He was confident he could win this election, especially when his rival was that rickety, broken-down Biden, who couldn’t even walk up stairs without falling flat on his face. Suddenly, an ear-piercing ‘BANG’ interrupted the enthusiastic yells of the crowd. Trump knew exactly what it was; a gunshot. (he’s from America, after all)
It all happened in a second. Trump felt a sharp pain in his right ear, but before he could think, Secret Service Agents piled on top of him like seagulls diving for chips (or if you’re American, ‘fries’).
“MR TRUMP GET DOWN!”
The audience’s jaws dropped to the floor as they watched the scene with bated breath. As the Secret Service Agents dragged a wailing, whimpering Trump towards the car, he threw his meaty, orange arms around, attempting to squirm his way out of their grasp. After intense struggle, he managed to stick his bulbous head above the frenzied Secret Service Agents that swarmed him. His face was streaked with blood, washing away his fake tan and making him look like a piece of bacon. He threw his massive fist up in the air dramatically, screaming “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” The crowd joined him in his chants, throwing their hands up passionately while trying to catch a glimpse of Trump’s rotund, orange body, or even just the hairs on his toupee that fluttered alluringly in the wind, as he was hauled into the nearby car.
The car drove speedily along the road to the hospital, screeching comically every time it went around a corner. Trump bawled like a baby as the Secret Service agents sat sniveling by his side, holding his Trump’s behemoth hands to try to comfort him. The car arrived at the hospital in record time, and the receptionist’s eyes widened as she saw the girthy, elderly man staggering towards the counter, surrounded by suited agents and knocking over other patients like bowling pins.
‘Help me, please, I beg you, I’m dyingggggg’ Trump pleaded clamorously, falling to his knees dramatically in front of the counter and sobbing thunderously. As the Secret Service agents informed the receptionist on what happened, Trump continued to wail deafeningly, throwing his hands around like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
It took seven nurses two attempts to heave the tantrum-throwing Donald Trump onto a bed to be wheeled to a room; the first one broke under his hefty orange body. The secret service agents whispered sighs of relief as the sound of thunderous sobs trailed away as he was wheeled towards his room.