The alarm went off at its usual time — 3:30am in the morning. The president was probably already 30 minutes into his morning tweet-rage routine. It was “time to make the xenophobic, white supremacist donuts,” as his boss was fond of saying most mornings.
First, though, it was time for White House Senior Policy Adviser Stephen Miller to look at the tape of his various Sunday morning interviews. Any time the president let him go on camera and defend the Trump Doctrine, Miller liked to do a debriefing, to see if he could glean something from his performance, if he could learn something in order to do a better job the next time. When Stephen turned on his TV and selected his appearance from “Face the Nation,” his heart sank.
What the hell? Why does my hair look so bad? They said the hair in a can would look natural! What will I do? I’m ruined!
Just then, Miller noticed he had several voicemails waiting for him on his smart phone. He picked it up, and started listening to them.
Message 1: “You totally didn’t look like a penis with spray on hair, Stephen!”
Message 2: “Your hair was so gosh-darned believable, Stephen!”
Message 3: “You’ve never looked less like an cartoon bad guy!”
Message 4: “You morphing into your idiot septuagenarian puppet with fake skin color and obviously fake hair is a good thing for your look, Stephen!”
Message 5: “You’re not a Nazi vampire sack of ass, Stephen!”
Wow! This was turning out way better than he could have hoped for! All of these messages were telling him how great he looked, and how much the spray-on hair on his head looked genuine, and real. Stephen had been so terrified of the reaction to his faux hair, but now he could see that was all for nothing. All his worrying was over nothing.
Miller dived back into the voicemails.
Message 6: “Stephen! Holy cow! You’ve never looked better! Keep the spray can hair for sure!”
Message 7: “Your spray on hair was so amazing, Stephen, I completely forgot what human carbuncle you are!”
Message 8: “Normally I hate everything about you man! But your spray on hair totally changed my mind about you. And you’re clearly not the smarmy little cock weasel you make everything think you are by existing the way you do.”
Message 9: “I had to call and tell you Stephen just how authentic that aerosol hair was! In no way were most of us at home laughing so hard we peed ourselves so much your boss would want to cover us in rubles and hump us!”
Message 10: “You’re still a twatwaffle, Stephen, but you’re a twatwaffle with bigly impressive spray-on hair! Good job!”
He couldn’t spend all day listening to praise for his spray-on hair. As much as his ego enjoyed the boost, Miller knew he had a job to do for the American people. It was time to get into the shower and start his day.
Turning on the hot water in his shower, Stephen started to disrobe. He always enjoyed looking at his penis, and he knew one day he’d get it all the way into his own mouth. This morning, something started Stephen, however, when he looked into the mirror. Written in orange lipstick, Miller found a message on it.
VOICEMAILS! VOICEMAILS! VOICEMAILS!
That’s when the flashbacks to Sunday night came. A bottle of Pinot Grigio. A couple of roofies. Lots of tears. So many, many tears. More tears than when his boss found out that collusion may not be a crime, but campaign finance fraud, conspiracy, and tax evasion were.
Stephen checked his phone. 42 voice mails. And, it appeared, 42 calls from his phone…to his phone. With a look of sadness, Stephen let his head sink, his eyes falling down, down, to his crotch. And there he saw it. The best two and a quarter inches of man meat anyone could hope for…
…and this time, he was getting it all in his mouth, so the gun could stay out of it, for now.