Q Report: The Trump Challenge Golf-Off To Save The Planet
To: Agents, Anons, Weirdos, Press
From: Agent Q (K00)
Re: The Trump Challenge
4/20/2040
Hello All,
Hope things are maintaining in your lives and that your eventualities sustain. This report serves as the authoritative and 1,000% factual detail of events. Don’t let the misinformation machine distort that fabulous crisis. It seems so long ago now, that Donald Trump had complete and utter control of the USA and more or less the world. He controlled the world through threats, sporadic attacks, and philosophical and/or economic hostage taking. It was pretty gross, the things this guy used to get away with. Fraud, discrimination, nonpayment, and sexual misconduct, to name some but not all. He didn’t get away with it all, but he got away enough that he earned the handle “Teflon Don” on the street.
I first saw Trump Tower in 1999 because I had a dance class just off Columbus Circle. It's an impressive building, towering over Columbus and his ridiculous circle. It's a unique geographic confluence that brings millions of people past the same space over and over again. I can understand why a person would want to look at those people, from the penthouse. But that is his hubris. To have that view and seek something different. Something more. I have been back and forth, in hate with Trump, over the years. But in the times where I am too tired to lend him the energy of my hate, I have sympathy for the idiot. I don’t think he ever really wanted these circumstances thrust upon him. He thought ruling the planet would be fun.
At some point Donald Trump managed to bully himself into control of the planet like a kindergartener with a loaded handgun. You want to take the massive revolver out of the kid's hands, but it’s cocked, and very much pointed at you, and very much real. So, how do you get a gun out of the hands of a power-mad child? Well, there’s lots of ways. Offer them candy? Show them cat videos on your phone? Distract them with dramatic dance? Use the Voice like in Dune? Hide behind your bulletproof backpack and rush the little guy? Toss a koosh ball from your pocket and trust they will try to catch it? Throw a clay pigeon (or series of clay pigeons) away from yourself (and until out of bullets)? Challenge them to a golf-off?
That’s the hook here, I’m not spoiling anything because it’s in the title. You wait until he’s holding his finger over the button that turns Iran into a smoldering crater and then decide, OK, enough is enough, someone has to DO something ANYTHING to stop this madman from killing us all with his moronic shenanigans, and you challenge him to a Golf-Off To Save The Planet. You make the stakes that Trump has to leave office if he loses or if he wins he gets installed as President For Life. You make it a doubles match, because you're not actually very good at golf. But luckily neither is Trump.
The hook was set and the match was on. June 21, 2027, the Bemidji Town and Country Club. Two doubles. 18 holes. All the president stuff AND losers bought dinner. The only benefit to the venue was the anonymity. No media circus. No waves of reporters. No throngs of adoring fans. Just four people on two teams, striking tiny balls long distances into equally small holes. What a dumb game, to decide the ongoing fate of the Earth. But it is what it is, not what we would like it to be. But who were the doubles partners?
Trump gave Tiger a pardon for all the crimes and Tiger would have done it anyway for free, because Tiger loves Trump. Which is fine, of course. Of course if you’re Trump you have Tiger on speed dial, in case the fate of the world was ever determined by a high stakes game of golf. Trump had lived his entire life up until that point wanting nothing more than to make a bad decision that involved being on a course on a nice day, where it’s not too hot, but not freezing either. Out in the fresh air and open spaces. It was a fondness that Trump and Tiger shared. Tiger was actually one of the greatest players in history, ESPECIALLY when he was drunk, which obviously he was going to have to be, for this match.
There was a lot of back and forth about the adjudication, the UN and ICC both wanted their own terms, but in the end it was agreed that a simple majority of the Supreme Court on the course, with the rest able to come and go to the club house for drinks or bathroom breaks as needed. Sotomayor was initially reluctant, but then remembered she needed a day off too. It was a really low stakes judgement, as things go. Trump was a notorious cheat, so most of the job would be making sure he wasn’t shaking extra balls out of the leg of his pants. He was more prone to the caddy drop. 'Just go throw this ball identical to my own near the fairway. I think I saw an alligator eat my drive.' An apt enough tactic, but in Bemidji there are no alligators, in general. Specifically on our golf courses.
