After leaving the front desk, Marty escorted Trump over to a door set in the clouds. The door actually wasn’t there a moment ago; angels have the power to conjure up portals to most anywhere, and make them look like whatever they want them to look like. Even a lower level angel like Marty. He didn’t think of himself as a lower level angel, but he had to accept that was what he was. He had never moved up the ranks, even though he was a lot smarter than a lot of the other heavenly beings bouncing around up here. He got by doing the bare minimum.
He was okay with that. Being better got you noticed, and while it might get you more respect, it also got you more work. Marty was what you would call a slacker, and while down on earth that might hold you back, up here it didn’t really matter much, at least not to him. What was he missing out on? This was heaven. It really didn’t matter if you worked yourself to death or not, the worst you could achieve was being an angel in the eternity of paradise. The best day on earth couldn’t come close to the worst day in heaven. Come to think of it, there weren’t really any bad days in heaven, up until now.
There just wasn’t really a lot of incentive to get ahead. Maybe you might get to bask a little more in the adoration of God, but that was kind of overrated. To Marty, it seemed like a meaningless title, or gift certificate for lunch at Applebees you might get for being employee of the month, something that didn’t really cost the corporation much of anything, or do you much good.
No, Marty didn’t care at all. True, he didn’t have a lot of fun hanging out with the other angels in his social strata, but he didn’t really have to hang out with them that much at all. Being smart and fun and conversational meant that he was accepted by a lot of angels that didn’t really associate with the lower ranks. He got to be friends with a lot of the higher ups, even if he did frustrate them.
Peter, for example. Peter was always trying to get him to apply himself more. He thought Peter might even envision him as his replacement someday, even though the thought of an eternal being needing to retire was ridiculous. Peter wasn’t going anywhere, you don’t give up plum positions like that. He wasn’t even a real angel, he was a human who was made into an angel. The other upper crust angels never completely accepted him. Maybe that’s why he liked Marty. Marty didn’t care at all about any of that. He wasn’t some angel snob, he wasn’t defensive or slighted that God had placed a human/angel hybrid at the gates of heaven. At any rate, Peter wasn’t going to retire, not a chance. As long as he was the keeper of the keys to paradise, no other angel could truly look down their nose at him or challenge him. More likely, he was probably just bored and lonely, and Marty provided some relief from that. There was no room for advancement up here, not with Peter, not with anyone.
And that just proved Marty’s point, actually. So many poor suckers all over the world and in heaven working themselves so hard for opportunities that didn’t really exist. It was bad enough that he had to escort this loser through the next few or weeks, or however long it took. Time wasn’t the same thing for an immortal being. He had been alive for all eternity, so a week or a year or a millennia was pretty much the same to him. He just hoped it didn’t take too long, because no matter how immortal you were, hanging out with morons was tedious all the same.
Once through the door/portal, they arrived in a room with a couch and some chairs. The walls were blank, at least as far as Trump could make out. They didn’t even look like walls, but there was a feeling that there were walls there all the same. Trump plopped himself down on the couch without being asked, and just sat there, staring at Marty.
Marty sat in one of the chairs facing him, and wondered where to begin. This wasn’t going to be an easy task, explaining what was going to happen here. He was still going over in his mind just how he wanted to start, when Donald spoke up.
“Okay, whatever we’re going to do here, can we just get it over with?” He said brusquely. “I deserve some special treatment here. I’m rich, I’m powerful, I’m the fucking president, goddammit.”
“Ex-president,” Marty quickly reminded him, completely ignoring the blasphemy.
“Bullshit!” Trump exploded. “I didn’t concede anything! There’s no way I lost that election.”
“Yeah,” said Marty, “simple math seems to contradict that. But I’m not here to discuss any of that stuff Mr. Trump, I just want to get this over with.”
“Get this over with?” Trump seemed to have trouble understanding that concept. “Isn’t this my immortal life hanging in the balance? Aren’t you like my personal assistant or valet that is going to take care of this for me? Again, I am a very important person, in case you aren’t aware.”
“Look Mr. Trump, if there is one thing you have to learn, and learn quickly, is that up here, you are like every other mortal soul. You are no better than anyone else on any social scale. You aren’t surrounded by sycophants.”
“Of course not, we’re not even near the circus!” Trump replied.
“What … the circus …” Marty stuttered in confusion.
“Why the hell would there be elephants in heaven?”
Marty sighed, the first of many exasperated sighs that would escape him during this tale.
“Sycophants!” He spat out the word. “Not elephants.”
“What the hell is a sycophant? A sick elephant?”
“No, a sycophant is someone who just blindly agrees with you to make you happy. An enabler. Someone who lets you believe whatever you want rather than disagree with you, in the hopes that they might get ahead.”
“Oh,” Trump said, in a sudden burst of understanding. “You mean friends.”
“No, I don’t mean friends. I mean people who just tell you what you want to hear.”
