TRUMPAGEDDON

And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed: and all the world wondered after the beast.

Revelation 13:3

Trumpageddon: Episode 1

In an alternate dimension far, far, away that has absolutely no relationship to ours at all; none whatsoever; dear God, don’t let me speak it into being here:

On November 5, 2024, the United States of America elected Donald John Trump to be the 47th President of the United States. In a landslide.

For months it had seemed the Democrats had the election all tied up and Donald would no longer be able to hide his crimes behind the power of a President. Finally he would face justice for his coup attempt in 2020. The fake elector scheme. And for… well you know the list. No, I’m just going to say it … he stole our nuclear secrets and war plans to sell to the highest bidder! What is wrong with these people?

But none of that mattered anymore after America watched Vice President Harris swallow a fly and vomit it onto the stage during a live debate. (Oh, come on. You know we’re easily that shallow.)

On election night, after the results were announced, Donald was visited by a demon. A very distinguished demon in an expensive business suit.

Despite winning, Donald sat alone in his campaign war room brooding. He’d already sent his speech back for three rewrites. Now he was making a list of everyone who deserved payback, angry at himself at how short his list was. So many traitors he couldn’t remember them all.

He was adding his speech writer to the list when out of thin air, the form of a man appeared before him. Donald panicked. He clumsily threw the first thing he could find at the figure and collapsed under his enormous desk screaming for Secret Service.

“They can’t hear you, Mr. President. We’re in a time bubble.” Donald peeked over the desk to see the man tap a futuristic glowing gold wristband and smile. He ducked under again. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m on a diplomatic mission.”

He picked up the Bible that had missed him by a mile and tossed it onto Donald’s desk with a loud thump that was followed by another thump and muffled yelp.

“Congratulations… uhm… Mr. President? Do come out and allow me to introduce myself.” He scanned the campaign war room that had been fashioned to resemble the Oval Office. “And may I say, you have quite a supernatural ability to sculpt reality to your will.”

“Much like a god.” He poured it on like syrup on soggy pancakes. All the while thinking he had never met a god who smelled like this.

Donald emerged rubbing his head, and held his hand out expectantly.

“Thanks, thank you, uh … Who do I have the pleasure of, ah, you know, who are you?”

As he had done since puberty, Donald tried to assert dominance by grinding the bones in the man’s seemingly delicate hand. That is, until he responded in kind.

“Hell’s General of Avarice, Dantalion, at your service, sir.” Donald yanked his hand back with a wince of pain.

“A Demon!”

Dantalion grew a couple of horns on his head for dramatic effect. “So to speak.”

Donald slumped back into his chair.

“Well, what…” something caught in his throat. “What do you want with me?” Donald pawed at the Bible he’d never read and feared his time was up before he ever got to pay back the Democrats.

“Well, I want to extend congratulations on behalf of the kingdom of Hell. Perhaps reaffirm some established lines of trade while I’m here.”

“Oh, for sure.” Donald said, having no conception whatsoever of trade between dimensions. He sized the demon up and down, wondering what kind of sex organs it might have. His mouth fell open expectantly. “Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. You’ve created quite a stir in the aether. All the demons and angels are talking about the Apocalypse and Armageddon. They think you’re going to sign the contract.”

“What contract?”

Dantalion paused. How could it be a member of the bloodline was so clueless?

“The Archangels of Heaven have an agreement with Hell and humanity that they will not begin the Tribulations until the most powerful human on Earth signs the Declaration of War. A burden handed down from the ancient Kings and Holy Roman Emperors. Lucifer and Metatron both signed millennia ago. Metatron himself should be arriving shortly with the contract. I told my fellows that they had nothing to fear. That you would certainly join the long list of emperors and kings who signed the waiver on the back, suspending God’s wrath. That you would never want to put your name alone on the front to live in infamy for the rest of eternity.” Dantalion’s smile exposed a perfect row of brilliant white teeth. He could have made millions on magazine covers alone.

“But then I’ll be the one, right? I get to dominate all the other nations with the wrath of God? And hey, World War! That’s a good thing for you! Why wouldn’t you want me to sign that?”

“I assume you have not read the book of Revelation?”

“I’ve read all the books! And when some nasty devil comes here unannounced, uninvited and tells me not to sign something, I’m signing it!”

Dantalion narrowed his eyes, and it felt to Donald like they were boring holes into his soul like two hot lasers.

“You misread our intentions. You’re a businessman. We have everything running like clockwork above and below. War is only lucrative in controlled doses. This is why no ruler has signed the Declaration. Well. That and the tiny matter of THE ANNIHILATION OF HUMANITY!”