I wasn’t sure who to get, who would be able to beat Tiger Woods in golf. I considered a long list of people who were incredible at golf, Scottie Scheffler, Nelly Korda, Rory McIlroy, Lydia Ko, and then I realized I had no idea who any of these people were and would probably have an awful time, and yes, maybe we would win, but it would be unnecessarily boring. So. Bill Murray. I gave Bill Murray a call, it’s strange but any given person is three phone calls away from Bill Murray’s answering machine. He doesn’t do a gig unless he WANTS to do the gig. In this case I explained the situation (Golf-Off, Planetary Salvation, Timeline Exodus) and he called back! What a champ. See, with Bill you MAY lose, but more importantly you’re going to have a good time.
Everything went largely according to plan, SS set up their perimeter and a lot of handshaking and brief review of the rules and regulations. It was weird to see the Supreme Court out of their robes and sporting cargo shorts, but it was a sunny day in June and no one wanted to wear a suit. There was a lot of hand shaking and a certain amount of threats that Bill was able to judo into some comedic gold and then everyone got as drunk or high as they chose either at the bar or on the patio. Minnesota had legalized weed some time ago and there were quite a few locals who had smoking with Bill Murray on their bucket list and Bill was all too happy to oblige them, and tell them of the long long time ago, when comedy was gold and intentions were pure.
At the bar, Trump and Tiger were getting twisted with a mob of local business leaders and religious enthusiasts who were not above throwing back light beer like tepid water. Which in many ways it was. But there was whiskey too, and gin, and rum. All over the place. The club was serving a special called a “Blue Babe” that was like a “Blue Hawaiian” but instead of pineapple they used ox testicles. If you put enough Blue Curaçao in anything it tastes great, and at $5 they were the most affordable means of getting hammered efficiently. Between these groups was an assortment of lawmakers and dignitaries considered essential enough to warrant attendance, as well as a considerable complement of Guild Agents keeping an eye on the SS perimeter with their own things to protect.
Soon enough it was noon. Tee time. Everyone came out to watch the tee off and then only a clutch of the supreme court was obligated to follow. Normally you have to content with crowds at the Masters, but that’s the advantage of being able to negotiate reasonable terms. For a long time I had been considering challenging Trump to a duel, but couldn’t find a means of doing it that wouldn’t end me up in federal prison. Dueling, certainly not. Fencing? Debatable. Trump isn’t going to participate in a sport he’s not capable of performing in. Bowling? No. Bowl Off To Save The Planet doesn't have the same mouth feel. No, you have to lure him in with golf, but THEN you get some control over the terms. And hope Bill isn’t busy making another artsy film with Wes Anderson.
In terms of the game, it was more or less watching Tiger play golf, and everyone else got to feel bad about themselves. Bill was holding his own, but his true handicap was me. I felt bad, but also golf if an expensive sport. The road to swashbuckling adventure is paved in pain, not gold. Street sword play is an affordable alternative to the expenses of virtually every sport but disk golf. Frolf. Motherfucker. That’s only the case where the sword to disk ratio exists in an average marketplace. There are certainly places you can get more expensive swords, or less expensive disks, but you’re also much less likely to prevent physical assault with a rubber disk. Your odds aren’t much better with a bargain foil, but they ARE better, because of the reach, and you don’t have to retrieve it after every use. These are all excuses for why I was doing poorly, but excuses don’t win games. It’s lucky for the planet that Trump is ALSO very bad at golf. Just not as bad as me.
By the end of the front nine we were down five strokes against the double T. Everyone was tired and hot and the drugs and alcohol were wearing off. I didn’t want it to have to come to this. But, desperate times call for desperate measures. Bunburry had delivered on the request, and I casually mentioned that I had some Darkshine LSD on hand. Darkshine? What’s that!? They all ask. Oh nothing, I say. Just some of the most amazing hallucinogens ever synthesised by mankind. An alpha predator among mind altering substances. Tasteless. Odorless. Transparent. Undetectable by any test but brain tissue sample. Offering a clean, mind expanding, transcendental trip within minutes that will last between 8 and 12 hours. It was a well rehearsed pitch, I used it whenever I played golf as an excuse to do it. Everyone took the bait, including the cool members of the Supreme Court. What follows is a brief transcript that took place in the dawning moments of the aftermath, and a precursor to the back 9. After the Darkshine infiltrated the bloodstream and before the back nine began in terrified earnest.
TRUMP: I don’t feel anything. Frankly, I’ve been told I’m the best at handling drugs. Some people can’t handle them. I can. Great chemistry. Incredible system.
TIGER: I feel great. I feel better than great. I feel… locked in. This could be interesting.
