Satire: Yeah. I can handle this. Big league.

One day in the future, Donald Trump has a heart-attack and dies.

He immediately goes to Hell, where the devil is waiting for him.

“I don’t know what to do here,” says the devil.

“You’re on my list, but I have no room for you.”

“You definitely have to stay here, so I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ve got three folks here who weren’t quite as bad as you.”

“I’ll let one of them go, but you have to take their place. I’ll even let YOU decide who leaves.”

Donald thought that sounded pretty good, so the devil opened the door to the first room.

In it was Barack Obama and a large pool of water. Barack kept diving in, and surfacing, empty handed. Over, and over he dived in and surfaced with nothing. Such was his fate in hell.

“No,” Donald said. “I don’t think so. I’m not a good swimmer and it would ruin my hair. I don’t think I could do that all day long.”

The devil led him to the door of the next room. In it was Al Gore with a sledge-hammer and a room full of rocks. All he did was swing that hammer, time after time after time.

“No, this is no good; I’ve got his problem with my shoulder. I would be in constant agony if all I could do was break rocks all day,” commented Donald.

The devil opened a third door. Through it, Donald saw Bill Clinton, lying on the bed, his arms tied over his head and his legs restrained in a spread-eagle pose. Bent over him was Monica Lewinsky, doing what she does best.

Donald looked at this in shocked disbelief, and finally said, “Yeah. I can handle this. Big league.”

The devil smiled and said. “OK, Monica, you’re free to go.”