What if the numerous investigations into Trump, all of which he claims are witch hunts, were literal witch hunts, and thus governed under the time-honored draconian standards that history dictates?
Trump is arrested on charges of witchcraft on November 2, 2022, in Florida, by Peter Strzok and Marie Yovanovitch, the latter elegant in a Chanel backless pantsuit designed to show off an actual spine. The charges: Engaging in various forms of witchcraft. The warrants: One each out of Atlanta and New York City. Trump is immediately extradited to Atlanta in a horse drawn cage. He demands a lawyer and tries to fight extradition but is told by Masha that witch hunts afford zero rights to the accused.
During the six-day trip, he’s fed vegan blood sausage sandwiches choked down with kombucha scobies. The route is lined with dreamers and refugee mothers and their children who heckle him in Latin while pelting him mercilessly with non-lethal tomatoes.
In Atlanta, Trump is publicly accused of witchcraft while being dunked in the Woodruff Park Fountain. The gist of the charge is that he summoned up Robber Demons from Gilded-Age America. Allegedly, at Trump’s behest, these fiends of slave-labor past had cast a Spell of Unparalleled Idiocy upon tens of millions of republicans who thereafter pledged steadfast loyalty to Trump even if he were to shoot Ron DeSantis on Fifth Avenue.
After his dunking he’s held in the newly installed Witchcraft Wing of the Fulton County Jail. His torture sessions consist of having to play the boardgame Sorry with Brad Raffensperger and Brian Kemp. Trump cheats throughout but keeps losing anyway, not realizing the game has been rigged. Upon each loss his temper tantrums become more epic, and he ends up ripping out most of what’s left of his hair.
Trump is then extradited to NYC in a dog crate strapped to the top of a 1974 Ford Country Squire station wagon driven by Mitt Romney. After power washing the dead bugs from his carcass, he’s ordered by Grand Inquisitor Michael Cohen to be held without bond in the oldest wing of the Metropolitan Correctional Center (MCC). Given his former POTUS status, Trump demands his own personal turnkey. Cohen, shrugging, grants the request and assigns him Alexander Vindman, who promptly cancels Trump’s phone privileges.
His second torture session, waterboarding, is performed by Dick Cheney, who gets Trump to affirm that Ivanka Kushner Trump is also a witch. She is immediately arrested and, after being perp walked sans makeup down Upper Fifth Avenue, she implicates both her brothers, Eric and Don Junior, both of whom, also under the threat of torture, reveal that they know absolutely nothing (we’re not kidding here) about anything and are sentenced to be drawn and quartered by African elephants. That sentence, however, is subsequently commuted by PETA (citing the mental health of the elephants) to 20-years hard labor at meat-packing plants. Ivanka is given five years, to be served at FPC-Alderson, aka Camp Cupcake, where she spends her time making contraband tattoo ink that she then trades to plucky Aryan Sisters for zoo zoos and wham whams.
Trumps third torture session is executed by Hillary Clinton, who expertly applies bone-spur screws to a four-pointed Trump. Under their painful administration, Trump admits that Roger Stone and Steve Bannon are necromancers. Both are arrested and thrown onto the mainline (aka general population) at Rikers, where they’ve not been seen since.
Trump meanwhile continues confessing to Clinton, including everything he’s done wrong from diapers to cheating his way through Wharton and admitting that everybody he’s ever known is also a witch. Turns out the sheer magnitude and probable percentage of mendacity of both render his answers (and, by implication, torture therewith) all but useless.
Given this, Trump’s final torture session is instigated by El Escuadrón de las Inquisidoras, all four of whom have no interest in talking to him, but instead lock him up for a week inside an actual Iron Maiden located in a bar in the Bronx while piping in Iron Maiden’s music at ear-splitting decibels.
Some days later, Trump is brought before a single Final Inquisitor, Liz Cheney, who condemns him to live out his days locked in one of Jared’s slummy tenements, where he’s forced to count and recount for perpetuity the roughly 159 million ballots cast in the 2020 presidential election.
Copyright 2022 Matthew J. Parker
Matthew J. Parker’s first book, a graphic novel, chronicles his transition from prisoner and drug addict to the Ivy League, and his work has also appeared in The Washington Post, The New York Times, The Daily Beast, The Baltimore Sun, Guernica, and The Rumpus. He currently lectures at UC Berkeley.