“Yes, friends. Like Rudy and Bill and Lindsey. Like my servants or employees.”
“Those weren’t your friends,” Marty explained. They were just people who used you, or people who you paid to work for you.”
“Aha!” Trump exclaimed. “I hardly paid any of them! That’s one of my secrets to getting rich. You might have known that if you read a little book that I totally wrote called The Art of the Deal. Amazing book, maybe one of the greatest books ever written. Stiff as many people as you can, then beat them in court, that’s my motto!”
“Yes, I realize that. That’s one of the many reasons that this is a huge waste of time. You have no chance of getting into heaven.”
“We’ll see about that,” Trump told him. “I am used to getting what I want, Mikey.”
“It’s Marty, and …”
“Whatever, I don’t really care,” Trump interrupted. “You’ll see, I’ll be fine, I always am.”
“I don’t think things will work out up here the way you’re used to them working out.”
“Then I’ll just complain and make such a scene that they’ll let me have my own way. Works every time.”
“Tell me, do you know what being ‘smited' means?” Marty inquired.
“I think so. It was something a Russian prostitute did to me once. It was pretty good, even if it was really weird and dirty. It was fun. I’ll always be up for a smiting.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Marty replied, chuckling. “We’ll see how it feels for you when heaven gets through smiting you.”
“Wow, I can’t believe they would even have that particular kink up here in heaven.”
“It is not a sex act!” Marty yelled. “Let’s just move on, shall we?”
Marty motioned towards the walls that may or may not have been there, and suddenly there was a large screen, showing a whole bunch of scenes taking place all over the world. Scenes of people experiencing wars, famine, death, loneliness, loss, and despair. All kinds of heartbreaking scenarios, playing out over the screen that now seemed to not just take up the wall, but stretch onto infinity.
“This is humanity,” Marty explained. “So many moments filled with horror and pain, or sadness and fear. It will be your job to go down to earth in the present day and help people in crisis.”
“Why in the world would I want to help people?” Trump asked, incredulously. “I don’t want to help people.”
“You don’t want to help people? You were a public servant. You were the president. I mean, didn’t you lead the nation and take an oath to protect all the ideals put forth in the Constitution, and serve the country and the American people?”
“Yeah, something like that. Why?”
“No reason,” Marty replied, and yet another sigh heaved out of him. “So anyway, you’re going to try to help people in some of their darkest moments. Kind of like an angel would.”
“Is this the kind of thing you do?”
“Me?” Marty asked, taken aback. “Goodness, no. I don’t really care for people. Vile, dirty little things.”
“Me neither!” Trump said happily. “You get it. See, we’re alike, you and me.”
“Ah, no,” Marty replied. “I am nothing like you. You are one of the most vile, dirty little people I have ever seen.”
“Well you’re just a nasty person!” Trump said.
“I’m not a person at all, actually,” Marty corrected him.
“You know what I mean!” Trump was agitated now. “You’re just trying to confuse me! You're worse than the lame stream media!”
“I don’t think I need to try to do that, you seem pretty confused all the time anyway. And please don’t say things like “lame stream media.” It’s not nearly as clever as you think it is.”
Trump just stared at him angrily.
“Aren’t angels supposed to be nicer than you?” He asked.
“Again, if you had read your bible, you would know that angels are not really that nice. We are God’s warriors, after all. We destroy cities and kill firstborns and all kinds of stuff.”
“I could get into that,” Trump said thoughtfully.
“Ugh,” was all Marty could manage as a reply.
“Still,” Trump continued. “Aren’t you supposed to help people also? I mean, I couldn’t have gotten that completely wrong. I definitely remember angels helping people and doing good deeds.”
“Maybe some of them do, but I’m not really interested in that stuff. I’m not really interested in most of the stuff angels spend their time doing.”
“Great,” Trump said, “I get stuck with some loser angel that won’t even do his job. How is that fair?”
“I’ll do my stupid job, don’t worry,” Marty told him. “I got Peter keeping an eye on me here, so I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”
Trump’s words actually stung a little. He was nothing like this idiot, and he resented the fact that Trump thought for even a second that they had something in common. Trump was evil and narcissistic. He was most likely a psychopath. Marty was just a little lazy, and was that even his fault? The whole system was set up to disenfranchise angels, that wasn’t on him.
“Okay, so like I said,” Marty went on to explain, “and you’re going to go down to earth with me, and you’re going to help people, and prove that you belong in heaven.”
“Yeah, I gotta say, that doesn’t really sound like me. I’m more into making things harder for people.”
“And that’s why you’ll wind up in hell.” Marty reaffirmed. “Still, like everything else in your existence, you are getting an opportunity you don’t deserve. This is your chance to prove otherwise. Kind of like in It’s A Wonderful Life.”
“What’s that?” Trump asked.
“It’s a movie,” Marty said, “Like one of the most popular and beloved movies ever made. They play it every year at Christmas.”
