(The evening of November 8th, 2016. Donald Trump takes the stage in front of a massive crowd of supporters. He waves, then holds his hands up until the chanting, crying, and shouting gradually fades.)
Well, folks. What did I tell you? Did I call it or what? Crooked Hillary and her cronies have stolen the election. (Pause for boos). OK, OK, so… what are we gonna do about it? I’ll tell you what. I’m not gonna keep you in suspense anymore. Right here and now, for the good of the people, for our freedom, and for the last chance to save our democracy.
(Over chants of “Donald!” and “Lock her up!” Trump pauses to smile and hold up his hand).
I, Donald Trump, hereby concede… the impossibility of meaning in the context of an intertextual hegemony. Who’s with me?
(Awkward silence, murmurs of confusion.)
OK, let me back up. First, Hillary didn’t steal the election. No one did. I just wanted to indulge your expectations for a moment. But let me tell you what this is all really about: When I was five years old, my father took me aside and explained that everything he had — his riches, his power, his influence — it could all be mine. But on one condition: I was to privately commit my life to philosophy, feminism, and postmodern critiques of American culture. But only in private. Publicly, I was to cultivate a persona of an entitled, narcissistic demagogue, formed as a decades-long act of performance art that reflected our nation’s grotesque sublimation of its own basest desires.
Once I reached the apex of this performance, my father said, I must leverage the full attention of the electorate to once and for all let the veil be lifted. Now is that time.
To admit anything, whether that admission has a price or simply bows to its own conceit, is also to admit an egress — a getting-the-fuck-out, as it were. I believe my point has been made — the best point, the greatest point you’ve ever seen — and now I would like to thank all of those people who have helped keep my secret and served as my mentors in this process. The late existentialist feminist icon Simone de Beauvoir was like a mother to me. A total 10, intellectually. Later, I was also honored to work privately with bell hooks, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida… believe me, I could go on. The biggest minds in postcolonial and poststructuralist thought, let me just say that much.
What they taught me was that you can’t take down the system head on. You have to come at American exceptionalism at an angle, and the most audacious angle anyone has ever seen was a 70-year-bit I’m revealing to you right now. I’ve put years of study and dedication into embodying the putrid ideologies that I secretly sought to destroy. And look at how amazing my results have been. I’ve unified millions, tens, hundreds of millions against me. No one has ever seen anything like it. It’s huge. And all of my so-called supporters, well… Let me just say, it’s OK now, folks. You’ll still remain on my payroll as amazing performance artists, but you can drop the act, too. We’ve accomplished what we came here to do.
Over the last year and a half, we have galvanized countless activists against racism, sexism, Islamophobia, and general prejudicial sludge that’s been seeping up for years. Long after I’m gone, you’re gonna see that countermovement against my campaign inspiring new generations of progressive citizens. My only request is that going forward, all buildings with my names on them be affixed with question marks, and my tomb should be engraved with a quote by Judith Butler.
Finally, in keeping with my father’s original grant proposal to the National Endowment for the Arts, it’s time to take my final bow. I wish Hillary Clinton the best. She’s a class act, let me tell you. All those things I said or tweeted about her — about anyone, really — please let history look back on all of that as ironic commentary. My whole life should be in quotation marks, really. No, no, really! It’s unbelievable what I’ve accomplished here. So having said that, I will now fulfill my final obligation to this performance by bursting into a thousand evanescent particles of light. I’d like to thank eminent theoretical physicist Michio Kaku here for helping me pull this off. It’s gonna be spectacular, believe me.
Everyone ready? In three, two, one…
(A blinding flash of light. Where Mr. Trump stood looks now like a cloud of fireflies. They fly into the audience, swarming above their heads. With tears in their eyes, the crowd drops all signs, hats, and banners to the ground. The sparks of light spiral up and up into the night sky.)