Comrade Vladimir and Comrade Donald

It is a dark night in New York, a city that knows how to keep its secrets. But on the top floor of Trump Tower, one man sits in solitude, tweeting out life’s painful truths. Donald Trump, billionaire.

Far below, a black limousine pulls up at the rear entrance in an unlighted, narrow alley. A lone figure in dark glasses, a black trench coat, and an even blacker fedora alights with the agility of a seasoned athlete. He is quickly admitted.

Running up the many flights to the top floor he is ushered into the billionaire’s presence.  He takes off his hat but not his glasses.  The billionaire gives him a big hug:

And I have one more favor to ask of you.  Do you know who has the 30,000 missing emails of Hillary’s?

Vlad. We do not know.  But our best information is that Mossad has them.  Perhaps you should offer a reward for them.

The Donald.  Not on your life.  I do not want to spend the money.

Good night Comrade Vlad.

Vlad.  Good night. Comrade Donald.

(He mutters under his breath as he leaves.)

He is certainly a great man of peace – but cheez, what a cheapskate.

Endnote: Thanks to Guy Noir for inspiring the opening paragraph. 

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