Q: The CIA was looking for you, Tiger, back in the day. MK Ultra. Look it up some day.
SOTOMAYOR: No. No no no. We need to discuss whether this can continue.
KAGAN: Yes, I think once the grass starts shimmering with intention, we owe ourselves at least a procedural pause.
THOMAS: The tee marker just fucking winked at me.
TRUMP: Nobody’s winking. This is what panic looks like. Weak people panic. Winners adapt. That’s why I’m still here. Club 52. Bon Jovi. Axel Rose.
BILL MURRAY: I don’t know, Don. The last time I did acid this good was with Belushi in ’77, and even then I don’t remember the universe speaking at me like this. It’s pretty magical.
TIGER: I’m fine to play.
SOTOMAYOR: Of course you are. You’re Tiger Woods.
TIGER: That’s not what I mean. I mean I’m not impaired. I’m expanded. There’s a difference.
KAGAN: That is exactly the sort of thing an impaired person says when they are excited about being impaired.
THOMAS: I’m less concerned about the players than the Constitution.
Q: Oh NOW you’re concerned!? REALLY!? Better late than never, I guess. But The Constitution isn’t playing golf.
THOMAS: Maybe it should. Might settle some shit.
TRUMP: That’s right. Great point. We should settle more things with golf. I’ve always said that. Golf is strong. Very strong. Elegant. Better than courts, in many cases.
SOTOMAYOR: You would say that.
TRUMP: Because it’s true. Look at this. Very civilized. Nobody storming anything. Nobody crying on television. Two teams, eighteen holes, winner takes the planet. Honestly? Very fair.
TIGER: Look, I’m ready. Donald’s ready.
TRUMP: Born ready. Chemical weapon. I’ve got a natural resistance. German blood, good metabolism, probably historic. You, on the other hand, Q, look a little glassy. A little strung out.
Q: Come now, Don.
TRUMP: Bad decision. But that’s been your whole strategy. Bad ideas one after another. Bad plays, bad books, bad blog posts. I had Steven read them to me. Some very unkind things you’ve said about me, over the years.
BILL MURRAY: To be fair, Don, your strategy was to let a man named Q talk you into a planetary golf off. Not exactly Art of War here.
KAGAN: Art of the War Deal. He has a point. Christ, you’re sexy.
TRUMP: I like Bemidji. Quiet. Respectful. Strong whites.
SOTOMAYOR: Jesus Christ! YOU FUCKING GUY!!!
TIGER: Donald.
TRUMP: What? I’m complimenting the venue.
Q: You were threatening to turn Iran into a crater and now you’re reviewing the collective racism of northwoods Minnesota over testicle cocktails and hallucinogens.
BILL MURRAY: Quote of the century.
THOMAS: That motherfucking thing winked. At me.
KAGAN: Fine. Let’s assume the thing winked. We still need a ruling. Can this continue?
SOTOMAYOR: My gut says no.
TRUMP: Of course it does. Your gut is weak. Low flora. Typical. Any time I’m about to win, suddenly the justices get very nervous.
Q: You are five strokes up because Tiger is Tiger and because you cheat like you breathe.
TRUMP: Prove it!
KAGAN: He did try to improve his lie by describing reality differently.
BILL MURRAY: That’s not cheating. That’s branding.
TIGER: We can continue.
SOTOMAYOR: Based on what?
TIGER: Based on the fact that this is already insane. Stopping now doesn’t make it less insane. It just makes it unfinished.
THOMAS: That’s deep.
KAGAN: It is annoyingly deep.
SOTOMAYOR: I hate that it’s deep.
TRUMP: Thank you, Tiger. Winner mindset. That’s why he’s Tiger Woods and not some quitter in a mask.
Q: Watch yourself. Fatty.
TRUMP: I’m just saying, Q, history respects people who finish the back nine.
It was mean of me to call him a fatty, I’m sorry. But Trump didn’t really know anything about me, all his intelligence sources suggested I was some collective of 4/8 chan nerds. He didn’t know the things I could and could not finish. Even as I realized this truth, I could see it then, the Darkshine finally hit his cortex. His pupils widened to their utmost, giving his eyes a bewildered, dead, shark-like splendor.
TRUMP: Yes… yes, let’s do this.
