Brain Curd #133
Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!
“Alright candidates, your next challenge is an oldie but a goodie. The situation is this: ‘West Dakota’ has seceded from the Union and you must find some way to bring them back. President Trump, your handicaps from the previous rounds are still in effect.”
Trump stood at his podium wearing a kennel cone on his neck, his left hand tied behind his back. “This is an unbelievable humiliation, folks.”
“And the same is true for you, too, President Biden.”
Joe had a very long dowel attached to a hard hat strapped to his head, precariously balanced on top of which was a bowl of Corn Pops - with milk. “I can take it, Jack. Bring on the fire.”
The host, whose name was not ‘Jack’, but rather Alton Brown, clapped his hands. “Your time starts… now!”
Trump limped to his replica of the Oval Office, trying not to think about the rock in his shoe, and sat at the desk. He immediately picked up the phone. “Get me the governor of West Dakota!”
Biden sat at his own replica - slowly so as not to spill the cereal - and hit the intercom button. “Jill, can you send in my diplomatic advisors?”
“What do you mean he’s not picking up?” Trump fumed. “No, no, that’s an excuse! You’re fired!”
Biden and his advisors discussed options quietly. As a reflex, he nodded at what one of them said, which of course spilled milk on the desk. As per the rules, he had to clean it up before continuing, so Kamala brought him a roll of paper towels.
“Hand it to the other guy then! What do you mean there is no other guy?” Trump looked over at Biden’s Oval Office and saw that they were making progress. He growled and got up from his chair, stumbling around looking for something. “Aha! Take that, Sleepy Joe! I found a sabotage chip!”
Alton addressed the camera. “I will take this opportunity to remind the American people that a sabotage chip can be redeemed for a surprise inconvenience to inflict on his opponent.”
“Host man! Host man! Mr. host man!” Trump waved the chip around in the air. “I want Joe to have to do a crossword puzzle!”
Alton took the chip from Trump’s greasy hand. “Pleasure making a deal with you, sir. President Biden, before you continue, you must complete today’s New York Times crossword.”
A production assistant placed the newspaper and a pencil in front of the octogenarian.
“Oh, hell. I can barely read this…”
“Ha! Take that, grandpa!” Trump said moments before throwing out his back and yelping as he fell to the floor.
Biden put on his reading glasses. “What in God’s name is a six letter word for tomato?”
Alton made an aside to the audience as he washed his hands. “This is actually not the New York Times crossword, but rather a prank puzzle cooked up by our writers. Some questions are so easy, they’re hard not to overthink.”
Trump crawled back into his chair and picked the phone back up. “I want to talk to my war guys. The war guys! You know what I mean! They’re genius at war - those guys! Almost as smart as me. Get them on the phone!”
Biden chewed on the eraser end of his pencil as he looked over all the clues. His head tilted forward a bit and the bowl spilled more milk.
Trump pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and began reading the numbers from it to the person at the other end of the phone. “I’m in charge so don’t argue with me, okay? Okay. What? I can’t hear so good from this ear after a few weeks ago…”
“Candidates, you have two minutes remaining on the clock.”
Trump smirked and leaned back in his chair. “I’m done!”
Alton looked at him, puzzled. “But you haven’t even talked to the governor yet.”
“I think he’ll get the message.”
An emergency alert siren played over the studio intercom. “This is not a test. Nuclear arms have been deployed against territory of the United States.”
“What?!?” Alton shook the PA. “Is that real?!?”
“I don’t think that’s one of our recordings…”
“How was he able to do that? He’s not even President right now!”
Trump wore a shit-eating grin. “I’m just that good, Mr. host man.”
Biden was deep in thought. “Tomato… tomato…”
Alton thought of how he might never see his family again. A deep wave of sadness, anger, and confusion crashed over him, eroding everything away but his TV persona. He turned to the camera.
“This has been the first ever - and I suppose, last ever - Cutthroat Debate Stage. Thank you for tuning in. So long, America.”
The feed went black.
Thanks to @charlesoberonn for the, uh, "prompt," and shout-out to @wilty-lettuce-brain for encouraging me.
