by Heide Goody
“No, that’s not the point,” said Clovenhoof with a patience he really didn’t have. “I wasn’t talking about your schlong, Don.”
“Who said you were?”
“I’m saying you’re a force of chaos. I mean, I don’t normally have a problem with that. I generally applaud it. Seriously. Kudos to you. You’ve spent your life dicking about with other people’s money. Build a casino, go bankrupt, build a hotel, go bankrupt. And all those women— I respect your love of good ol’ T & A, although the only time you’ll find me grabbing anything is at grab-a-granny night at the Boldmere Oak. And you’ve got that hottie Melanoma as your wife.”
“My wife is Melania.”
“Twins? Kinky. See! I would normally take my hat off you.” Clovenhoof cast off his makeshift crown and frisbeed it into a corner. “You’re like me. Living the dream. But we can’t have you at the steering wheel of the free world. Saying you’re going to build that wall on the Mexican border. Saying you’re going to put Hillary in jail. Saying you’ll leave NATO, pull out of climate change deals, ban Muslims from the US. Crazy cool ideas, Don, but you can’t go through with them. We need a dull prude like Michael in charge while we party on at the back of the bus.”
Trump frowned, as though remembering something. He went to his bedside, picked up the television remote and turned the TV back on.
“You hear what I’m saying?” said Clovenhoof.
“Sure,” said Trump, disinterestedly. “You don’t want me to be President. I hear you. Because you think the world’s going to end.”
“So, you’ll do it?” said Clovenhoof.
“Do it?”
“Make phone calls. Call up Obama. I don’t know. Tell them that you’re no longer standing.”
“Oh, that,” said Trump and pulled a face. “No. I’m not doing that. I’m going to be the President.”
“I will kill you if you don’t step down,” warned Clovenhoof, more irritated than threatening.
Trump sat down on the edge of the bed, chuckling as he flicked through the TV channels. “Sure. I don’t think I’m going to take a dream threat seriously.”
“Dream?” Clovenhoof gave a little shriek of annoyance. “Fine. Screw you, Mr President.”
He turned to the massive crates he’d sneakily and improbably hauled into Trump’s penthouse bedroom. Irritation gave him strength and nails flew out as he ripped the lid off one. Fat tubes of industrial-sized fireworks sat among polystyrene foam flakes. Clovenhoof pulled out two rockets, each as long as his arm, and sat them on the edge of the crate while he searched for fuse wire.
“And I thought Hillary had cancelled the fireworks because she knew she was going to lose,” said Trump. “There!”
“What?” said Clovenhoof.
Trump jiggled his remote at the TV screen. “I knew I had seen it. I have a very, very, very good memory.”
On screen was the BBC World News channel. Six individuals were being led away in handcuffs. Nearly all were naked. A huge man was covered in what appeared to be tomato sauce and feathers. A wiry woman fought against her bonds and swore like only an Irishwoman could. An archangel that Clovenhoof knew very well was downcast, a dejected frown and a massive bruise on his face.
“And as the emergency services put out the remaining fires,” the newscaster was saying, “the members of All the Countries of the World are all being taken into custody and everyone is glad that this ordeal has come to a satisfactory conclusion. We are sure that in the next few days, commentators will be picking over the precise meaning of the group’s surrealist statement. Was it crime or was it art?”
“You see?” said Trump, turning it off. “I am a smart guy. I saw this earlier and this is a dream. I am smarter than you, dream.”
“The world’s not going to end?” said Clovenhoof. “The prophecy wasn’t about the world— It was about—” He sighed. “Nostradamus is a dick.”
“So,” said Trump, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “You can leave now. I need my sleep.”
Clovenhoof thought on this for a moment. “Um. No,” he said, and unspooled a length of fuse across the floor.
“No?” said Trump.
“No.” Clovenhoof entwined one end of the fuse wire with that of a rocket, jammed it nose down in the crate then piled a bunch of other fireworks on top of it.
“But the world’s not going to end now. You said.”
Clovenhoof turned on him. “The world can end in any number of ways, can’t it, Don? I’ve not yet seen the latest series of Game of Thrones. With you as President, I’d rate the chances of me having time enough to do that as fifty-fifty at best.”
“You talk like Hillary. Do you think I would do a worse job than her?”
Clovenhoof dug in his bedsheet robes for some matches. After a moment he tore the damned thing off and, far more sensibly, dug around in his pockets instead. “I’ve heard your campaign promises,” he said.
Trump laughed at that. He laughed hard.
“I have!” said Clovenhoof. “I’ve heard them repeated by some of the most monumental morons I could ever meet: your supporters.”
Trump pursed his lips, not a disagreement with Clovenhoof’s assessment of his supporters, more a disapproval of how it was expressed.
Clovenhoof struck a match. It went out. “You said you would ban Muslims coming into the country.”
Trump gave him a reproachful look. “We can’t do a blanket ban on a religion, can we?”
“You’re going to leave NATO.”
“And weaken our own nation’s security? I don’t think so.”
Clovenhoof struck a second match. “What about that wall with Mexico?” The match went out.