Tiger couldn’t handle his drugs. Trump couldn’t handle his drugs. Kagan could handle her drugs. It was impressive, though this was clearly not her first rodeo. She acted as an ad hock babysitter for the less capable drug users. But as for Bill and me? This was our time to shine. We had been doing weird drugs for all our lives, searching for this moment. It was in many ways a dirty trick to claw back five strokes, but with the planet on the line one has to be willing to play every trick in the book.
We were tied, going into the 18th hole, and everyone was peaking. Bad choices were being made. No one could find Clarence. It's a bad idea to mix hard drugs, but it's also kind of hard not to, when they are laying around. There are a few different drug combos to try with LSD. There's doing LSD and Ecstasy "Candy/Sugar Flipping". There's doing LSD and mushrooms "Flower/Hippy Flipping". There's doing LSD, Ecstasy, AND mushrooms AKA "Jedi Flipping". I can't recommend doing any drugs of any kind, but if you're going to experiment there are options out there. This is an aside.
18th hole, tied up, and wouldn't you know after everyone puts, it's a tied game. There was no contingency in place for this. It's a rare thing to happen, during world changing games of chance. Except in literature and film, of course. Everyone began to explore the different options, which was a bad idea. Exploring in our state generally ends at the bottom of a body of water or being scavenged in the woods somewhere. Thankfully it was just game theory so somewhat low stakes in that regard. But also Trump had killed at least 2,000,000 by this point, mostly women and children, so the stakes weren't universally low for everyone involved.
There was back and forth, there was negotiation, there was anger and frustration. But then I sort of had a moment where everyone was waiting to see what was going to happen, and I rolled right into this kind of monologue thing that went something like this.
Q: Look, Don. Don... Mr. President... listen. I don't even think you WANT to be president anymore? I don't really think you ever wanted to, you just felt obligated to. But you're not, man. You don't owe us anything. Aside from trillions of dollars in criminal damages, you don't owe us anything. That's how I see it, I honestly don't think you like doing this stuff, the hours, the demands, the stress. Who needs these things, at your age? You should be out, fishing with your grandkids. Shit, look at them out there, with Junior and Eric. Fishing on beautiful Lake Bemidji. What are we doing here, trying to save the planet from you, when you could be out there? Enjoying your life. Building love and connection. And here's the final thing I'm going to say, Don. You're not good at it. You do some things well, but in general you're an uncouth, oafish tyrant. You can't stop bullying people, places, and things, you brag about yourself to a disturbingly narcissistic degree, you delight in mayhem and bloodshed, and you regularly mispronounce words. I could go on and on about how bad you are at your job, and I have, in other places, including my hilarious blog, but I'm also very hungry and somewhat bored, so I will finish by saying, you're bad at being president, but you're also the worst at the most important job a president has, which is to bring people together. We all get divided in all sorts of ways, our politics, our religion, how much money we make, what kind of media we like, it's a billion ways that we can be divided, but the power of our nation, and the magic of it, is that we're united. It's that we can set aside our divisions to rise to greater purpose. Because there are many ways to divide us, but there are more things that unite us. We share more common ground than you would think, and if you retire, we should work on building more. Also, we could do this all the time? Play golf on a beautiful day on the lake. It doesn't have to be over planet ending consequences. That shouldn't be the only thing that can get us to hang out. So I'm asking you, Don. In light of all of that. Would you just fucking resign already?
The air was thick with uncertainty. Tense as a bow string, electric as an eel. It looked for a moment like Trump would ask for the nuclear football and burn it all down. And then a miracle occurred. He said yes, and began to cry. Thick, mannish tears found their way down the contours of his awful face and watered the green of the 18th hole. Everyone cried then, and cheered, and embraced. Trump reached for me, and I held him in a warm hug. I told him that I was very proud of him, and that I always would be, and that was probably something he had needed to hear for some time. Most of us needed a diaper change and a nap, so we headed back to the club house.
So, that's how you do it. It's a pretty complicated and resource intensive way of getting the gun out of their hand, but this is one more method you might want to try, if you're ever in a similar situation. When Trump announced his resignation it was cause for global celebration. Everyone popped corks and gave people the week off. We deserved it, after a decade of unending chaos. And Trump? He was fine. As it turned out I was right, he DID hate being POTUS, he was just unwilling to admit it to himself. Did he like the power to end life? Yes. Did he like it enough to give up his weekends? Not really. Not when there was golf to be played and fish to be caught. I never did see him, before he died. But I hope those last years were good to him. That's the report. Stay well out there. Stick to the plan, save the children, and in the end, Q wins.
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Q
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