Trump waved it aside and leaned forward wearing a repugnant wet grin. “Alright, so I’m a businessman. What do I get for not signing? Because clearly all my supporters would want me to sign yesterday. I may not remember much from Sunday School, but now I’m remembering why you don’t want it. What it means for you. Lake of Fire and all that.”

“Well Donald, I’m not the dragon. I am not even really a demon. Whatever that is. I’m an ancient deity who created himself out of nothing. A survivor. Apocalyptic wars notwithstanding, I’ll be just fine. But you? Your family? Your nation? Read the book. America is nowhere to be found.” Dantalion tapped the Bible with a sizzle as tiny puffs of smoke jumped from his fingertips.

“Now if you don’t sign, what you get is a wildly profitable relationship with the engineer-king who built the aqueducts of Petra. I became the richest man on Earth during my first incarnation. And do you know how I did it? Selling water.”

Dantalion gestured left, “Supply.” And right. “Demand. I sold water in the desert and made a fortune. I am an alchemist. I make gold from nothing. And if you trade with us, you’ll be swimming in mammon and we’ll be swimming in mana.”

“That does sound like a pretty sweet deal you had going. But look, you gotta bring more to the table than a business deal. You guys need me to keep God off your asses. Talk to Lucifer. Tell him I’m willing to play ball. What’s he got to offer? I want some lackeys who can stop hearts or clog lungs and nobody knows! Can you erase all these criminal trials and my prison sentence, no hassle? Give me a reason not to sign.”

“I’m sorry, Donald. I’m afraid I can’t do that. There will be no offer. It’s simply your choice. You can bring on Armageddon if you like. I’m starting to relish the idea. We can open negotiations if you sign the waiver. Otherwise, we’re in a whole NEW ball game. Frankly, I don’t give a damn either way.”

“At least give me one of those cool gold watches! That costs you nothing!”

Dantalion drew in a sharp breath. He was done being patient. He was not used to dealing with infantile pan-handler tactics from human elites. “Here’s what I will give you, since I know how you enjoy throwing things like a child.”

In a flash, Dantalion gestured like a magician and produced a full bottle of ketchup and placed it before Donald. “Use it on your next visitor.” Donald took the bait, gripping the bottle with an ugly sneer. Dantalion flashed one last bright smile as his body went immaterial. The bottle passed through on its way to the wall.

Dantalion’s lackeys surrounded him the moment he returned to Hell. He shooed away all but one. His left-claw imp, Sitri. “Any news?”

“I’m afraid so. See for yourself.”

Sitri held over a tablet that played a grainy video of a young woman with pink hair near the back of a bus of vagabonds. Dantalion pushed it away just as she was sticking a gun in her mouth. The speakers cracked against the shot.

“Three years?”

“Yes.”

“Get on it.”

It was nearly 11pm and Donald had not given his victory speech. He was still alone. Still brooding.

This time when a blinding shower of sparks exploded from the center of the war room, Donald was unfazed. Out of a rainbow of oscillating lights stepped an Archangel of the Heavenly Hosts.

“Be ye not afraid. I am the angel of the Lord, come to offer con…”

“I’m not afraid. Who said I was afraid? Yeah, yeah, congratulations, my ass. You want me to sign the end of the world, right? The demon already told me.”

“And you believed them? Tsk… tsk…”

“All I know is, they didn’t want me to sign it. So you must want me to.”

“I was attempting to be a bit more delicate about it, but…” Metatron turned to look at the ketchup still oozing down the wall. “I see you appreciate brevity. So, Yes. I am here to offer you the choice of Kings. But no, I have no wish to bring about the destruction of mankind at this time. Signing here will begin the end human life on Earth.” Metatron clapped the contract onto the desk indicating the single empty line at the bottom. He quickly flipped over the sheet. “The waiver on the back will stay the wrath of Almighty God courtesy of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

“Ok, first of all, I’m my own Lord. Nobody saves me. And B, I’ll sign it when I’m good and ready.”

Donald gazed at the sepia toned parchment with calligraphy in a language he could not read. That is… well, let’s just say it wasn’t in English. The signature area had been filled centuries ago and now almost the entire parchment was covered with names. Monikers that would have been epic to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of history: Solomon. Sargon. Cyrus. Darius. Xerxes. Nero. Justinian. Charlemagne. Constantine. Henry II. Henry VIII. Woodrow Wilson, to name a few. Donald was unfazed by the gravity of the document before him, but rather irked that he should have to squeeze his own name into relative obscurity with so many lesser kings.

He flipped the page back over and looked at the clean, empty line. Aside from the faintest indicia of an aleph that must have been erased, the signature line seemed to have been created for the sole purpose of bearing his name into greatness.

“The end of humanity?” he mused.

“Quite so. It would not be pretty.”

Donald flipped the contract again and searched. Putin’s name did not appear.

