DEPARTMENT OF WITCHCRAFT

   As the Connecticut tourists were deloused and fitted with "Trump Forever!" T-shirts and head lamps, the eldest daughter (after explaining her Trump franchise beauty queen credentials) was allowed to shed her pirate costume and refit herself at the official USR Victoria Secret Shoppe. G-string or thong? Bullet proof teddy? Machine gun bra?  Pink or purple wings? After months in pantaloons and head scarfs she felt pretty again. Once geared up and issued her "BQ" credentials she asked for directions to the Pink House. "Go out the front gate," instructed a small man in full Donald Duck drag, "turn right at the Marjorie Taylor Green sewer plant. You'll smell it before you see it. Continue down Q-Way, past the Matt Goetz Memorial giant turd, cross the moat..... Don't mind the gators and snakes. Bow at the door marked Department of Witchcraft, flap your wings and the guards will direct you to the anal cavity search room. You may be lucky enough to meet our fearless leader there. Czar Trump likes to be hands on."

     Ever since she was a teenager it had always been her dream to meet the ex-President. But now, as she listened to the leering duck give her directions, she wasn't so sure. She had left her family without protection. They had been assigned to the Magic Kingdom Nuclear reactor and she was concerned that her father would not be able to convince the authorities that they were loyal Republicans. Her head was swimming. As she bowed and flapped her wings at the large iron doors of the DWC a small man in a lawn jockey uniform cranked open the massive door. She immediately recognized him (even in black face). It was Ron DeSantis. "Yes. Can I help you?" the ex-governor asked. "Heil Trump!" "Heil Trump." she muttered. She was learning.

     After some explanation and a quick listing of her measurements the man who dared to challenge Trump and was now his "man-servant" asked "If you were God for a day, how would you change the world?" She had this. "I personally believe that all U.S. Americans..." DeSantis frowned "...I mean Russians... such as they are.....with our education system.....prepares many young girls and others......therefore, as good citizens never to allow babies to be killed by abortion and...." DeSantis waved his tiny hand cutting her off. "That's fine. Come in. Take a seat. The Czar will be right with you." Then he placed a bouquet of flowers in her arms, a tiara on her head and clattered away on what looked to be cloven hoofs.

    Sitting was impossible in her wings, so she just stood there, looking around. The walls were covered with Trumpisms: Be Biggly, Bleach is Truth, You Suck, Putin Rules and the classic Grab 'em by the pussy! For the first time the beauty queen began to question her life of pageantry and privilege. She could hear whimpering coming from a room marked with a giant "A." Then what the duck had said about the visitor search process came back to her. "Ouchie!" a female voice cried. A greasy orange glow crept from under the door bathing the floor. Instead of bullets her bra had been loaded with poison gas. The shop girl had told her never to release it as it would mean certain death to her and anyone within 100 yards. Maybe this is what God had planned for her all along. She fingered the trigger strap. She could save humanity. Was this not what every beauty queen was taught from birth? She could die for a greater cause...... and look great in the process. Suddenly the door swung open and Kevin McCarthy stepped out. He was a bit hard to understand with that ball in his mouth, but she eventually understood. "The Czar will see you now." She knew what she had to do. "Da" she said.