“It was a great campaign device. Maybe there’ll be a fence. In some places.”
“You’re going to scrap Obamacare.”
“Actually, there are some good aspects that we really, really should keep.”
Clovenhoof lit a third match and it caught. “You’re going to put Hillary Clinton in jail.” He put the match to the end of the fuse. The fuse sparkled as the point of flame moved along it.
“I don’t want to hurt the Clintons,” said Trump, as though Clovenhoof had just said something patently stupid. “I want to move forward, I don’t want to move back.”
Clovenhoof just stared at him. In the silence, the fuse hissed its way towards several hundred pounds of explosives.
“If you’re not going to do those things, what are you going to do?”
Trump shrugged. “Settle the Trump University lawsuit to get it off my back. Then I need to fill some cabinet posts. My son-in-law Jared will make an excellent White House staffer. I’ll find a job for Rudi, get Ben Carson to head up something like education. Scott Pruitt can run the EPA. That’ll put the wind up them. Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich. Oh, and Steve Bannon will make an excellent chief of staff.”
“Steve Bannon?”
“The Breitbart guy.”
“Ah. Yeah, I’ve read that website. ‘Birth Control makes Women Unattractive and Crazy.’”
“That’s one of theirs,” said Trump. “Very, very, very insightful.”
“But what about the things you promised in your campaign?”
Trump, still convinced he was dreaming, pondered this unhurriedly as the fuse burned away. “There’s one promise I’ve kept.”
“Yes?” said Clovenhoof.
“I said I would win.”
“But … but that’s— It’s underhanded. It’s lying. You’ve cheated and swindled your way to the top. Fine, you’re not going to do all the mad and dangerous things you promised. That means you just played on the prejudices of gullible idiots, you used them just so – what? – so you could get the most powerful job in the world and the mansion and jets and honeys that go with it? You’ve conned a country to line your own pockets and satisfy your own ego and—”
Clovenhoof stopped.
Clovenhoof thought a little.
Clovenhoof scratched his chin.
&nbs
p; Clovenhoof went to the crate of fireworks and ripped out the fuse and tossed it away for it to fizz harmlessly in the corner by itself.
“And I just want to shake your hand,” he said.
And he did. And Trump did.
“Why?” said Trump.
“You did everything I would do. I would have slipped a few extra fake turds and knob gags in there but, apart from that, you were me to the letter. And you won. You actually won.”
“The final results aren’t in yet.”
“No. You won.”
“I said I would,” said Trump.
“Well done, Donald.”
“Thank you.”
Clovenhoof took his phone out and scrolled through for Michael’s number.
“And you know what Donald, in another twenty years—” Clovenhoof looked at Trump’s waistline “—maybe another ten years, I think there might be a job for you in my old place. They could use someone like you.” He called Michael. It started to ring.
Trump clicked his fingers and held out his hand. “May I have those matches?”
“Why?”
“Because there’s fireworks, dumbass.”
Clovenhoof tossed him the book of matches.
The phone went to voicemail.
“Michael. Jeremy. I see your plans went completely tits up. I could have told you that. Anyway, I’m heading home, but I’m going to need you to wire me the money for the flight. That credit card you leant me maxed out, you tight arse.”
Trump ambled over to the open crate of fireworks and tucked a huge rocket under his arm. He pushed the balcony window open and tried to juggle the rocket in one arm and the matches in the other.
“And wire it soon. I just don’t think I’m needed here anymore.”
Trump had the match alight. He grinned as he took aim with the rocket and put the flame to the touch paper.
“America’s in very capable hands,” said Clovenhoof.
9th November 2016
Sutton Coldfield, Birmingham
Nerys always accepted a cup of tea when Andy offered. Andy and Michael kept in a good stock of high quality biscuits, and that wasn’t the sort of thing you turned down.
“So, from what I can understand, this whole thing was one of those misunderstandings,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate Hobnob. “Heinz is going to try to play it off as a piece of guerrilla art, a Dadaist statement on the refugee crisis or something. You know the kind of thing.”
Andy regarded her levelly. “I don’t think I do.”
“No, nor me. Well, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that a legal genius by the name of Stefan Grösswang is well on course to getting Michael out of prison. The bad news is that Jeremy’s on his way there to act as a character witness.”
Andy’s face fell. “This is worse than I thought.” He pulled out his phone.
“You can’t call him now,” said Nerys.
“I’m not calling him. I’m ordering some French cheese, German sausage and Italian clothes while I still can,” said Andy. “Before Jeremy causes an international incident and has us thrown out of the EU early.”
Elsewhere…
Halfway over the Atlantic, Clovenhoof’s eight day bout of constipation came to a sudden end with a cacophonous anal fanfare.
He emerged from the aeroplane toilet and declared, “Now, that’s what I call a trump of doom!”
Such was the stench of ordure and the fear of combustible gases in a confined space that the pilot declared an emergency and the flight was diverted to the Canary Islands.
Clovenhoof left the airport and wandered into a local bar. He looked at the television. To his delight, the news was showing the video of his song I Kissed a Goat and It Bit Me. Michael’s tomfoolery had at least got his song the recognition it so surely deserved.
