Chapter 360 In Trump We Trust
Atlantic Ocean
Aboard the Airship Galeos, Present Day
President Trump looked over the bow of the Galeos at an ancient kelp-blanketed city. "I've done it." Trump chuckled incredulously as the wind tossed his cherry-red tie into the elements. "I've made history," Trump realized as his tie wafted in the wind like red-flag. "Under my presidency, it shall be written that I led America, and the world, to something that no other leader could." Trump turned to the latest acquisition to his team. "Plato was an idiot," The president paused, "or maybe he was a genius trying to hide this from the world. All this time, the world believed Atlantis was an island between Morocco and Spain in the Strait of Gilbert."
Copper-brown skin, sleek-bald head, wide nostrils and lips, wearing a dress-shirt and red glittering bow-tie, Virgil, the former right-hand man of Ted DiBiase hesitantly said, "Massa-"
Trump glared at him, "You're making me feel too old, Virgil. Don't call me that."
"Sir," Virgil bowed.
"That's better," Trump smiled.
"Sir," Virgil nervously cleared his throat, "Err, Didn't you mean the Strait of Gibraltar, sir?"
"Regardless," Trump dismissively waved, "Those damn Mexicans won't pay for the wall but with all the treasures and secrets in Atlantis, America will have more than enough to build the wall."
Virgil was thunderstruck by how narrow-minded his master was portraying himself to be. Maybe it was a trick, an act of deception. President Trump was the leader. President Trump had the greatest vision on how to advance the world. There was no way that he wasn't contemplating or considering the consequences that Atlantis' rise would have on the entire world.
(In Trump we trust.) Virgil reminded himself. (Well, maybe I'll see what Massa-I mean, Mr. Trump has to say about it. I'll just ask him.) Virgil sheepishly tip-toed forward, "President Trump, sir, we have a problem?"
Trump ignored Virgil and continued his soliloquy, "The lost continent of Atlantis has risen," Trump smiled,
"Sir, Atlantis rising is causing the sea levels to drop and-"
"Now, with all the money we'll make off Atlantis, we're going to build," his eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree, "the wall." Trump proudly beamed at the sky.
(Maybe, Massa already knows. Well, I'll show him my intelligence. Yeah, I'll show him that I'm worthy of an extra buttered biscuit later.) Virgil continued, ""Sir, the sea level dropping isn't good for Europe, Asia and North America. Miles of ice will slide towards the equator, the farm areas are going to shrink because the seasons are going to be shorter, and we'll have no choice but to migrate closer to the equator and-"
Trump cut him off and continued proudly reaching to the heavens and sighing with bliss, "The wall! Oh that beautiful wall will keep all those beaners and wetbacks out of my-" Trump blinked and gave Virgil a puzzled expression, "Why are you ruining my moment? What is it?"
Virgil apprehensively explained, "the rise of Atlantis will inevitably collapse the world's economy and could cause a true apocalypse for modern civilization, sir."
Trump smiled, "I want satellite pictures and measurements of just how big Atlantis is. Now!""
Virgil nodded, "Yes, sir," and hopelessly marched away. It was pointless. (In Trump we trust.) Virgil reminded himself. A small morsel of Virgil's soul desired to pray and wish that war didn't break out between Europe, Asia and North America for real-estate or ownership of Atlantis.
Trump strode towards the bridge, prophetically mouthing two words, "the wall," and smiling at the sky.
There were a dozen, no, a hundred things for the president to be concerned and focused on, his impeachment hearing definitely being one of them. And yet, he was fixated on a wall?
Trump sighed and stared at the sky. (In Trump We Trust.) He reminded himself.