Let’s pan the camera back a few years. Young Donald age 8 and his parents are having dinner. Young Donald insists he can make run the family better than his Parents can.
Father Triumph to young Donald, “You have no experience running a home why should we trust you?”
Young Donald to Father, “You are a Dummyhead, I tell it like it is! I know how to do things.”
“What proof do you have that you know how to run a family?”
“I won a kickball game. I won at marbles. Pretty girls like me. I’m a winner.”
Mother Triumph, “Yes it’s true dear that you are good at many things, but running a family is different from marbles.”
“Mommy, you are a dummyhead. You are just like Rosie O’Donnell, a big fat slob inside and out. No wonder you married Daddy dummyhead, with a face like yours who else was going to have you?”
Father Triumph, “Go to your room thing minute. I will not tolerate your abusive language.”
“Hey, not a problem loser. You have little hands and besides I own Triumph Steaks so I don’t need your smelly meatloaf. Tweet me @ILOVEME.theDonald, when you’re ready to apologize.” Young Donald trumps upstairs.
A while later Mother Triumph hears noises in the backyard. Three little boys are yelling at Donald. Donald is holding a boy’s head under water in the wading pool. “What are you doing?” shouts Mother Triumph.
“What does it look like, Dummyhead?” her son retorts, “If you have a brain you wouldn’t ask stupid questions.”
“Donald, you’re hurting that little boy!” his mother shouts.”
“Hussan won’t tell me what I want to know. I’m waterboarding him.”
“Stop that this instant,” his Mother cries rushing outside.
“He’s planning to take my toys. He’s a traiter. I will torture him till he talks.”
“Donald, stop you’ll kill him,” his mother screams pulling him off the child.
“Mommy, you’re soft on terrorism!” Donald screams at her. “You’re probably a Democrat! All you care about is human rights and civil rights and all humanitarian shit. Well, I’m a Republican. I care about war and bombs, and guns and money and stuff like that. I’m all about winning and getting even with people who aren’t nice to me. I have more toys than anyone. So I get to do what I want because I’m a winner.”
Mother Triumph, “Donald you have to be nice to people if you want to have friends. Drowning them is wrong. Maybe that boy is innocent.”
“You don’t know anything.” Her son retorts. “That kid’s a foreigner. His parents speak another language. They probably have bombs in their house. They are from Islam. Islam is far away. Islam people don’t like Americans. They probably know Mexicans. Some one told me Mexicans rape people. They don’t even talk right. I talk right. I speak American.”
“Donald, we live in a neighborhood with lots of different kinds of people. You have to get along with everyone,” Mother Triumph insists.
“No I don’t. They have to get along with me. Lots of people like me. If they treat me nice then maybe I will be nice to them. If not I declare war.”
“You can’t just go around fighting and killing people. You have to be polite and respectful, Mother Triumph says.
“Mommykins, you must be in bed with our dummy head African-Amerian President,” her son says. “He’s soft on everyone. He may even be an Islam person. Someone told me his birth certificate was a fraud. Really that’s a fact.”
“Donald, there are lots of people from all over the world who are wonderful, smart people. You have to respect other people, you can’t just go around calling people names and slandering them.” Mother Truimph scolds.
“Really?” Donald retorts, “Who’s gonna stop me? I’m a winner. I have lots and lots of toys. I have lots of pretty girlfriends, that are pretty inside and out (he smirks) so I can do what I want. I don’t have to respect anyone. They have to respect me. I’m the best and everyone knows it.”
Mother Triumph sighs, “Donald, you are not making sense. In a civilized world we live by laws and rules of social ettiquette. People have to get alone with each other.”
“No they don’t,” Donald retorts “I’m gonna build a wall; I’m gonna build lots of walls and no one can come in my country unless I examine them closely. Especially the women. Woman from Islam can hide things under their scarves so I’ll have to check them out. If they don’t pass inspection, I’ll shoot them. If anyone objects to my rules, then I’ll shoot their families. I’m Donald Triumph. My name says it all. I Triumph over all. Even the Pope is afraid of me! I tweeted him too. I said #BadPope@ILOVE ME.The Donald. No one is bigger or better than me!
“Now Donald,” his mother told him, “people don’t always agree on things. We live in a free society. That means freedom of speech, freedom of religion and the pursuit of happiness.”
“Well, Mumsy, I believe in freedom too. Mine! I have the freedom to say whatever I want, use whatever vulgar, hateful, simplistic, irrational, babyish things I want to say and because I believe in the Second Amendment, I can buy lots of guns and shoot whoever tries to stop me. When I become President, I’ll run the world and slander, insult or shoot everyone who gets in my way.”
Donald Triumph gets a dreamy smile on his face as he imagines how things will be when he grows up and rules the world.
“God help us all,” mutters his beleagured mother as she trumps in the house.
“I heard that…” Young Donald sneers and flips his Mother the bird.