Clowns at the Center of the Earth

The planet becomes largely uninhabitable, not by some dramatic event, but by a slow and steady stream of billionaire exploitation. Temperatures have soared to 115 degrees Fahrenheit (46 degrees Celsius). It’s a bit like Mad Max Thunderdome, but without the iconic sexy leather outfits.

The immortal Trump sits with Elon and a handful of sycophants in his half-finished doomsday bunker.

“Elon, you know you were always my favorite. You’re so pure coming from apartheid South Africa with wealthy parents. You are a beautiful specimen and your brain! I love that big, beautiful brain.”

“I appreciate the flattery, Mr. President, but I sense you’re about to ask me for something. Could you just spit it out?”

“We moved down here to escape the heat, but I have to admit it. It’s still pretty hot. Pretty hot. Do you have a plan?”

“Well, boss, since SpaceX has been decommissioned, I was thinking of retooling the rockets by adding a drill bit on the tip.”

“You mean we dig ourselves in deeper?”

“Exactly. I know all about digging because my father owned an emerald mine. I didn’t do any of the actual digging or supervise, but was aware that the digging was happening, and that’s just as good. Have you seen the film Journey to the Center of the Earth?

“Of course, it’s a classic.”

“You know what’s down there, right?”

“The lost city of Atlantis, cooler temperatures, sexy women, waterfalls. I like what I’m hearing, Elon. Of course, scientists say that the Earth's core is filled with magma. You believe that, Elon? You believe in magma? 

“Since when have you listened to scientists? That’s just the Libtards trying to keep us from taking it.”

“Let’s go conquer the center of the Earth!”

The work is done by the few semi-intelligent engineers, still too afraid to take their chances in the sweltering chaos on the surface. They attach the drill bit to the repurposed SpaceX rocket with the same quality craftsmanship they used on the body of the cyber truck. What could go wrong?

Vroom vroom goes the massive, phallic-shaped drill, packed with enough diapers, Diet Coke, and ketchup to survive down here with Donnie, Elon, and his cohorts inside. The self-driving EarthX drilling vehicle goes several layers in and stops. 

A light on the dashboard indicates the presence of life forms. 

“Periscope down.”

Elon uses it to take a look around. He turns to Trump, looking shocked at what he sees. 

“This might be the ketamine talking, but I think we’ve encountered a colony of mole people.”

“Really, that’s interesting. I thought they’d be lizard people, dinosaurs, or something. Open this tin can and let me talk to them. I’m great at diplomacy, you know. I’ll have them eating out of my hand.”

After emerging from the hatch, they are greeted by an assembly of curious mole people. Behind them in the distance is their shimmering castle made of precious gemstones. 

Trump notices something different about the mole people, but instead of mocking that difference, he thinks he can use it to his own advantage. 

“Elon, they’re blind! Let’s kill them and take their stuff.”

“We can hear you,” squeaks the leader of the mole people in perfect English. He holds his pickaxe aloft and gives the order to charge. 

Elon drags the feeble Trump back to the EarthX and slams down the hatch. It is a narrow escape. The EarthX plows forward, massacring hundreds of mole people and raining carnage in its wake. 

“Onward to Atlantis!”

The closer the EarthX gets to the core, the higher the temperature. It’s subtle at first, but then Trump’s orange foundation starts melting onto his collar. The sounds outside the EarthX grows louder as the heat intensifies. He thinks that maybe those scientists were right about the magma after all. 

Elon assures him that the temperatures will cool off soon, but Trump starts to panic. He reaches for the hatch door, but the handle breaks off in his hand. He bangs on the door with his tiny fists, but they remain locked inside the metal tube. 

Trump turns to Elon, who appears to be in some kind of drug-induced trance. “Elon, get us out of here!” I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

“It’s too late now, Donnie.”

The rumbling outside gets deeper, angrier. Suddenly, the Earth X is propelled back up from whence it came on a wave of hot lava. It’s as if Mother Earth had some bad clams and vomited them back to the surface, thoroughly dazed, but unharmed. Now they’ll take their chances with the angry, rabid surface dwellers in the former USA.