Trump Trainwreck

“OH MY GAWD!” A passenger screamed, wildly flailing their tiny arms, but ironically huge hands around the cabin, “WE’RE, LIKE, ALL GONNA, LIKE, DIE! Hashtag NOT MY TRAIN WRECK!” They continued screaming, it was very evident that something was very wrong.
“Send me Hill Dogs emails! Putin and I are going to FUCK on every one of them!” Grunted a cheese poof powder orange, hunch backed, wig wearing troll. His squinting eyes barely able to see the train controls in front of his that his tiny hands couldn’t wrap their microscopic finger around, nor did his flabby bat wing like arms have the muscle mass to force them any higher than a Natzi salute.
He tried the Natzi salute, it didn’t help him out at all in trying to get the train back on track.
“Mattress Comrade Trump, I will be doing this thing which you aren’t able to!” Putin screamed, though with his tiny pursed anus lips, it seemed more like a passive aggressive whistle than anything else.
“I can’t let you do that, my little attachment! Those emails are the key to powering this train!” Trump squealed, his pig like nature becoming more evident by the second.
“We must unleash our ultimate move, we’ve got to combine to form-” Putin passive aggressively whistled, Trump tried and failed to put a finger against Putin’s tiny tiny lips, only to have his microscopic fingers broken by the very soft sound waves his Russian lover was putting out.
“No, not till after the results are in! Besides, you combined with me last night when you said it would help with Mel’s headache. I’ve never needed so many intelligence debriefings to help clean that mess up!”
“Yes, I know, but what are we to do about the train? As well as the Dissenters to my- I mean, your rise to King for Lifedom?” There was a musical note to Putin’s words. And a truth. while Trump had tiny, tiny sausage fingers, he also had extremely powerful legs. On the other hand, Putin had very large hands, which was connected to a series of increasingly powerful arms, which were connected to a very large chest.
Putin’s chest was so large that Russia had trouble knitting a stretchy enough sweater for him to fit into. On the downside, he had tiny tiny legs. He looked like a shaved gorilla with extreme bald spots, everywhere.
Trump grunted, “Use you arms!”
“I can not, for I require the fair and balanced effect of your legs, also known as the backs of the Transition Team you sacrificed to play Faux God!”
“I was not playing God, Putin! I created life, in the form of that sweet piece of ass known as my daughter!”
Putin grimaced, which to Trump’s misunderstanding looked like he was smiling.
That was his first mistake, as everyone knows that Putin never smiled. He only increasingly reverse frowned. The train was now flinging itself, some might say out of desperation, off the tracks. The tracks themselves had never been finished, and most likely would’ve tail spun the Locomotive into a fiery, active, volcano powered by the tears of Orphans on Christmas Eve.
Trump and Putin knew that Satan himself had given the Combination to them for one purpose and one purpose only. To consistently fuck on a giant pile of lies and misinformation.
It was the only way, outside an I.V. drip of dreams and hopes of immigrants, that they could ever rise to power. That and a shit ton of Viagra that had to be ground up using the enamel of teeth pried from the mouth of a cursed, eight hundred year old Grand Dragon, and spread out over the course of ten miles of broken glass.
These two were into some seriously fucked up shit.
“Fine, fine!” Trump exclaimed, “you can ‘combine’ for three minutes, after that, I have to ‘combine’ with Ivanka for an hour before tweeting for three more hours.”
Putin grimaced in over excitement, so much so that Russia saw the first rays of hope, love, and light in over three thousand years, and someone adopted an orphan off the street, named him Little Mushika, and gave him a puppy.
Putin went to work, combining with trump, they were able to shove in handful after handful of Trump’s tax returns into the furnace of the Trump Train, which was free falling down a rocky, boulder riddled cliff that bordered the lip of the volcano.
“Faster!! Faster!” Trump screamed, sweating heavily as the heat from their ‘Combining’ intensified, Putin was cranking the tax returns as fast as his massive hands could, but it seemed like Trump couldn’t get enough. When the Train smashed into the ground at nearly Mach seventy five, Putin released his state secrets upside the back of trumps head, the two screaming in agony or pleasure, it was always confusing which was which, as pieces of metal sliced through the two.
When the entirety of the fifty car Trump Train had slammed into the ground, the twin souls escaped the flaming wreckage, just the souls, their bodies were horrifically mutilated, and pieces were flung far and wide.
Where ever any drop of DNA slapped, any little woodland creature previously singing about love and happiness, instantly changed into a balding, tiny mouthed, racist version of themselves with tiny hands and feet, screaming at birds to tweet whatever they said.
Bambi’s mother never stood a chance.
When the souls arrived in front of the Lord of Light himself, they were asked how hard they combined.
Putin Spoke first, “we combined with the ferocity of the Big Bang.”
“Lies. It was at least two Big bangs, and I have ordinary sized hands.”
Satan, right then and there, sent the souls into the center of a giant ball of acid, where they remained till time itself ticked its last tock.
And the rest of us lived happily ever after.