"Can we hurry this the f**** up!"
I yell at the pilot. My gold plated, sleep toupee slipped from my head in the soft winds of the air conditioning. I would glue it on after another self tanning session before the meeting. I tried to sleep but there was turbulence. Then it took my personal maid 6 minutes to convince me I couldn't sue it. I calmed down and changed into my most comfortable suit
I spent the rest of 4 minutes it's relaxing in my private jet. It irritated me that I couldn't take my bigger one, however, it wouldn't have fitted in their puny, peasant airport.
This one only had one pool (and a shallow one at that), one hot tub, one servants quarters, two master bedrooms, 800 spare bottles of self tanning lotion, one self tanning salon, the three bathrooms, one (unused) gym, only 100 spare toupees and a 10000 litres of personal-brand hair glue- only a fraction gold plated- and a few personally owned restaurants.
I know. I travel light when I have to.
I hate it though, it always makes me feel dirty.
Apparently the pilot couldn't fly from America to Europe in 10 minutes, something about a "speed limit". F****** limits. I can always buy my way out.
"Come on you b******, there is no problem money can't solve! Speed up or jump out! I got around 20 spare pilots in the engine room just waiting to take your place!"
Unlike the others (who took the plunge), this one talked back.
"Mr Trump, if you don't shut up I will push your scaly, gold-plated, silicone, cheeto-like ass and drown you in your swimming pool myself. Or I'll kill us all and let all the oxygen out of the airplane!"
Just then a loud beep sounded and the pilot screamed and started pressing a million buttons before I could make my brilliant move of killing him. The plane stopped mid-flight. It nose dived towards the ground, the middle cracking slightly. My stomach lurched and sick rose to the back of my throat- curse that gold-shaving milkshake! My toupee flew high into the air and I heard my pools content empty. The last thing I saw was the pilot's area smash on a tree, in an explosion of flames and the ground coming all to fast
-C
YOU ARE READING
We need to Trek deeper - A Trump and Shrek Fanfiction
FanfictionWhat happens when a ogre meets a hot, sweaty businessman? What happens when swampy green mixes with spray tan orange. What new and exiting colours shall bloom from this exotic, exhilarating fantasy?