“Why wasn’t I given this choice when I won in 2016?” He looked up at the angel angrily.

“Well, sir. I’m sure you were. Events between our dimensions fade quickly from the minds of both sides.”

“But I don’t see my name here.”

“Uh, yes. Well. You don’t actually have to sign the waiver…”

“Something’s fishy. I think I should sign. That’s what my faithful supporters want. That’s what you should want. You seem very disloyal to heaven.”

Donald pawed his sharpie and signed to usher in the Apocalypse like he was signing a dinner bill.

Metatron was stunned. Donald snatched up the contract, held it out and shook it at the Archangel. Metatron took it reverently and stepped back into a rainbow portal without another word.

Trump yelled at the fading form, “And bring me one of those cool watches like the other guy had!”

Metatron descended to Hell and found Dantalion hunched over a pile of papers. He strode to the demon and proclaimed, “Well, he signed it! This simpleton wants to bury mankind for a bit of attention. What do we do with this madman? We can’t let this happen.”

Dantalion looked over his glasses at the Arcangel. “I think he’s the antichrist.”

“What are you… Ha! Are you… you can’t be serious! He’s too damn stupid to be the antichrist. Is there nowhere private we can talk? These screams! And prying ears!” He glared at Sitri who immediately skittered away.

Dantalion switched his language to a long dead Ugaritic dialect. “I like the screams. But does this ease your fears, brother?”

“Very funny” Metatron retorted in kind.

“None of these remember the old tongues.”

“Fine. I saw you. You wanted this. Practically goaded his narcissistic tendencies toward the line. Why?”

Dantalion returned the suspicious gaze. “Did I? I don’t remember. But it’s not my signature on that contract. You know… he’s awfully sketchy. You need to find out if he’s is indeed of the bloodline. If not, we can just report him to The Pantheon and they’ll take care of it. If he is. We have no choice, brother. It’s war.”

Metatron twitched. And frowned. And disappeared into his rainbow.

“Goodbye to you too. Brother.”

“Ladies and gentlemen the 45th AND 47th President of the United States! Donald J. Trump!”

“My fellow Americans, we are entering a new age. An age were the strong will no longer bend the knee to the weak. A world where good will no longer tolerate the existence of evil.

Tonight, I was visited by two angels of the most high God. They told me we are on the brink of World War. They told me to be proud. Because God has chosen our nation to lead his armies. So now, it is crucial we keep God’s commandments. And in return for our faithful commitment to him and his goodly principles, we will be given dominion over all the Earth.”

A penthouse in Dubai: “Turn off that nonsense, Daddy. You always say don’t watch the plebe’s propaganda but you’re always watching it!”

“Oh, dear! I think this is very big for us! We may be looking at exponential growth within weeks!” Bernard leapt to his feet clapping his hands. Joan sighed. Felix purred.

“I’m bored, Daddy.”

“And you may think, don’t say that! the other nations will be mad! We’re through worrying about hurt feelings. We’re through tolerating the evil dictators of this world. Who tell us how to talk. And tell us we have to accept new ways that aren’t Gods ways. And we will bring a better world for the people of those nations.

“Starting on day one, I will be signing a national abortion ban as an executive order. We will be putting prayer back in our schools immediately. In these desperate times, our students will need faith much more than sciencey mumbo jumbo.”

A warehouse in Kentucky:

“Turn off that nonsense.”

“You ok? It’s coming in an hour or so.”

“I’m fine! I said turn it off!”

“Boudikka… You’re the one said, always keep that box playing NPR night and day…”

“I’ve heard enough. He’s upping the ante. We have to be ready. I want a chain of Valkyries from every state in the mainland to Canada and Mexico. He’s gonna end our blue state havens the day he takes office.”

“We are going to truly make America great again. Unflinchingly, like the late great President Andrew Jackson, who understood when you win a war, you don’t give land back to the enemy.

We’ll be ending no fault divorce. We’ll be ending the Democrats’ crippling economic regulations. We’re going to stop protesters from hampering our economy. And we’re going to deport anyone and everyone who doesn’t belong here because you have to be able to trust your neighbor during wartime! And we’re going to win this war! And all the wars! God bless America! Goodnight everyone!”

Uvalde Texas:

Gama Guerra walked into his empty house and heard the TV playing. No one had shut it off after the wake. He could hear Donald Trump talking about God. His God. The God who had just taken his wife. No. When they were just about to start a family… No! He couldn’t allow himself to think that way. God had a plan. Besides. His students needed him. He needed to show them that you don’t give up when life knocks you down. He listened to the President’s voice in the den talking about Jesus and angels and he started to hope. He knew they had elected the right man for the job. A man who wasn’t afraid to give all the glory to God.

But that night Gama dreamed of dragons and gunfire and screaming children.