Back in the summer of 2015 when Donald had her face tattooed on his stomach (the bellybutton being her mouth obviously), Michelle had a premonition of death. Not hers of course, for goddesses cannot die, but of a certain someone competing for the Oval Office. Even worse, however, was the fact that Donald was the one bringing about the candidate's violent end.
While midnight-campaigning in Detroit, Donald accidentally muttered his genuine feelings toward Muslims in his sleep, where the only other person present was his wife. However, Ted had Donald's most recent wife offed months ago to allow himself access to Donald's mansion. He was required to wear her clothing, makeup, and hair to remain unnoticed, but he didn't mind; it made him feel pretty.
"He predicts the downfall of traditional Christian virtues and ideals," Ted exclaimed to the namesake of the Ellen Show the following morning. Disinterested but bribed, she drowsily asked him to share more. "Oh best of all, Ellen, Donald is in fact Muslim himself!"
Gasps echoed throughout the auditorium.
That night, Ted reclined in a tickle-me-pink cashmere robe to watch a new episode of Grey's Anatomy. Just after the patient died, a familiar voice resonated from the television set. "Did you think you would get away with it, Ted? Have you forgotten our blood oath?" He projected so well, you would think it was Muhammad himself.
Ted had no time to even answer before Donald swung down from the ceiling wielding two Japanese daggers inscribed with ancient psalms. "Slander opens the path for social rifts, Ted. Don't you speak Asian?"
Ted was never seen again, and since there was no evidence at the crime scene, Donald was never convicted. He slept alone in peace, content that the true reason behind Ted's disappearance existed only within his mind.
The next morning, Donald lazily strode to the stainless steel kitchen and popped a Hawaiian pizza into the oven for breakfast. The box said it would take twenty minutes to fully bake, so Donald took that time to check his mail. Autographed O magazines littered the mansion's creaky veranda. Why can't my hair be as luscious as hers? Donald wondered. He brushed the monthlies aside to reveal a slim off-white envelope marked with his name in indigo ink.
He recognized the handwriting.
"What could she be asking for now?" Donald whispered out loud.
He opened the letter. Inside was an elegant piece of card stock whose penned message was preceded by the presidential seal of approval.
Dearest Donald,
I have recently heard news of Ted's disappearance. It saddens me to know that you were the cause. But before you sputter instructions to your housemaids to burn this letter and possibly assassinate me, you need to understand how I know. I have been receiving prophetic visions that show me the tragic demises of notable world powers. I predicted the Russian spy Shirley Temple's death as well as Ted's at your own hands. Remember that you will never win the presidency if word of this gets out. Stay in touch.
Sincerely, Michelle
With an intense surge of fury, Donald tore the paper to shreds. How could that jackal with her own arm workout even dare to blackmail the future president of the United States? Donald saw two choices: cater to Michelle's every whim or free Ted from the family mausoleum. Well, he couldn't liberate Ted because then all the prisoners would want to escape, and that would put Donald in a very inconvenient situation.
And Donald so decided that he would be Michelle's puppet until he gained a new property: the White House.