“…And, lo, it came to pass that during the Sixteenth year of the Second Millennium, there arose in the West a sulfurous presence that threatened to destroy all who came before it. So noxious were its fumes and emissions that it felled all competition in its lust for power. The people of the land quaked in terror of the darkening sky and searched wildly for one who could save them from the eye-meltingly orange demon that swore to destroy all they had created. Sages of every creed consulted their books and oracles to no avail. It seemed that all was indeed lost…”
It had been an unusually stormy and unsettled season. The Horsemen were sat around binge-watching “Game of Thrones,” arguing whether the excessive sex and violence was artistically appropriate or not. It was a 50/50 split.
“I think it is entirely justified!” declared War, “You can’t have people just handing over territories willy-nilly; it’s unseemly!”
“The more the merrier,” sputtered Death through a cloud of cigarette smoke, “I could do without the nudity though. Distracts from the killing.”
Pestilence sighed and popped another Advil, “I don’t know; I find it all gives me a headache.”
A knock at the door roused them and Pestilence went to answer it.
“Oh hey man, come in,” he coughed, “We’re in the den.”
The Lord, anxiously pulling on his beard, sat down and looked gravely at the Horsemen.
“Guys, we have a big problem. I’ve just got back from a meeting with the other Deities and they have been complaining about a disturbance that is threatening to destabilize The World Order, and they say that he is one of ours.”
Puzzled, the Four Horsemen glanced at one another. “Really?” War asked curiously, “I’ve been too busy in the Mid East and Sub-Saharan Africa to take much notice. Who is it?”
“They call him Trump,” said The Lord, handing around a bunch of pictures; “Sometimes The Donald. He is easily recognizable by his weird, orange glow and Twitter feed. He also appears to wear a dead squirrel as a hat. I’m told he controls an army of mindless minions and wants to set back The Land about 50 years to make it ‘Great’ again.”
Famine and Pestilence groaned. “But we thought that we were almost ready to retire! What’s so great about hardship and hunger? Who does this guy think he is?”
“He thinks he’s The Greatest,” replied The Lord, “The Best Builder, The Smartest Guy, Has the Hottest Wife, Knows the Most Words. Oh, and he’s Really Rich.”
“Sounds like a douchebag,” muttered Death.
“He hates Mexicans and Muslims but claims that ‘The Blacks’ love him”, The Lord went on, shaking His head, “I don’t know…is he really one of ours? I tried to get a hold of Lucifer, but he’s all tied up in some lawsuit – there was a claim that some guy called Ted Cruz resembled him and now he’s suing for defamation of character.”
“Ted Cruz? Isn’t he the guy that looks like a blobfish?” Pestilence shuddered, “Man, even I couldn’t have come up with such a nasty looking disfigurement.”
“I dunno,” The Lord said, “I’ve never heard of him.”
“So what are we supposed to do about this Trump?” asked Famine who had moved on to dessert; “It’s really hard to make those GMO crops fail you know.”
“I suppose that I could inflict some horrific skin disease upon him,” Pestilence mused, “Though I suspect no-one could tell the difference under that orange smear.”
“I was thinking,” said The Lord, “That it might be more effective if you all visited together; you know, strength in numbers, that sort of thing. Maybe then he would back down, retreat to his gold-plated penthouse and go back to ruining beach front properties.”
The Horsemen thought for a moment, pondering the implications of such a dramatic approach.
“Wouldn’t the People panic though, if they saw all of us riding into the West?” War asked, with a frown, “I thought we were pretty much a last-resort-scenario-type thing.”
“Yeah,” Death smirked, ” A last Trump Resort scenario…”
The Lord shrugged and reached for a bottle of single malt; “There’s going to be a panic anyway, and needs must when the devil vomits in your kettle. So to speak.”
“Can’t Lucifer send one of his demons to help out?” asked Famine, popping a mint in his mouth, “Sounds right up his alley.”
“I hear that they’re all busy preparing a new Circle of Hell specifically for Politicians,” said Death, “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s ready yet.”
Suddenly, War leapt to his feet. “I know! Why don’t we wait until the New Year? If things are still bad, we can come charging in when the bells ring for New Year’s Day and People will think it’s some kind of crazy party trick! We might even get a round of applause.”
“Brilliant idea!” declared Famine, “And maybe there’ll still be some snacks left!”
“…And so, the people of the land waited. In the days to come, many heads would shake with disbelief and much Twittering of calamity would occur as the poisonous disturbance approached the seat of ultimate power. All the while, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse rehearsed the greatest conjuring trick the World had ever known – convincing The Trump to Cease and Desist…”