“Oh, fucking Christmas,” Trump replied. “I can’t stand Christmas. Or movies. Unless it’s like a mafia picture, I like those. Did you ever see Goodfellas? Now that's a movie! Well, and porn, of course. That’s how I met my wife.”
"Okay, let's stay focused," Marty said. "It's A Wonderful Life is about a man who feels like he's reached the end of his rope, and falls into despair. He wishes he had never been born, and an angel appears to show him the way, that he has friends and is loved and has had a full and rich life. He learns how he's touched so many people, and has made the world better in so many ways."
"Big deal," said Trump, unimpressed. "I helped so many people in my time. Just in the last four years. Big tax cuts for my rich friends, giving all my rich friends jobs, making things easier for my rich friends to control workers and citizens and take protected lands for business…"
"Just stop!" Marty interrupted. "Helping rich people rob and steal and oppress people is not a good thing! You're supposed to help the poor, not the wealthy."
"Eww, the poor? Those people are gross. A bunch of losers. Why would I help them? I really don't want to have anything to do with them."
"You are a fucking horrorshow," Marty said. "How is it that you have no compassion at all for poor people?"
"Because they deserve it," Trump replied. "They're lazy, and just want to sponge off others. They don't want to work for what they need, they would rather have it given to them."
"That's not true at all! They just weren't born with the same advantages as you."
"Nonsense!" Trump argued, "I was self made man, I had to go out and work my way up."
"You were born into wealth! You went to the best schools! Your father gave you hundreds of millions of dollars to start your businesses! How can you believe the things you say?"
"It's easy," replied Trump. "You just say it, and ignore anyone who disagrees with you. Life would be horrible if you let yourself get bogged down by other people's facts and opinions. So many people think that they're so smart, but if you just contradict or ignore them enough, they get tired of it and go away."
Marty just stared at him, dumbstruck.
"I don't even know where to start explaining to you how wrong that is," he finally said. "Regardless, facts don't care whether you acknowledge or agree with them, they are facts, and you can't change them with wishful thinking."
"I disagree."
"Oh my God, just shut up!"
Marty wasn't sure how he was going to get through this. He was starting to think that maybe disintegration wasn't so bad.
"Look, there are rules for getting into heaven, and no matter what you choose to believe, you are going to have to play by those rules."
"Can't I just change the rules with an executive order? I am the president…"
"Former president… "
"... And I have the power to dictate the rules."
"Not up here, you don't," Marty explained. "Up here, God makes the rules."
"But God chose me!" Trump exclaimed. "That's my point! Some of the richest evangelical leaders on Earth told me that I was chosen by God to lead the nation. Churches full of people, dopey as they may have been, sang my praises and said I was like Jesus."
"Yeah, those were more sycophants and users, and people who were disturbed and sick."
"You mean sick elephants, remember?" Said Trump. "I thought we figured that out."
For the first time in his eternal existence, Marty facepalmed.
"The fact remains, God wants you to help the poor. It's all over the Bible. ‘Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and he will reward them for what they have done.’ ‘The one who oppresses the poor person insults his Maker, but one who is kind to the needy honors him.’ It was one of Jesus's main talking points."
"Yeah," said Trump," that doesn't really sound like much fun. I mean, what's in all that for me?"
"I don't think that there's any reaching you." Marty said, dejectedly. "It's like your head's full of squirrels or something."
"Yeah, speaking of which, where's that little kid with the wings and the Adderall? I could use a booster."
"I think that was a one time thing," Marty started to say, but just then a cherub appeared out of the clouds and floated over, and jabbed another hypo into his arm. Peter must have been watching and felt pity on Marty.
"See?" Trump was saying now. "I told you, I always get what I want, because I'm always right."
"I think that was more of a case of them just wanting to shut you up because you're an asshole."
"Exactly!" Trump beamed triumphantly. "Because I'm successful, and I am because I know that it only matters if you win, not how you win! That's why everyone respects me."
Marty knew how wrong that was, but honestly, he didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Besides, he reminded himself in his head, I don't care at all about this mission or his idiot. I don't want to do a good job or get ahead. I just want it to be over. On that note, he decided that it was pointless to try to explain the rules any more than he already had, and he should just throw this douchebag into it and let him flounder and fail.
"Follow me, Mr Trump," he finally said, "Orientation is over."
"I'm not Oriental," Trump protested. "That's bullshit! In fact, I can't even stand the Chinese! I'm just thankful they're not allowed in heaven"
Marty raised his finger and was about to explain the many things wrong with that, then remembered his resolve to not care at all, and pushed the urge down inside him.
"Let's just go get this shitshow over with," he said as he got up and motioned for Trump to follow.
"That's what I've been saying!" Said Trump. "See, you wound up agreeing with me too. Everyone does."
As they walked through another portal, you could hear another one of Marty's frequent signs drifting back from the clouds, where the door had just disappeared.
No comments:
Post a Comment