Roll Over, Frank Loesser — Eags (Timothy Egan) Imagines A Horse's A$$ Explicating "Baby, It's Cold Outside" For Our Dismal Time

Sentimental songs are heard — over and over and over again — in this holiday time as the year draws to a close. Eags (Timothy Egan) supplies an imagined inner-monologue that would run through the tiny mind of the Horse's A$$ in the Oval Office as holiday music plays over the White House sound system. Reading what passes for thinking in the current Oval Office can be summed up in a Scrooge-like "Bah, Humbug!" If this is the (fair & balanced) portrayal of a Dickensian villain, so be it.

[x NY Fishwrap]
"Baby, It’s Cold Outside" — A Trump Tune
By Eags (Timothy Egan)


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America baby bathroom best better called care Christmas cold David drink family give grand home Hotel kid laughing lies love Magoo Mattis maybe Melania Mexican Michael misconduct mother Mr Oh outside pay pecs Pelosi Pence people please really sitting stars start stay talk think told Tonto Trump tune wall year

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I really can’t stay.

No, John Kelly, don’t go just yet. I don’t mind if you called me an idiot. My next chief of staff, Mick Mulvaney, was even more mean. He said I was a “terrible human being.”

I’ve got to go away.

Please, Kellyanne Conway, stick around one year more, even if your husband hates me more than Al Gore. You’re the best liar I’ve got, much better than a Russian bot. And now General Jim Mattis has up and quit. It's over principle, he says, plus he thinks I'm a dimwit.

My mother will start to worry.

Not so, Vice President Pence, Mother has no reason to flee. I love that you never talk, because it’s always about me, me, me! Mrs. Pence can be as frozen as you in the chair, and I’ll never give either of you a stare. And by the way, Melania’s red Christmas trees really give me a scare.

Father will be pacing the floor.

The evangelicals truly don’t care. I stumped for creepy Roy Moore and they went nowhere. I wouldn’t know the Bible if it fell on my head — that’s why I wanted to use “Art of the Deal” at the inaugural instead. I pay off porn stars and when asked, say no, no, no, but the preachers will always bless my lies and say go, go, go.

So really I’d better scurry.

Oh, hush, don’t be in such a hurry. The walls are closing in and I need someone not facing a grand jury. Do you want to end up in the joint like Michael Cohen, the rat? Or paying my legal fees like Stormy Daniels — I call her “horseface” and “fat.” Or maybe I’ll pardon you before they get you like Michael Flynn — lock him up, hints the judge. Funny, I never heard anything about that from Hannity or Drudge.

Maybe just half a drink more.

Not from me, as you know. I only drink carbonated sugar water, though it’s starting to show. But I can share a cup of overpriced tea, from Trump International Hotel in DC. — though it means sitting down with incoming Senator Mitt Romney.

The neighbors might think...

Canadians and Mexicans, who cares what they say? I’m begging you, Nikki Haley, you’ve got to delay. I need you to show that America First is here to stay. And so what if the whole world is laughing at us. I can always throw somebody new under the bus.

I wish I knew how.

Believe me, Sarah Sanders, don’t be like Ryan Zinke, off with Tonto the horse. After all the favors the oil and gas boys did for him, he’d best not show any remorse. I booted Jeff Sessions because he reminds me of Mr. Magoo — and for good measure, I said he was “mentally retarded,” too. Rex Tillerson was pushed out because he called me a “moron,” and more. But I’m like really smart, and he’s a Texas bore.

I ought to say no, no, no.

And give up 15 days of Christmas at Mar-a-Lago? You’re my five kids from three wives, but I have to play golf every day. Otherwise, I’m stuck with re-gifting from you — that’s the Trump family way! My charity’s a bust. My university’s a fraud. The stock market’s in the tank, and I can no longer get Wall Street to applaud.

I’ve got to get home.

Not if you’re a Muslim or Mexican, you don’t. And if you’re a mother with a kid gone missing in our hands, you won’t. I said I’d build a wall. It’s not even a bathroom stall. Maybe if I’d just shut up, then Nancy Pelosi wouldn’t have thoroughly kicked my butt. But hey, the name of our policy is fear. And family separation is so much nicer this time of year.

You’ve really been grand.

Flatter me, please, strike up the band. For I only have one friend left in all the land. That Vlady’s got the pecs of a real man. And he’s also got a Trump Tower penthouse waiting, on demand. I’m losing David Pecker, the tabloid owner who covered my sleaze. Like me, he seemed to do it all with such amoral ease. As for Kim Jong-un, I still think we should do biz. So what if I told him my nuclear button is a “more powerful one than his.”

I ought to say no, no, no.

And that’s why some people don’t like this song anymore. But even the Democrats say it’s nothing but flirtation at the door. They tell me I’m not the one to defend this tune — ’cause all the women accusing me of sexual misconduct say I act like a goon.

There’s bound to be talk tomorrow.

All fake news, except for the suck-ups at Fox — but between you and me, those people are dumber than rocks. Still, I love that they never criticize. From rage tweets to insults, I’m the greatest at telling lies!

Oh, baby, it’s cold outside.

Tell me about it. ###

[Timothy Egan writes now writes a semi-monthly column at the NY Fishwrap online. Egan — winner of both a Pulitzer Prize in 2001 as a member of a team of reporters who wrote the series "How Race Is Lived in America" and a National Book Award (The Worst Hard Time in 2006) — graduated from the University of Washington with a BA ( journalism), and was awarded a doctorate of humane letters (honoris causa) by Whitman College (WA) in 2000 for his environmental writings. Egan's most recent book is The Immortal Irishman: The Irish Revolutionary Who Became an American Hero (2016). See all other books by Eags here.]

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