Life after the presidency: What’s lies in store for the Talking Yam?
One day, this miserable period in US political history will be behind us.
Winters will come and go, giving way to springs and summers, and autumns that will once again strip leaves from the trees and long evenings from our days like the tRump Administration has wrested hope from our lives. Wall Street execs will buy new Mercedes, BMWs and Bentleys as they celebrate the year’s gains or losses – it doesn’t matter, they’ll still get their bonuses – and, every now and then, 55% of us who are old enough to vote will dutifully line up to elect a bunch of lobbyist-worshippers to protect their interests in Washington while ignoring what matters to the rest of us.
At some point, we’ll rid ourselves of Donald J. Trump: The Talking Yam, Cheetoh Face, Mr. Midget Digit, The Philanderer in Chief, either by vote, impeachment, indictment, or when his term or two (please, dear Lord, no) expires, unless he amends the Constitution so he can remain in power.
I’m starting to think anything is possible, including having to endure more than eight years of our Tweeting Twit in expensive, worsted pinstripes and turmeric-colored pancake makeup. Steve Bannon calls him unstoppable, and perhaps he’s right. People like Drumpf have longer shelf lives than Strontium-90 (a radioactive isotope produced by nuclear fission with a half-life of 28.8 years.) Drumpf’s influence will remain with us for decades, having infected our nation’s soul and psyche like the radioactive waste buried deep within Utah’s vacant salt mines looms over our environmental future.
Curious to learn what might become of our Tweeter in Chief after he vacates the tawdry halls of the White House and returns to his golden penthouse toilet, I consulted a gypsy fortune teller while we were house sitting in Greece. Madame Andrea Cosmopolous Papadopoulos (no relation to the discredited political insider whose indictment could wind up toppling 45’s reign) is a scowling, wide woman of ill temper and urgent financial needs. She demanded 20 Euros for each of her findings, which I dutifully recorded and present herein.
Sadly, her principal revelation was that Drumpf will enjoy an absurdly long life. Defying a lifetime of fast food, inactivity and bad karma, the Son of Fred the Vile will walk the earth until he turns 97, she predicted.
She wasn’t clear on how precisely he will meet his maker, but offered several likely scenarios:
One, he’ll choke on a $500 steak in 2033 while dining alone with his 11th wife, a 19-year-old Brazilian flight attendant he met after a week of debauchery and golf in Rio;
Two, while hunting in Nambia (renamed by officials in the African nation Namibia after years correcting Mr. Bigly Words’ inability to refer to their country by its rightful name), he is abandoned by his safari crew deep in the bush after berating them one too many times for the poor quality of his 12-egg breakfast steak omelet;
Or, Three, he dies alone in his penthouse suite, surrounded by priceless artifacts he doesn’t recognize and a tattered copy of Mein Kampf in his tiny, arthritic fingers, muttering “Rosebud, Rosebud,” semi-intelligibly as he awaits a pizza delivery by his pal Papa John Schnatter.
She was unable to predict answers to other questions: How many more wives will he have before he finally assumes his rightful place at Richard Nixon’s side? How will Jared Kushner fare in Leavenworth? What will become of Ivanka and her lines of apparel, cosmetics and Russian-designed internet hacking software? And, Will Jeff Sessions retire to Disney World, doing his best elephant impression as he sells admission tickets to Dumbo on Parade?
Madame Papadopoulos confirmed that The Donald is likely to publicly stick around long after he’s finished destroying Washington, the US’s global image, the presidential office, and any shot at opportunity for 320 million people who will have grown so accustomed to his administration’s antics that no one will bat an eye when tRump outlaws Presidential Popularity polls in 2019.
She predicted the Yam’s future roles commanding power, attention and proficiency in 140 – ooops, I mean 280-character wisdom. She proffered each finding in no certain order, with a wrinkled nose and offended countenance, as though sniffing Paul Ryan’s unwashed gym bag after a week’s worth of muscle-tweaking in the House gym. And here they are, straight from Madame Papadopoulos’s home between Batsi and Gavrio as she sat, like Jabba the Hut in an oversized purple robe on a groaning olive wood throne, spewing forth details of DJT’s future as she stuffed 20 Euro notes into her immense brassiere.
The timing on these predictions could be off a year or two, she advised, but she bet a month’s worth of Tsipouro that they will otherwise prove true:
NFL commissioner Donald Trump announces a ban on players of color (“except white”) and releases the league’s 2026 schedule, half of which will be played in Albania, Ecuador and Nambia. Eric Trump, owner of the NFL’s latest franchise (which you can check here), the New York Supremacists, leads owners on a movement to ban the NFL Players Association, citing executive orders signed by his father that outlawed unions before he was impeached and dispatched to Burundi, where he briefly served as ambassador under President Mitch McConnell until warring Burundi factions settled their internal differences, joined forces to put out a hit on him. The Commish signs an exclusive cross-marketing agreement with U-Ban Cofveve “The White Choice For Breakfast Beverage, Everyday!”
In 2028, IMF chairman Donald Trump announces bitcoin as official global currency after an hour negotiating with Russia, the EU and China, leaving the US out of the discussion. Reminded of his campaign promise of “America First!”, Trump claims the move will strengthen the dollar against bitcoin, defying assertions to the contrary by economists around the world and the majority of his children, who scramble to empty their offshore accounts before the dollar plummets. He deflects further criticism that he controls 15% of the market, a fact revealed by Breitbart News, which has recently emerged from receivership under joint management by Jeff Bezos and Mark Cuban.
In 2022, FDA chairman Donald Trump announces free distribution of Cialis and Viagra to straight white men over 70. The offer comes with caveats: Men must prove they are not gay, are 100% white and come exclusively from European countries (DNA tests available for $99 through Trump Galaxy Unltd.), and have voted Republican in the prior six elections.
In 2024, WHO Chairman Donald Trump announces the formation of a global committee to eradicate cancer, AIDS and influenza. In a speech delivered in between bites of Double-Breasted Bacon Delights at a Chik-Fil-A in Escondido, Calif., Trump demands $500 Trillion in unrestricted funding from Muslim countries “who gave us all these diseases to begin with.” He also moves to discredit a report from the Guardian newspaper – the last remaining independent newspaper worldwide that consistently questions the motives and legality of Trump’s maneuvers – that 25% of the funding will be earmarked to develop Trump Galaxy Unltd. golf courses on Mars and the Moon.
In 2029, under President Paul Ryan (who was elevated to the presidency after President McConnell died unexpectedly while sampling poisonous moonshine at his Kentucky home), HUD chief Donald Trump announces completion of a wall along Canadian border that contains 50,000 low-income housing units on the US side. Trump applauds the concept of providing housing for the poor so close to a foreign border. “It’s a reminder that they’re only steps from being tossed into a country where there’s nothing but ice hockey and snow, and where poutine is a crappy bar snack, not a powerful political ally.” He comments on the wall’s design: “It’s not as big or beautiful as the Mexican border wall, but it cost us nothing.” CanUs Wall was built as a joint public service by Home Depot and Lowe’s, 50% of whose shares are owned by Trump Galaxy Unltd.
Author’s note: This is a work of satire: fiction, fantasy and speculation, based on no actual figures, past or present, except the looming, horrid specter of the 45th President of the United States of America.