Shakespeare’s Trump, Act II, Scene IV

Enter BREITBART REPORTER. Enter BANNON.

BREITBART REPORTER.

Congratulations, sire, on your return

To Brietbart journalism, your root-soil,

Though some yardsticks would say you never left.

We true conservatives have serv’d the cons

To pros’ prosaic milkblood government,

In words assaulting feminazi Jews,

The gun-controlling diaper-soiling brats,

The anti-Nazi Nazis, Muslims, trans,

The sexist, racist races, climate frauds,

And institutions’ madness inmate-run,

Conserving your example ’til this hour

You have return’d to us from public life,

Entirely voluntar’ly, to be sure.

BANNON.

Be sure indeed, for none may doubt my smile.

Now ICE flash-freezes fam’lies at the hands

And shatters their conjunction, with t’without,

Now Puerto Rico, that unwanted blot

Unwhite, doth drown unaided in the storms,

And with strategic force our leader throws

Dry toilet rolls at wretched refuse-shore,

Impressing deep ‘pon fragile lib’ral nerve.

America we first and only serve,

And now this fact is clear to all, I find

I need fresh bramble-bush to wake my mind.

BREITBART REPORTER’s phone chimes.

BREITBART REPORTER.

A moment, sire. I’ve posted sentries to

Report the news of relevance to us,

By keywords trigger’d, much like those we scorn.

I see from summary our leader tweets

And cites your name. Portentous omen this!

Enter TRUMP, tweeting, as BREITBART REPORTER looks at his phone.

TRUMP.

Steve Bannon lost his job and lost his mind,

And wept like whimp’ring woman in divorce,

As from my wealth my blade his fortunes cut.

Exit TRUMP.