With a few days off, I’m happily able to sit a spell and do some writing, and thought I’d combine a couple TBP Online Writer’s Guild prompts. Three are from the most recent prompt. The other three are from a past OLWG, but I forget which. Instead of listing the prompts in the introduction, I bolded the font in the story. I’m naughty and didn’t time myself, but I know I wrote/edited off and on over the course of two hours, which isn’t too far off the 25 minute mark. That much. I mean, compared to, say, an entire afternoon. ;-).
But first, good readers, a disclaimer: I don’t know a thing about Donald Trump, his campaign or anything about his campaign staff. This is entirely a work of fiction and it makes an accusation that is entirely a figment of my imagination. The prompts are the devil that made me write it! 😉
“Whatever you do,” Phoebe said, “don’t tell anything to Donald. He’s a right snollygoster.”
“That’s the same advice I got from my wife,” Basil said.
“Well, she’s right! He talks too much, all that bloody nonsense, and, and… well,” Phoebe walked over to her computer. Let me show you what the devil is up to.”
Phoebe typed in Donald’s name and another keyword Basil didn’t catch. The internet catalog listed only four links. She clicked on the third link and a blank YouTube window came up and Phoebe clicked on the “play” arrow.
Five people stood idly about in a hotel suite. No one spoke. There was no sound except the ambient noise of the room. The camera jiggled a bit and lost focus for a few seconds. Basil guessed the camera was hidden, or it was a phone someone either didn’t know they had activated, or were trying to casually position without being noticed.
From the corner of the room, Donald walked in with a bottle of alcohol in one fist and something else in the other.
“OK, everybody, let’s get started. Sit down. Everybody. Now!”
The group sat down in the various chairs in the room. All had a look of trepidation. A man leaned his arms forward on his legs and buried his face in his hands.
“Stop that shit, you stupid shit!” Donald barked at the man, and the man sat up. “F-n loser!” Donald barked again.
“Now,” he continued, “Like I said, let’s get started.”
Donald slammed down the bottle of alcohol on the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Hundred proof!” he bellowed. He twisted off the lid of the amber pharmaceutical bottle he held in his other hand, and poured out its contents onto the coffee table.
“Everyone, and I mean every last one of you losers, take one. HA! Take two! They’re small!” Donald grinned a self-satisfied smile, giving the person nearest him a chuck on the shoulder.
Everyone did as instructed. “Now, put the damn things in your mouths and pass the bottle around! Drink it all! I’ve got another. Hell, I’ve got the whole damn company, if I want it, and I do! I’m gonna make winners out of the f-n group of you, if it kills me, which it won’t, because I always win. DRINK!”
The clip stopped. Basil stared at the computer screen in disbelief. “Any idea who took the video?” he asked Phoebe.
“No, but your wife does,” she said.
“Gillian!?” Basil looked at Phoebe, utterly confused. “What the hell are you talking about…”
“She’s posing as a new staffer on his advance team. She’s brought several key people into her confidence and she’s bringing back some pretty damning stuff. Even his arrogant ass won’t be able to spin his way out of the shit she’s been able to get her hands on. So, when we tell you not to tell him anything the next time you have to meet with him…”
Basil nodded. The pieces began to come together. Phoebe’s extended buying trips for her manufacturing company were obviously not what she said they were.
“The Times scoop about his tax return…?” Basil ventured.
Phoebe smiled. “Cherish her,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, “Cherish her, man. She’s doing amazing work.”
I think it’s obvious I will not be choosing DJT for POTUS, but I do choose number 18 for next week’s OLWG.