In a move that has event planners on both sides of the Atlantic reaching for the extra-strength Xanax, Donald J. Trump is allegedly weighing a personal appearance at the US Freedom Festival, a patriotic jamboree that is currently haemorrhaging cash faster than a casino in a recession. Sources close to the orange one whisper that he is being tempted by the promise of adulation, a golden throne, and possibly a lifetime supply of Diet Coke.
The festival, designed to celebrate American exceptionalism, has instead become a monument to organisational incompetence, with ticket sales flatter than a pancake at a vegan convention. UK event planners, ever the vultures circling the corpse of transatlantic relations, are reportedly watching with a mixture of horror and fascination. One unnamed source was heard muttering, 'If he shows up, we'll need to quarantine the entire festival grounds.
The man's a walking biohazard of ego and scandal.' Others, however, see opportunity. 'Imagine the headlines,' a PR guru chortled.
'Trump saves Freedom Jamboree! It's a narrative so absurd it might actually work.' Meanwhile, the festival's budget, already as thin as a supermodel's patience, is being stretched to accommodate potential security, a portable nuclear football, and a hair-dryer backup generator.
The irony is rich: a festival dedicated to freedom now considering grovelling to a man who once proposed banning an entire religion. But as any good journalist knows, irony died the day Trump took the escalator. In related news, gin sales have spiked 400% in newsrooms across the Western world.
As I write this, I can hear the clinking of glasses from Fleet Street to Fifth Avenue. Here's to the absurdity of it all. Cheers.
