Chapter Text
Trump always knew from the start his mail-order bride would never love him, but that's ok what love couldn't fix money always would. Although even when she looks at him now that spark, he heard so much about in those "how to make her love you in 30 seconds" books and late-night "educational" channels is absent.
This shouldn't have bothered Trump, after all, he is the sex god of the city as dubbed by his daughter but all he really wanted was a real connection with someone, to be able to talk about nuking a country and exploiting people without them screaming "fake news" or "racist".
Heaving a frustrated sigh Trump fumbles to remove the complicated VR equipment off his oversized head; careful not to rouse the wild animal on top of it masquerading as hair. Not even his life like "stealing candy from baby's" simulator was lightening his bleak mood today.
After 10 minutes of trying and failing to remove the equipment off his head (most of this time was just Trump pretending to be the Hulk believing this would allow him to break free) he finally reluctantly called for his "babysitters" formally known as security.
Trump suddenly hears a commotion sounding far away and glancing around he sees his saviors charging towards him with fire extinguishers and makeup wands, completely unfazed Trump seethes growing fussy about how long it's taking the "babysitters" to reach him from down the 100-meter stretch of the hallway leading to his office.
Trump believed the distance of his office from all the mindless drones was done to show the difference between his smart, amazing, and Sexy self-compared to everyone else, in all actuality no one for any reason wanted to be in Trump's vicinity for more than 30 secs (they timed it, Melania won).
Halfway through attempting to bite through the VR cables in a last-ditch effort for freedom an ear-piercing shriek is heard "President! Not again".
In comes running the once immaculate security guards turned nannies with sweat stains and fake tan dotting their once clean image, creating a canvas of disaster.
"Not once was this stated in the fucking job description" mumbled the second security detail after witnessing the carnage.
Toilet paper lined the walls from floor to ceiling some clean some not, patches of the desk were covered in bits of what the security believed were lucky charms cereal, Donald's favorite. Bits and pieces of clothing appeared seemingly ripped apart littering the floor.
Nervously the security's eyes made their way to look at the source of this mess afraid of what they might see.
Standing in the middle of the Oval Office was Donald. J Trump stood like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar except he was midway through biting into the VR cables, his piss colored "hair" had a life of its own stand up in all directions the tips charred and frazzled like the bacon he loved so much(unfortunately somehow the 100 Volts from the headset didn't kill him or cause him brain damage, mostly because there wasn't much there to begin with) the security could almost taste the heart disease emanating from him.
Somehow during his fight with the headset, Trump had also managed to free himself of half of his clothes ugly bits of wrinkled sunburnt flesh were exposed to the light of day the worst part was the president clearly didn't have his wife "nurse" help him wipe this morning...
That day the Oval office had two hospital admittances and 20 resignations.