Water bucket challenge
Donald Trump Goes Down (Under)
Just when you thought he couldn’t get any lower
It is the year 2024.
It is 7 weeks since Donald Trump lost the presidential election to democratic candidate Mutt Romney — a great great great great grandson to Seamus, Mitt Romney’s dog who travelled exclusively via woofrack.
It is 3 days since the last of his electoral fraud challenges have been dismissed by Supreme court judge Dons Plityet, the Russian relationship counsellor who was credited with saving the Clinton’s marriage, and had a meteoric rise up the legal ranks under renowned family man Joe ‘I’m too old to cheat anymore’ Biden.
It is 2 days since Donald texted Melania he was so sad and nead 2 c chnge.
It is 1 day since Melania chartered their PJ to Australia, an island across the biggest sea she could see.
It is 8 hours since Donald Trump tried to re-join the mile high club with Melania, flight Steward S’Normy Shaniels, and eventually, the toilet roll holder.
It is 4 hours since Donald found out he could be eligible to run for the next Prime Minister of Australia if he passed the citizenship test and convinced a country full of people who think he’s a wanker that he is no longer a wanker.
It is 30 seconds since his press conference began in the red desert of the Northern territory.
Australian journalist, Mike Hocksbigga, was the first to the scene. He has spent the last thirty seconds consuming five beers.
Mike Hocksbigga: So Donnie ya big boofhead, whaddya doin’ down in Straya?
Donald Trump: Many many people have told me Australia was a great country. I don’t know. But then, when their very very not good vaccination program came in and turned everyone autistic or communist, it went down hill. Perhaps even, down under.
Mike Hocksbigga: Good one Donnie. Not bad for a fuckin’ ranga. (Pauses the interview momentarily to rip the top off another case of beer) So whaddya gunna do about it?
Donald Trump: Firstly — and I do not say firstly lightly — I need to fix the really really not excellent immigration problem. So bad.
Mike Hocksbigga: Howzat?
Donald Trump: These aboriginal criminals are flooding the country each day. Bringing drugs, rape, and sometimes, I assume, fine art. I promise to stop the boats —
Mike Hocksbigga: Hang on dickhead. You been drinkin’ the bong water? The Aboriginal people are Indigenous. Been here 60,000 years or so.
Donald Trump: (Shakes head slowly) Even here, on this fine fine land, fake news spreads like a virus. Like COVID, until I drowned it with my bleach. I owned that bitch. Listen, I’ve seen their canoes, they can cross vast vast seas. Yoooouge seas. Land too. We need to build a wall.
Mike Hocksbigga: Were you dropped on ya head as a child? Bout 20,000 times? AUSTRALIA IS AN ISLAND.
Donald Trump: (Adopts sarcastic tone and draws a circle aournd himself in the red dust) Oh, oh, I’m an island, I’m soooo strong. Wrong. Islands are one of the weakest defensive positions you can have. Incredibly weak. Did you not see Castaway? Even democratic suck job Tom Hanks can invade them.
Mike Hocksbigga: You’re cooked mate. By the way, have you slapped on any sunscreen? You look a little red. You’re currently standing under an ozone hole bigger than all your tax frauds put together.
At this point, a Wicked van screeches to a halt alongside them and a group of American and British backpackers fall out. The already very very dark orange Donald Trump is covered in a further coating of red dust.
American tourist, Justin Ovvafrattboi: Dude, this is it. Ayer’s rock. I thought it would be bigger.
British tourist, Lily-Beth Wasde-Best: I think the Australian's call it Uluru. Doesn’t matter though. We call them convict degenerates!
Justin Ovvafrattboi: I’m going to climb this motherfucker.
Lily-Beth Wasde-Best: (Leafing through her Lonely planet guidebook) They do say it’s not meant to be climbed anymore, as it is a sacred site to the local indigenous people. But as my great great great great great great great great great great uncle thrice removed and twice re-inserted Captain Cook used to say, Who gives a shit!
Justin Ovvafrattboi grabs hold of Donald’s suit pants and looks inquiringly up for a suitable foothold.
Mike Hocksbigga: Oi, Oi, Oi. Settle down you rowdy toad-fuckers. Donnie here is about as sacred as a dried out cow pat, but he’s a full flock of sheep short of a paddock. Don’t be tryna climb the cunt.
Donald Trump: (Screaming) LET THEM CLIMB. FREEDOM OF CLIMBING IS OUR 25TH GODDAMN AMMENDMENT.
Justin Ovvafrattboi reaches the summit first, and jabs an American cocktail flag into the upturned eye of Donald Trump.
Donald Trump, who is frantically attempting to grab them all by the pussies and immune to any pain, joins in with Justin’s chant of ‘U.S.A! U.S.A!’
Lily-Beth Wasde-Best does not have the free climbing experience of Justin, and must rely on her climbing peak to make headway. Unfortunately for Donald, she slams her climbing pick into Donald’s orange prick, and he collapses to the ground.
No-one volunteers to perform CPR, and Donnie is dead before the nearest ambulance can arrive.
The world is in shock.
The world is in celebration.
The Earth keeps turning.
Later, medical examiners were amazed to find that 70% of Donald’s vital organs, including his heart and brain, were located in his penis.
This was a response to Michael Burg, MD (Satire Sommelier)’s call for a united pail of water to be poured on the Orange One:
Let’s hope it works.
