Donald Trump And The Great Witch Hunt

     Ever since Donald Trump was a little boy, he’s been terrified of witches. When he was in his teens, a witch cast a disfiguring spell on him, causing his hands to shrink slightly. Some people claimed they couldn’t see the difference, and told him it was all in his mind, but Donald knew the truth. He had tiny hands, and a witch was to blame. More recently, a witch leveled another curse at him, inviting winds to blow his unusual hair right off his head whenever he was outside and cameras were aimed at him.

     “The witches make me look ridiculous,” Donald said. “That’s something that only a witch can do.” He knew it was incredibly difficult to make him look anything other than great, and so whenever he looked anything other than great, witches were to blame.

     Donald knew a lot about witches. In fact, witchcraft was one of the thousands of subjects that he was an expert on. “Witches are tricky,” Donald liked to tell people. “Sometimes they’ll disguise themselves as beautiful, alluring women with knockout knockers.” So of course in that case Donald couldn’t help but want to get his tiny hands on them. And he would just grab them, kiss them, whatever he wanted to do. He knew that later, if they complained about his groping, they were witches. There were plenty of witches about.

     And yet, for some reason, there were people out to get him, rather than out to get the witches. It made no sense. In fact, recently some people broke into his best friend’s house in order to find evidence that Donald was a witch, and that he got help from other witches from Russia, a coven led by his pal Vladimir. People were so caught up in this false witch hunt, that Donald Trump knew the only thing that could refocus their attention and satisfy them would be a real witch hunt. And Donald, though terrified of witches, was just the person to lead it. “I am the greatest witch hunter ever,” he told his pet lizard Kellyanne and his dog Sanders. “Though sometimes you just have to pay off a witch so she won’t shrink your hands further.” Sanders barked her agreement.

     For this witch hunt, Donald Trump knew he would need a little help, and he decided to turn to an old chum, Sean Hannity. Hannity knew a thing or two about paying off witches. And Hannity was someone Donald could trust. After all, years ago Donald and Sean had experimented with farmyard animals together, and Sean never divulged details of those carefree days, not even to the cross-dressed hookers whose favors he often paid for. When Donald called him, Sean agreed to the plan immediately. He knew that a successful hunt of a real witch would make him a hero among a certain segment of the population, and would perhaps help him out of his own public image troubles.

     And so early one morning, Donald and Sean set off on a great adventure. Donald didn’t want to tip off the witches that they were coming, so he had to sneak out of his big white house. He kept reporters busy by sending Sanders the talking dog to stand in front of them at the podium. Donald, of course, knew that Sanders didn’t really talk. The old girl just barked. But he also knew that the reporters would do their best to interpret those barks, and it would keep them occupied for the rest of the day while he went about bagging a witch. He patted Sanders’ head, and gave her a biscuit. “Good girl, Sanders! Good girl!” With the adults thus occupied, Donald and Sean were able to sneak out easily.

     Sean did the driving because sometimes Donald’s tiny hands had trouble grasping the steering wheel. “Where should we look first?” Sean asked.

     Donald thought about all the women who revealed themselves as witches by complaining about his unwanted advances, and said, “New York.”

    “Okay,” Sean responded. “Buckle up.”

     On the drive up, Sean and Donald kept themselves busy by telling each other how great they were, and the time flew by. They were in New York before they knew it. “Wow, that was fast,” Donald said. “I’m not even done telling you how great I am.” Before they stepped out of the car, Donald said: “They love me in this city, but there are lots of witches here. We have to be careful. Let’s use code names so that people won’t recognize us. I will be Giant Hands. You can be Giant Talent. No one will ever guess our real identities.”

     They gave each other a quick kiss for luck and then stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. People rushed by them without giving them so much as a glance.

     “How are we going to tell which ones are witches?” Sean asked. “They all look like witches to me. I mean, none of them are even white.”

     “Well, Giant Hands, there is one way,” Donald began.

     “No, you’re Giant Hands,” Sean corrected. “I’m Giant Talent. Remember?”

     “Oh. Well, Giant Talent, there is one way, one easy way, to tell if a woman is a witch. But to perform this test, I am going to have to reveal to her my true identity.”

     “Is that safe?”

     “It is a risk we must take. For you see, only a witch will spurn my sexual advances. It is because they’re not real women. They’re monsters who must be destroyed.” Sean quickly agreed, but felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of women on the streets of New York. However, luck was on their side that day, for the very first woman they confronted turned out to be a witch.

     They chose a dark-haired beauty because Donald said, “Anyone who looks like Ivanka is going to be attracted to me and therefore not a witch.” This woman was dressed all in black, but that wasn’t enough to make Donald confident that she was a witch. In fact, for a moment Donald hoped she wasn’t a witch. “This girl is hot,” Donald whispered to Sean. “Not as hot as Ivanka, but still very hot.”

     “Don’t worry, Donald, I will be ready,” Sean told him.

    Donald stepped in front of the woman and said, “Hi, I’m Donald Trump.” He then grabbed her by the pussy. The woman screamed and tried to hit him with her purse, but Sean was on that witch like a shot, forcing a large canvas sack over her head.

     “I’ve got her!” Sean exclaimed.

     “Great!” Donald shouted. “Now let’s get her back to D.C. before Sanders really does start talking.”

     When they arrived at the press briefing room, Sanders was still keeping the reporters busy. “Here, girl,” Trump whispered, and tossed a red rubber ball into the hallway. Sanders bounded after it, and Donald took her place at the podium.

     “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he began. “For a long time now I have been the unfair target of a witch hunt. Most of you know this is ridiculous, since only women can be witches. Still, the unfair attack has continued. Until now.” Donald paused for dramatic effect. “For today, with the help of Sean Hannity, I – the greatest witch hunter the world has ever seen – have captured a witch.” He motioned for Sean Hannity to come forward. Sean dragged the large canvas bag over to the podium. “Today I give the American people what they want: a real, live –”

     Sean interrupted Donald, whispering something in his ear.

     “No? Suffocated in the trunk?” Donald said. “Well, it was a long drive. And we did stop for those burgers. And those other burgers.” He then turned back to the cameras. “I give the American people a real witch.” Sean then dumped the witch’s body onto the floor next to the podium. The reporters gasped, and then they all applauded. Donald Trump was once again their hero.