Descending down a wide staircase flanked by portraits of presidents past—each of whom’s face has been painted over with his own—Donald Trump enters the antechamber of The Bachelor White House. He is greeted by the sight of 31 members of the GOP—each one more desperate to please than the last, each one bedecked in a luxurious formal gown despite trending middle-aged male.
POTUS: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering for this season of The Bachelor: Press Secretary Edition. This season, I can assure you, will be better than all of the previous seasons. We have some very good people here, some very good people. But only one of you—they said it could only be one, I said maybe it could be more than one, they said it could only be one—can be the next Press Secretary. And you will know you have received my favor if you are the one to receive this.
Stephen Miller: Oh, it’s a stylish choker.
POTUS: Actually, it’s a collar.
Tom Cotton: A very comfortable collar, I’m sure, sir!
POTUS: No, I think it’s really just a regular sort of collar. I got it from a kennel and had Paul Ryan paint it gold.
Ted Cruz: Can I try it on?
POTUS: The funny thing is I asked him to hold the paint brush with his mouth. I didn’t think he’d do it but he totally caved! Like, right away. It was actually pretty sad.
After a long day spent riding horses along the beach and feverishly working to dismantle essential environmental regulations, our POTUS gets some one-on-one time with the potential secretaries at a serene and secluded rooftop hot tub.
Chris Christie: I had a great time with you today.
POTUS: Oh my god, did I make your head spin or what?
Chris Christie: I loved the way you took charge while we were up in that hot air balloon. Also, those tweets you fired off about how The Apprentice’s ratings have dropped while we were up there, supposed to be having an intimate conversation. Those were nice.
POTUS: I was really impressed with the way our waiter at lunch asked you what you thought I would want to eat since I was busy taking a call, and you said, “I cannot speak for the President. Only he can speak for himself.” The way you denied the very core responsibility of White House Press Secretary…well, that sort of deniability is exactly what I look for in a White House Press Secretary.
Chris Christie: Do you mean that? You don’t just say that to all the disgraced former governors, do you?
POTUS: I don’t know. Ask me again when Sam Brownback gets run out of office.
Having spent all morning playing roller rink paintball and all afternoon pontificating on the hazards of Radical Islam, it was time for our POTUS to unwind over champagne with some of the front-runners for the position. Nothing but good liquor, good company, and today’s rerun of Fox and Friends blaring in the background.
Newt Gingrich: It’s so nice in your suite, Mr. President.
POTUS: I had a fabulous, just a terrific time today, Newt. What was that you said again earlier? When the referee asked if you unloaded paintballs into that child with excessive force?
Newt Gingrich: “I can’t comment on that.”
POTUS: And what was it you said when the child’s mother asked you for your contact information so she could report it to the police?
Newt Gingrich: “I can’t comment on that.”
POTUS: Ah, like music to my ears! You know you sound [fighting back tears] you sound just like Sean Spicer when you say that.
Newt Gingrich: Oh, what’s the matter, sir?
POTUS: It’s j-just that I d-don’t know—I don’t know if I’m really over Spicey yet.
Newt Gingrich: [Cupping Donald’s tear-stained face in his hands.] You owe it to yourself to move on. He hurt you. It’s time to find your next true love.
POTUS: [Drawing back] You mean Press Secretary?
Newt Gingrich: [Unpuckering his lips] Yes. Yes, that. What’d I say again?
Skiing is difficult enough on it's own, without a hefty, mahogany podium mounted on the front of your equipment, but at least today’s downhill activity led to the early elimination of some of the weaker contenders. After that, it was a quick limo ride to the karaoke bar. Dress code: suits and ties. Preferably Russian ties.
POTUS: Why does this idiot up there keep covering Ted Nugent?
Ted Cruz: I think that is Ted Nugent.
POTUS: Ugh, what a hack. Lyin’ Ted, I always called him!
Ted Cruz: Actually sir, that was—
POTUS: Oh wait, was that you?
Ted Cruz: Donald, do you believe in Press Secretary at first sight?
POTUS: Listen, Ted, I don’t want to lead you on. You knew from the beginning that I wasn’t looking for anything permanent. Spicer knew that, that I’m not a one secretary kind of man. I’m not even a one wife kind of man.
Ted Cruz: But don’t you believe that a relationship between a president and his press secretary…I mean…don’t you believe that it can last forever?
POTUS: [Turning away, a pained look in his eyes] You deserve better than this, Ted. You don’t want to be my press secretary. I’d only hold you back.
Ted Cruz: No, don’t say that! What we have is special. I’d lie for you any day. I don’t even believe in journalism.
POTUS: You’re…you’re just saying that.
Ted Cruz: No, it’s true. I’ve been telling half-truths and falsehoods my whole life, aimlessly and without purpose. But now I can do that for you. For…for us.
POTUS: Oh, Ted. I’ll be there for you. These five words I swear to you. When you breathe, I want to be the air for you.
Ted Cruz: Was that a Bon Jovi lyric?
POTUS: Sorry. I think I’ve been spending too much time with Christie.
The final two contestants gather on a rocky promontory windswept by the ocean spray, awaiting their POTUS. Arriving by helicopter, he descends to the ground, straightens his suit, and then stands still for exactly 50 seconds before being reminded by one of his aides the reason for his presence.
POTUS: Ah, right. This thing is still going on. Honestly, I thought people had forgotten about my search for a press secretary by now. Aren’t they distracted with that whole…uh…hey Steve, what scandal did I have planned for late June again?
Steve Bannon [Offscreen]: You were going to get caught on tape referring to the South Korean President as a “Moo Shu Pork Man.”
POTUS: Right, that was it. So anyway, let’s wrap this up.
A swelling crescendo of strings accompanies the rapidly darting camera angles as Donald holds out the Golden Collar for the amusement and suspense of the final two competitors.
Camera does a quick-zoom on Russian Ambassador Sergei Kislyak’s eyes, dead and devoid of warmth.
POTUS: Sergey, I love the energy you brought to the table from the very beginning. At our first challenge day, when that cardboard cutout of a CNN correspondent washed up onshore with a lethal dose of polonium found in what would have been its torso—I mean, there’s no conclusive evidence you did that, but I was super impressed by whoever did it. Now Mitt…
Camera does a quick-zoom on Mitt Romney’s eyes, which despite the plastered smile are clearly screaming.
POTUS: Mitt, I love how you showed up to the White House at 4 AM and waited out there for 12 hours in the heat while I ignored the doorbell. You knew it was your wife’s birthday, and yet you stayed outside our front door, on your knees, regardless, because that’s what I asked you to do. And when I offered you food, but then told you I didn’t like people who ate on the job, I mean come on. It was like I was begging you to stand up for yourself.
Camera oscillates quickly between shots of Romney, the Collar, Kislyak, the Collar again, and finally Donald.
POTUS: Sergey, will you take this Golden Collar as a symbol of my very, very temporary affection?
Sergey Kislyak: Da.
POTUS: Well great, glad that’s settled. Hey Steve, we can put this whole production on the government credit card, right?
Trump and Kislyak stroll offstage hand-in-hand, past the weeping husk of a politician, formerly respected as Mitt Romney.