Trump in Hell

Donald Trump began insidiously developing certain tracts of land in Hell. He had his usual b.s. eminent domain arguments pre-loaded for litigation. He had a number of contacts (eternally damned friends and business associates) already on the inside, and they had greased the palms of some of the lesser demons with baksheesh. You’d be shocked at the sorts of things they crave down there, copies of Dancing with the Stars and Pepperoni Bites, crap like that. Pretty much the same stuff as North Korea, really.

But the Devil eventually found out that someone was building on his property. He only uncovered this when he found paperwork from the Infernal Zoning Board (DING!: there is no “Infernal Zoning Board”) purporting to approve the Don’s latest monstrosity. This was a sprawling titanium-facaded hotel designed to resemble his coif, or rather anti-coif. It was designed by Frank Gehry, no less. It looks like a giant Trump toupee sitting there amid the countless grease fires of hell. It does feel weirdly appropriate. Except it’s shiny and it lights up like a merry-go-round at night. And it’s very, very large. Because the suites inside are also very large, designed to pull in celebrity demons and their so-called families, the rates are astronomical. Working class demons simply can’t afford this putrid pile of putatively-pedigreed poshness.

And what does this hotel have to offer amidst the (admittedly boring reruns of) eternal torment of human wrongdoers?

Donald Trump has the answer: “Fresh hell!”