The Trump Cabinet of Misfits

Cue the movie montage

Watching Donald Trump assemble his cabinet reminds me of the second act of a superhero movie, where the villain calls up a bunch of misfits to get the gang back together in one final attempt to make America great again, again, for the first time. We’ve seen this movie, and it’s the sequel nobody asked for besides seventy-two million Americans.

Trump sits behind a dark mahogany desk. The surface is covered with confidential papers, Twix wrappers, and a stack of mustard-stained headshots of Melania look-alikes.

The strumming of Kid Rock’s song Cowboy plays as Trump picks up the phone and makes his first call, kicking us into a phone montage.

The scene takes us to rural Florida. A caption on the lower right-hand screen reads, Okefenokee Swamp, November 2024. We start with a close-up of a pair of Oakleys; we zoom out to see they’re worn on the back of someone’s head over long, beautiful blonde hair. The camera pans around to the front to find they’re being worn by Dog the Bounty Hunter, who is steering an airboat through the swamp. His Bluetooth earpiece from 2007 lights up, and he presses a button on the side of his head to answer.

“Go for Dawg.”

“Doggie, I need you in the White House. I’m putting you in charge of the EPA-B-C-D-E-F-G.”

Dog howls into the phone, “Aaarf arrf, arroooooo,” and hangs up. He kicks the airboat into high gear, and we see a man tied to the back of the boat with a rope, his body skipping across the water while alligators troll closely behind him.

“This is your lucky day, boy! I’m taking you back to Mama’s house, now don’t you ever call me a They/Them again! This is a MAN’s mullet!”

“I was just… trying… to be… polite,” the guy says between bounces on the water.

Dawg suddenly cuts the engine, and the airboat skids across the gravel. The impact throws the straggler onto a Spanish moss tree branch fifteen feet above the ground. Gators jump up the tree, trying to snatch him down.

Dawg hops on his Harley and starts his long drive to DC. We hear the branch crack and break off behind him, followed by a loud thud. The man’s screams are drowned out by Dawg revving his engine.

The next call goes out to Doctor Oz, who is in the middle of a heart transplant.

“Doctor, it’s the President,” a nurse says as she holds the phone to her chest, covering the receiver.

“Biden? Why on god’s flat earth would he be calling me? Tell him if it’s an emergency to call 9-1-1.”

“No sir, the other President.”

“Kamala?”

“No Doctor, the other, other President.”

“Oh, right! Donny boy, put him on!”

“Doctor Ozymandias, you’re the head of Medicine now. I have always said you are the Dr. Phil of doctors.”

“That means a lot sir, thank you.”

“Now grab your periscope and get to Washington immediately. Not the state. The DC one.”

Doctor Oz drops his medical tongs inside the patient and instructs the nurses, “Zip this guy back up. I have a cabinet to get to.”

We cut back to Trump. He’s now slurping down a blue slushie from 7-11 through an orange plastic straw. He makes direct eye contact with each staffer in the room while sucking the Slushie down in one gulp.

“Blaaauuuu,” he belches after finishing the very last drop. He pants from the effort and dobs his forehead with a napkin.

“You,” he says, pointing to Donald Trump Jr., “Go throw this out for me. In the ocean!”

“Yes, Daddy,” Jr. says.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trump mocks him in a tiny, girlish voice.

“He almost remembered my name,” Jr. whispers with a sad smile as he begins his long walk to the Pacific Ocean with the empty slushie cup, even though the Atlantic is much closer.

Trump picks a name out of a red MAGA hat. “This is my favorite part, the wild card.”

He reads the name and starts dialing. He confuses his fingers with Cheetos as he presses the buttons. He sucks the phantom orange dust off his fingers until the call is answered.

“Doctor Frazier Crane, it’s your favorite President calling,” he sings into the phone. We hear grunting in the background while Kelsey Grammar desperately tries to find the volume button on his desktop computer.

“Drat!” he shouts before finally pressing the pause button. “Ah yes, Sir Donald, I was, uh, pruning the garden,” the camera angles out to reveal he is jerking it under a blanket while watching a man dressed in a grizzly bear costume railing a woman on PornHub. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Look, I know you’re not a real doctor, and that’s why I want you to be the head of abortions. They are bad… unless you need one.”

Frasier blows his load at this invitation and says meekly, “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything sir. Any. Thing.”

“That’s my doctor. How’s that bitch ex-wife of yours? Tell her Malania wants to mop the floor of the Oval Office with her blonde hair.”

“Will do, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Trump hangs up, and the montage ends. He’s satisfied with all the good work he did in those four minutes as President-elect. He sits back, pleased with himself.

The camera pans to a dark corner of the room. JD Vance smirks as he strums his fingers together like an evil genius.

The audience then realizes a new supervillain has been brought to power. This one is a chameleon, blending in and being exactly who he needs to be at any given moment while quietly devising a plan to overthrow Trump in his quest to control not just America, but the world.