[Hurricane Dorian approaches. DONALD TRUMP is watching TV. At first, he is confused why the shows are all so boring. Someone explains it to him. He gets excited.]
TRUMP:
Winds, winds, blow blow!
Westward, ho, ho!
Wind, wind, howls, howls!
I’ll throw paper towels.
[Early maps, long in advance of any real information, show Dorian most likely heading up the East Coast, with statistically insignificant models that raise the tiny possibility the storm will cross Florida into the Gulf of Mexico. This excites Trump.]
TRUMP:
Maybe it’ll slam a
Part of Alabama
Maybe it’ll gnaw
On Northern Arkansas
Maybe it’ll coat a
Stretch of Minnesota
Maybe it’ll go
Right to Idaho.
[Trump stares at the map, realizing that he does not know more than maybe a quarter of the states. He begins to map possible courses for the hurricane. His heart is racing.]
TRUMP:
Next it’s off to Utah
Then south to Illinois
It jogs back east toward Oregon.
Who knows what else it will destroy?
[For some reason, Trump gets fixated on the possibility of the hurricane hitting Alabama, maybe because it was the first rhyme in his song. He tweets about the danger. By this point, the storm has set its course and actual hurricane authorities quickly correct him. He doubles down, first on Twitter and then by producing a map to prove his point.]
TRUMP:
They think I’m in error
But they’re full of crap.
Just look at this totally
Non-doctored map!
I swear that’s an official line
And not one drawn in with a Sharpie
That looks exactly like the one that’s
Clutched here in my metacarpi!
[Caught fat-handed in his map-altering scheme, he triples down and then quadruples down, ranting on Twitter and in press conferences, derailing otherwise sensible meetings to make his same invalid point. He retweets an old map from a South Florida Water Management organization that says on it, in no uncertain terms, that it should be superseded by any National Hurricane Map.]
TRUMP:
The truth is simple
The truth is so plain
Alabama was threatened
By this hurricane.
I don’t care what they say.
The experts know zero.
Look out, Alabama.
I’m your number one hero!
[The hurricane proceeds up the coast. Property is lost. Lives are threatened. The president of the goddamned United States of America remains fixated on his poor understanding of storm plots, even devising a new vocabulary to justify his behavior.]
TRUMP:
Grazed or hit
Hit or grazed
I was correct
I’m right for days
Hit or grazed
Grazed or hit
I see the truth
From where I sit
All these liars
On the news
Think I am wrong
But they’re confused.
All these liars
In the press
Think I know nothing.
They know less.
[Trump retweets an old Alabama National Guard tweet. He tries to invent a time machine to take him back to when Dorian was not yet a tropical storm and still could potentially have passed into the gulf. He hires a choir of children to ring around him and sing.]
CHOIR:
Dorian, Dorian,
Where are you going
With your vicious storm surge
And fearsome winds blowing?
Dorian, Dorian,
You bypassed Miami.
When is your landfall
In old Alabammy?
[One child steps out of the choir and faces Trump. “Mr. President,” she says. “We learned that lying is wrong. Why didn’t you?” Trump holds up his hand to protest. He is about to explain. You are not a liar if you believe that you are right, he will say. You are not a liar if someone else ever makes an error, he will say. And then maybe he will attack the girl’s appearance. She’s wearing a shirt that looks ridiculous. But something in her eyes stops him cold. He collapses to the ground, clutching his head. When he stands again, he is changed. He is, if not remorseful, at least temporarily honest. He calls in to Fox & Friends and admits his deception.]
TRUMP:
I took the damned marker
And I drew a damned cone!
Then I felt triumphant
And deeply alone.
What kind of man resorts
To map-based graffito?
A man who is actually
Mapping his ego.
[Trump hangs up on Fox & Friends, goes to his bedroom, sits in a plush gold armchair, bends his head, and weeps. The top of his head resembles a hurricane of hair. Like all hurricanes, it has done damage. Like all hurricanes, it passes. The choir of children returns to stand outside his bedroom door and sing a medley of “What a Fool Believes” and “The Tears of a Clown.”]
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