Joe Biden, former vice president and still a slender six-footer at age seventy-five, stands at the microphone in an elegant Washington, D.C. hotel and, before Democratic governors and their staffs, begins hammering President Donald Trump for cutting taxes for the wealthy, risking a trade war with Europe and Asia, risking nuclear war with North Korea and China, doing the same with Iran, handling his White House staff like a deranged despot, and in all dealings demonstrating a lack of honesty and moral character.
A symphony of gasps and loud voices erupt at the rear of the large room, and uninvited Donald Trump, surrounded by secret service agents and assorted sycophants, pushes toward the podium, shouting, “I heard your lies and fake news but that’s not why I’m here. I came to stomp your ass. You said if we’d gone to the same high school you’d have taken me out back and beat me up because of that secretly-recorded conversation I had about women a long time ago with Billy Bush, who by the way was in awe of me.”
“We’re a bit beyond high school, aren’t we, Donald?” says Biden.
“You brought it up. Was it typical liberal pansy talk or you wanna back it up?”
Biden takes off his suit coat, hands it to an aide, unties and removes his tie, unbuttons his top three shirt buttons, and exits stage right. Trump also removes his coat and tie but leaves all shirt buttons secure. From my table in the California delegation, sitting next to Jerry Brown, perhaps the nation’s most qualified person to be commander in chief, I estimate Biden weighs one-sixty max, and the rotund Trump has to go about two-fifty. Biden’s almost as tall as Trump, who’s at least two inches shorter than he advertises.
“Okay, Joe, Marquis of Queensbury rules?”
“Limit yourself to boxing if you want, Donald. I’m fighting however I want.”
Almost everyone in the room’s now standing and exhilarated by the buzz of a title fight.
“Be careful. I have experience in the World Wrestling Enterprise.”
“You were in greater danger on Celebrity Apprentice,” says Biden.
Trump crouches, holding high both hands, and eases toward Biden who lowers his head and charges, burying the top of his head into Trump’s belly. The president quickly reaches down and locks both arms around Biden’s neck and growls as he squeezes. In seconds Biden’s flapping his arms like the wings of a wounded bird, and people shout, “Stop it… That’s enough.”
“It’s like Scranton, Joe, come on,” shouts a septuagenarian from the Pennsylvania table.
Though Biden and his indigent family left that hardscrabble town when he was about ten, he’d learned the ways of the streets, and now clinches a right fist on the wing and, in an arc, uppercuts Trump between the legs, forcing the latter to bounce but not entirely breaking his hold. Biden then uses his left hand to deliver a similar uppercut, and The Donald shrieks, lets go, and bends over. Joltin’ Joe attacks and grabs the president in the same chokehold. A noted badass on the streets of Queens, before he conquered Manhattan, Trump quickly thrusts both husky hands into Biden’s soft spot, forcing him to release his grip and back away, grimacing.
“Gentlemen, you’re behaving as children,” said Governor Jerry Brown, a delicate man of eighty. “I may have to spank you.”
“You never were man enough to become president, and neither were you, Joe,” says Trump.
Biden, breathing hard as Trump, says, “Let’s finish this outside, buddy.”
Secret service agents, who’d evidently been too fascinated to intercede, finally step between the combatants.
“They saved your ass,” Trump says.
“I’ll be at the White House at ten tonight.”
“Fine. This time it’ll be just the two of us.”