His toupee is doing a Mexican wave.
He is surrounded by a thousand naked dancers spray painted gold. Classy, he thinks.
He lovingly looks at his wife who is wearing the most expensive outfit money can buy. He marvels at how wonderfully cheap she makes it look. A sure sign of quality.
Hordes of adorning fans fester on the White House lawn awaiting his words of wisdom.
Shit, thinks Donald, I’ve forgotten my speech.
He rushes into the Oval Office and presses the red button to summon his butler.