Trump had done. He won the White House. His pearl-laden prize stood before him. It's ancient, ugly doors in front of him.
"What's wrong? said a familiar voice. "This doesn't feel right, these doors are ugly. My tower is encrusted in gold and I must move here!?" squealed Donald. He wanted to be in comfort. He knew that there would be too much pain at this place. That he would age to a crisp, his life done if he entered. "They have the best crackers, however. You will do this, and you will do it for me. I own you." replied Hair Mouse, rubbing it's tiny hands together. "When we enter within, I shall feast upon this country."
"Will you still help me?" replied Donald, shaking. His wife was to his side, saying hello to some low life gardeners. "I will still need you. That Pence...he's mean to me. He tells me I have to be more conservative." It's true, Pence was never Trumps first pick, and they always got into cat fights. Pence wanted to torture poor people who simply wanted to love, but Donald never cared about what the poor did in their own houses. "Don't you worry about Pence, he'll be mouse food by the end of the year. I've got my brethren working their way to him." Trump felt solace at this. Hair Mouse was always right.
"Melania, it's time we enter this place.". His wife looked at him with her dead eyes. "Yes" she replied. The door opened, and they went inside...