STEFANO BOSCUTTI - “MCPRESIDENT” (SHORT STORY)

Five powerful men sit around a mahogany table on a private jet, pretending to enjoy a make-believe meal.

It’s a photoshoot meant to show loyalty and camaraderie to the President-elect. Steve Bannon watches from the sidelines, a glint of calculation in his eye.

“McPresident” is a biting short story about the power of politics.

What drives billionaires to pose as working-class heroes?

And what happens when the mask slips?

1,000 words / 4 minutes of satirical reading pleasure

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‘He who can persuade you to believe absurdities can persuade you to commit atrocities.’ Voltaire

STEFANO BOSCUTTI

MCPRESIDENT

Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti
All Rights Reserved

‘Jesus, Elon, you don’t have to put it in your mouth.’

House Speaker MIKE JOHNSON leans over the top of the plush white leather armchair at the polished mahogany airplane dining table where DONALD TRUMP JR. is seated. 

‘Man, you don’t have to eat it.’ ROBERT F. KENNEDY JR. is seated next to him, shaking his head, his raspy voice sounding like a crumbling bridge. ‘Spit it out!’

Opposite him slumps ELON MUSK, mouth full of McDonald’s Fries he’s laced with McDonald’s Ketchup. PRESIDENT-ELECT DONALD TRUMP sits smirking next to him, wearing his fat suit and trademark red, white and blue Brioni businessman costume.

All the men have take-away packs of McDonald’s Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, Chicken McNuggets, Filet-O-Fish Burgers, Fries and various condiments scattered on glass plates in front of them. Polished stainless steel cutlery is wrapped in paper napkin printed with the Trump coat of arms.

They’re just props. Even the airplane dining table is a set. The men have gathered for a photoshoot to show solidarity and fealty to Trump, to the new President-Elect of America. They’re supposed to just smile for the camera. Not eat the props.

RFK Jr. is still shaking his head in disbelief.

‘It’s not real food, man. It’s non-biodegradable polyvinyl resin. It’s just for show.

‘But the ketchup tastes great.’

Donald Trump Jr. chimes in.

‘It’s not ketchup, Elon. It’s paint.’

‘But I’m starving.’

RFK Jr. chuckles.

‘Man, you need to go back on the Ozempic.’

‘And you’ve got to stop frowning.’

It’s STEVE BANNON, standing next to the CAMPAIGN PHOTOGRAPHER who’s trying to get the shot.

‘Would do you mean?’

‘You look confused, Elon. You’re supposed to be a fucking genius. Look like you know what you’re doing. Push your chin out and fucking smile. You can do that, can’t you?’

‘Sure but I still don’t get the whole McDonald’s thing.’

‘Elon, we’ve been through this. You’re being given a cabinet post to eliminate government agencies and departments that no longer serve our needs. Robert here is going to be made Health Secretary to merge thirteen agencies, including the FDA, the CDC and the NIH. Don Jr. has a few more picks up his sleeve. Point is, you’re all now officially the fucking elites.’

Elon still doesn’t get the point so Bannon doubles down.

‘We’ve taught Americans to hate the elites. So we have to do everything in our power to appear anti-elite, to seem like the average Joe. Politics is no longer right versus left. Politics is now high versus low. People of high status versus people of low status.’

It’s no accident that President-Elect Donald Trump plays the buffoon everyman with a taste for McDonald’s. Nearly nine in ten American voters eat McDonald’s at least once a year. Trump’s image and apparent obesity is meticulously calibrated to appeal to the largest section of the American population.

Appearances at cage fighting tournaments, racist outbursts, slamming colleges and higher education, dismissing experts and scientists as know-it-alls who don’t know a damn thing, titillating conspiracy theories. All part of the populist appeal.

Voters making $30,000 or less, counties with high mortality rates, multiple felonies, blatant misogyny, unnerving braggadocio. All part of the psychological operations to differentiate Trump from the political class and catapult him to the highest office.

Bannon has always known that people are idiots and bigots, ready to be swayed this way or that. Sprinkle in the promise of reviving past greatness, punishing seen and unseen enemies and scaffolding Trump as a strong leader is all it takes. People want to believe.

It was Bannon who orchestrated the playbook used at every Trump rally. Boosting security to suggest the presence of enemies in their midst, broadcasting messages over the PA system not to touch any protestors but notify security by chanting, ‘Trump! Trump! Trump!’, having Trump arrive late to validate his importance and the audience’s devotion, booing at the press corp. A dog and pony show for the ages.

The establishment and existing political class are vilified at every turn. They’re the reason people’s lives had become such a shit show. Trump knows because they believe Trump isn’t one of the elites.

It’s an absurd balancing act. Over-leveraged billionaires positioning themselves as ordinary, everyday Americans. All the stupid Trump merchandise - the tacky bibles printed in China, the branded pillows, the commemorative coins, the gold sneakers - are deliberately cheap and poorly made. The medium is the message.

Trump, RFK Jr., Musk are children of absurd privilege who have ridden the working class to absolute victory.

Too much money. Too much privilege. Too many drugs and far too many tragedies in their lives. And they’re now ready to foist the resulting insanity on an entire nation.

Only a few years earlier, Musk branded Trump a con man, one of the world’s best bullshitters. Now he’s wrapped himself in the inner circle, writing his own cheques.

Musk’s businesses have market shares below thirty percent and face real competition. Most of his personal wealth is derived from American government contracts and rebates, government handouts.

Musk wipes his fingertips on the paper napkin over his thigh and smiles wide. Don Jr. holds up an empty red box with the yellow McDonald’s arches printed on the front and smiles.

Everyone smiles at the camera.

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Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti

All Rights Reserved

The moral rights of the author are asserted.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or copying and pasting, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing.

No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

Stefano Boscutti acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorised or sponsored by the trademark owner.

This is a work of fiction. While many of the characters portrayed here have counterparts in the life and times of Donald Trumps and others, the characterisations and incidents presented are totally the products of the author’s irreverent imagination. This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It should not be resold or given away. Thank you for your support. (Couldn’t do it without you.)

Discover novels, screenplays, short stories and more by Stefano Boscutti at boscutti.com