There was a microphone and small stage at the rear of the bar. He picked up the microphone and gestured grandly to the smattering of patrons.
“This seems like a nice place. Not as many canaries as I expected, but nice. Bring me alcohol, find me a goat and spread the word. The Trump of Doom will perform his latest hit live. With actions.”
Authors’ notes
Hello dear reader,
You, we assume, fall into one of two broad categories:
(A) You are a person who is broadly familiar with the real-world events mentioned in this book. Perhaps you lived through them. Perhaps you are living through them right now (poor you). Or you are a future historian and have studied these events in an attempt to understand them (good luck with that!)
(B) You have no knowledge of the events mentioned in this book. Perhaps you are a future person who chose not to study history. Perhaps western civilisation has collapsed and even the concept of ‘book’ is a fairly novel one. Or perhaps you are living through these strange current times but have not paid any attention to these particular events because you’re focussed on something more important, like why your Samsung phone keeps exploding or why the great nations of the world are dropping bombs on your desert home.
Whether you’re (A) or (B), this book perhaps needs explaining a little.
Jeremy Clovenhoof is not a political creature. His personal manifesto amounts to ‘let it all hang out and party like a drunk divorcee’. The Clovenhoof books are not political books either. Their message, if they have one, is buried under layers of swearing, nudity and the kind of slapstick that even the Three Stooges wouldn’t lower themselves to. Seriously, one of Heide’s key roles in the editing stage is to delete anything that looks even vaguely intelligent. We’re not here to change the world.
However, 2016 has just been one of those years. And we felt we had to write something.
The world is still recovering from a global recession. The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. Political and military tensions are rising. In such times, people tend to become nostalgic and, on the world stage, the US and Russia seem keen to replay some of their Cold War favourites. In such times, people become frightened. They cling to old prejudices, they reject what they don’t understand. They listen to charlatans and mountebanks (Heide will later delete this word for being vaguely intelligent and replace it with the word ‘cockwombles’). Recent votes in the UK and the US seem to indicate a rejection of the entire establishment. Upcoming elections in mainland Europe are promising to do the same. All bets are off. These are the ‘interesting times’ that the Chinese cursed us with.
Anyway, that’s why we wrote this book. It goes without saying that most of it is stupid, derivative and, above all else, A WORK OF FICTION. We have not consulted any of the real life characters who we have used or referenced in this piece. We have not written it with their blessing. Any misrepresentation of these individuals is either accidental or done purely for comedic purposes.
That said, it is based on some real events and, as always, some of the things you probably don’t think are true are true and vice versa. So, just to set the record straight…
YES – The Toblerone bar was changed shape so there was a lot less ‘mountain’ and a lot more ‘valley’. British people were genuinely upset by this.
NO – Nostradamus didn’t write any of the prophecies in this book.
YES – Topless Darts on Ice was a real television programme.
NO – It’s not coming back.
YES – In the Rio Olympics, the diving pool turned bright green and no one could explain why.
YES – The European Space Agency’s Schiaparelli Mars lander crashed into the Red Planet on 19th October.
YES – The Finnish Eurovision Song Contest entry for 1982 was Kojo with the song, ‘Nuku Pommiin’. It scored no points. You can watch it on YouTube if you like.
NO – That guy hitting the big drum is not Heinz Takala.
YES – Ireland did win Eurovision three times in a row. This was arguably an artistic success and a financial disaster.
NO – Aisling McQuillan did not write any of those winning hits.
/> YES – The electors in the US electoral college system (the people who actually cast the state’s votes) can choose to ignore the public vote and pledge their state’s votes for the other candidate. People who do this are called ‘faithless electors’. Doing this is perfectly legal in 21 states and it does happen.
YES – A vote cast in Wyoming is worth three times as much as a vote cast in New York.
YES – Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormons, believed that Eden was in Missouri and that God lives on a star called Kolob.
YES – On 9th December, Fox News identified Nigel Farage as the British opposition leader.
NO – Nigel Farage is not the official leader of the opposition. He is not a member of the UK parliament, is not the leader of a UK political party and has no official role within UK politics.
YES – Donald Trump has said that the issue of “7-Eleven” is close to his heart. He probably meant 9/11
YES – On 9/11, Trump spoke to a New York television station and pointed out that, with the collapse of the World Trade Centre, Trump Tower was now the tallest building in Manhattan.
NO – The US secret service can detect elephants.
YES – Mike Pence’s secret service codename is Hoosier.
NO – JFK’s secret service codename was not Hooters.
YES – It was alleged by a former friend and former Conservative party donor that former British Prime Minister, David Cameron, put his penis in a dead pig’s mouth.
NO – There is absolutely no evidence to corroborate this allegation.
YES – All the silly EU laws Michael mentions on the road to Romania have appeared in UK newspapers.
NO – None of them are true. All of them are made up. By British newspapers, not us.
YES – Romania was disqualified from entering the 2016 Eurovision Song Contest.
NO – It wasn’t because they stole the Lucky Eurovision Gibson SG. There’s no such thing.
