NEW YORK, NEW YORK — This weekend, the Trump family held a Zoom video conference call with one another to “catch up,” sources say, after weeks of isolation due to social distancing guidelines.
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As President Donald Trump leads the country through the COVID-19 outbreak crisis with his trademark sarcastic wit, he’s also put his big, perfect brain to work concocting and then prescribing new experimental treatments for the novel coronavirus, sometimes right there on the spot during his daily task force campaign rallies. Despite his recent claims that his suggestion of using injected disinfectants to fight the virus were done with “sarcasm,” however, sources close to the situation are reporting that a substantial portion of the Trump family’s Zoom call was spent by everyone trying to convince the president’s son Eric that he can’t and shouldn’t inject himself with Lysol disinfecting wipes.
“It’s a very well-known fact that Eric is the one who gets most easily confused by things like medical science and shiny objects,” a person who was on the call told us on the condition of anonymity. “So none of us were at all surprised when he didn’t get what Dad — excuse me — the president, was saying about injecting disinfectant, and that he also didn’t get that Dad — DAMN IT! — the president, was being sarcastic.”
Reportedly, about thirty or forty minutes into the Zoom call, Eric told everyone to “hang on a minute” and he disappeared off camera for a couple moments. When Eric had returned, he had what our source called “the biggest shit eating grin” on his face. Eric held up a large, cylindrical container of Lysol disinfecting wipes.
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“Guys! Guys! Look what I got my hands on! It’s some of Diddums’ Miracle Elixir,” Eric shouted excitedly. “I’m gonna shoot myself up with it and own the libs! Then, I’ll be ‘rona free and I’ll have proof-en once and for all how much smarter we Trumps are than anybody else!”
The president, attending the Zoom call from his bed in the White House, put his palm up to his face. President Trump, exasperated by his son, pleaded with his daughter Ivanka to “speak to Eric, please.” Trump implored Ivanka to help her brother understand why he couldn’t and shouldn’t inject himself with Lysol wipes.
“Of course Daddy! Anything for you daddy,” Ivanka said.
The president patted his daughter on the head.
“That’s a good little Vanky Baby,” Trump encouraged. “You’re always so good at telling your dumb-ass-fuckface brothers what I need them to hear. And whooooooooooooooooah boy are you looking hot this morning! Do you get up before I do just to make yourself up so I don’t see you without makeup or your hair done? What a sexy and thoughtful gift for your father!”
After five more minutes of the president lavishing his daughter with highly-sexually charged compliments, he told her to “go ahead and school Eric.”
“Eric, you can’t do that,” Ivanka tried.
A stubborn Eric folded his arms.
“NO! NO! Ivanka, you might sleep with Daddy but you’re not my Mommy! I do what I want,” Eric howled back. “And I wanna make Daddy proud by using his Miracle Rona Cure!”
Eric began to pull out a handful of wipes from the container. Reaching into his pocket, he fished out a smashed up graham cracker. Frowning, he checked his pocket again. This time, his hand came out holding a live frog he said he was “gonna make a pet out of,” provided his wife allowed him to. Finally, Eric remembered, and he put his hand in the other pocket.
“OUCHIE! OUCH OUCH OUCH,” Eric shouted, pulling his hand, with a hypodermic needle embedded in it, out of his pocket. “Okay, so how do I get the wipeys in there?”
After an hour and a half of attempts to dissuade Eric from injecting Lysol wipes into his veins, it was apparent that he was both never going to understand why it’s physically impossible, nor why he shouldn’t do it even if it was. Nobody was having much luck convincing Eric to think of something else to do to own the libs. Donald Trump Jr. tried to change the subject.
“HEY GUYS! The doctors said I’m cleared for the next round of plastic of surgery,” Don Junior tried to interject. “They said when they’re done with this next one, you’ll barely be able to tell I have Chronic Jizz Face at all!”
But that wasn’t enough. Eric was still focused on injecting himself with Lysol wipes. Finally, Ivanka had an idea. She took off her wedding ring and waved it at the camera.
“ERIC! ERIC! LOOK AT THIS ERIC! ISN’T THIS SHINY,” Ivanka asked. “It’s really shiny huh Eric?”
That did it. The shine of Ivanka’s ring had him distracted. Now came the hard part. Ivanka wound up her arm and appeared to throw the ring across the president’s bedroom. Would it work? They were all connected remotely, so would Eric still chase the ring, even though it was literally physically impossible for him to find it?
Yes, yes he would.
“I’LL FIND IT! I’LL FIND IT,” Eric was heard shouting, even three hours after the Zoom call had ended. “I’ll find that ring! I know I will!”
At the time of publication, Eric Trump still had not found the ring.
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Writer/comedian James Schlarmann is the founder of The Political Garbage Chute and his work has been featured on The Huffington Post. You can follow James on Facebook, Spotify, and Instagram, but not Twitter because Twitter is a cesspool.
