I’m not going to tell you where I live but Donald Trump and his goons just pulled up in five black beasts from which they jump and Trump motions for them to encircle my house as he pounds up the walkway to kick my door.
I jerk it open. “The doorbell works fine for people who aren’t common and crude.”
“You’re a bum,” says the president of the United States.
“Can’t deny it after ten years cleaning up your garbage.”
“No one cares what you say.”
“Plenty are interested in my tapes of you and copies of check receipts you wrote to cover what I paid Stormy Daniels.”
“All people really know is you’re a convicted liar. I had no idea the Russians had stolen Crooked Hillary’s emails and given them to Wikileaks.”
“Maybe, but they definitely understand you’re a racist draft-dodging conman.”
Trump says, “How the hell’d I ever trust you. You don’t even pay your taxes.”
“Says a man who avoided paying a billion.”
“You don’t know that,” he says.
“Prove I’m wrong.”
“My taxes are confidential until the IRS audit is complete.”
“The IRS says don’t worry about the audit. You’re free to release your taxes.”
“You’d already be in jail if I’d known you were selling sensitive opinions about me and my operation,” Trump says.
“I should’ve gone to the police.”
“The FBI came to you, remember? And that led you to a very bad place.”
“You’d be going the same way if you weren’t president. And you won’t be once prosecutors prove you knew in advance about Don Jr. and Jared Kushner meeting with Russians in Trump Tower.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Remember, your own family’s going to crack before Congress, just like I did.”
“They’ll show some loyalty.”
“Not if it results in prison time.”
“They’ll lock you up for years, Michael, and lots of bad dudes in prison don’t like snitches.”
“Why don’t you pardon me? I know you’ll do that for Paul Manafort.”
Trump smirks. “Paul’s a good man.”
“Maybe Mike Pence will pardon you.”
“I won’t need it.”
“I’d bet a hundred grand on that but you wouldn’t pay,” I say, and close the door.