Original satire piece by Cale Harper 

This January, after months of awkward courtship, Lady Liberty conceived a new leader. At first, the announcement was exciting. The promise of a new life in the White House was the subject of breakroom chatter across the United States. What would he look like? How would he behave? Who would he become? That excitement was quickly replaced with nervousness, however, as his term proved to be full of complications. Today, nearly nine months later, America groans with labor pains as the golden-haired baby crowns forth from the womb of Mother Freedom, now fully revealed. He is diagnosed with Benjamin Button disorder – a toddler trapped in the body of an old white man. His tiny hands grope for power and influence. Over time, his vocabulary begins to develop: wall, huge, sad. It takes a village to raise a child, and in this case, that village is Washington, D.C..

Earlier this month, it was Minority Leaders Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi’s turn to star in Adventures in Babysitting. After a temper tantrum with leaders of the Republican party over the DACA decision, healthcare, and funding for the border wall, the president ran away from home and across the aisle to his fun aunt and uncle’s for dinner. The Democrats knew they had one shot to convince the president to have some mercy on the minority, and they were not going to waste it. They had to feed the baby. Unfortunately for them, Donny is known to be a fussy eater, and the menu that night wasn’t easy to swallow.

At first, things were moving along with ease. Pelosi strapped him into his high chair while Schumer opened up a jar of Gerber’s pureed baby carrots. Aunt Nancy knew he didn’t like them, but thought if he would taste them, he’d come around. She fastened his red extra-long power bib around his neck, and handed Chuck the spoon. Schumer urged him to open wide and eat the baby carrots, but the ornery squirt wouldn’t have it.

“Now, Donny,” the Senate Minority leader pleaded, “these baby carrots are good for you. You should give them a try.”

“No,” the president pouted, “I don’t like baby carrots. If I eat any more, I could turn orange, who knows? I mean, can you imagine? What a total disaster!”

“You won’t turn orange, Donny. These carrots are yummy. Look, I’ll even try some.” Donny turned his nose up and sniffed, incredulous, as Uncle Chucky lifted the spoon of orange mush to his mouth and slurped it. “Mmm, yummy. Your turn.”

After a moment of deliberation, he shouted, “No! I don’t want them. They should be sent back to the kitchen where they came from! Baby carrots don’t deserve to be here in the first place.”

Uncle Chuck closed his eyes and sighed. No wonder the Republicans bickered with this brat. “Don, it isn’t the baby carrots’ fault they’re here. When the chef smuggled them out of the kitchen, they didn’t know any better. They’re just baby carrots, after all. Not even fully grown.”

The man-baby was not impressed. “I want a Trump Steak, they’re the very best – believe me, I know steaks.” he assured them, waving his hands.

“Donny, Trump Steaks may be your favorite food, but these carrots are just as healthy for you. And you can’t only eat beef all the time. You need some color on your plate. It’s natural and nutritional. Just taste them, please.” Uncle Chuck moved the spoon toward the president’s mouth one more time, hoping his persuasion made even the slightest difference.

“I’ll make you a deal, Charles. Leave the carrots here. Maybe I’ll eat them in six months,” he decided. This was barely the progress Schumer was looking for, but it was a start.

At this rate, the legislators would never get to the political issues. Not with the president constantly fussing over what he would and wouldn’t eat. They had just lost twenty minutes trying to convince the newborn leader of the free world to have mercy on pureed carrots, when they could have been discussing the fate of the Dreamers.

The Democratic leaders also knew they had to tell the president they still refused to fund his border wall, but Don wouldn’t talk business on an empty stomach. Now it was Nancy’s turn to beat the bully, and after Chuck’s good-cop routine failed, Pelosi decided to take a different approach.

“Listen up, punk.” She pulled a up a chair and sat down backwards. She stared him up and down for a moment, then slapped the high chair. “Look at me!” she shouted.

The president was startled. Only Melania could talk to him like that. He opened his mouth to correct her, but the former House speaker cut him off.

“These baby carrots are nutritional. They’re a part of the American food pyramid, and you’re going to eat them even if I have to – “

“I want ice cream,” baby POTUS interjected. “Vanilla – the best kind, ask anyone. Vanilla has huge ratings. I have to have ice cream. I promised everyone I would get them ice cream.”

Silence. The president had laid his cards on the booster seat. Schumer and Pelosi exchanged concerned looks. Could it be? Had Donald actually victimized innocent baby carrots as leverage to get his ice cream? No. That sort of manipulation was unethical, even for him. Even so, Aunt Nancy knew how to play hard ball. She slipped on a pair of aviators and leaned toward the president, just inches from his face. She could smell the tension. Or maybe he needed a change.

“You’re not getting anything until you apologize to those baby carrots and eat them like a man.” The room went quiet. Pelosi and Schumer locked eyes with the toddler. He squinted, thinking of a counteroffer. The president always made sure politicians knew he understood the art of the deal. But before he could speak up, Aunt Nancy went for the last word. “Look at me, Don. Do I seem like a person whose mind is easily changed? I’ve had the same haircut since 1987. Do your worst.”

“I won’t do anything without ice cream,” he demanded. “Give me the ice cream and I’ll consider the baby carrots.”

“Done,” Chuck chimed in, eager to close the deal. The tot seemed pleased. Schumer held the spoon, and Donny ate up, oblivious to the fact that he would never get that ice cream.

In the days to follow, Uncle Chuck and Aunt Nancy were proud to announce baby’s first steps across the aisle. Finally, the Democratic Leaders had swayed the president. Sure, they overcame a bias that was entirely unfounded, but they overcame a bias nonetheless. Perhaps if Little Don could learn to like big boy foods, he could learn to talk politics. His opponents may take issue with his juvenile mentality, but his family in Washington are understanding. Stubborn as he may be, they are grateful for their leader. After all, a fussy toddler is more productive than a senile dotard.

Satire is an original work by the author and does not represent the views of The Mirror