This bad fanfic is also part of The Pepper/668er Daniel Handler birthday edition but I tragically forgot to send it to Willis, so I'm posting it alone. Happy 47th, Mr. Handler, here's a manslaughter.
(No authors (fortunately) or presidents (unfortunately) were harmed in the making of this garbage. This garbage is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to individuals living or dead is a coincidental. No genuine desire is felt for the death of any president of any country so please don't come to my home secret service because my dog always barks a lot when people visit and it's awkward.)
Somebody Has Probably Had This Weird Dream Before
(or,
Fictional Daniel Handler Fictionally Assasinates Fictional Donald Trump At Four A.M. On Top Of A Warehouse and It's Kind of Underwhelming but if You Had Been There You Would've Been Like “Wow, What the Fucck, That Just Happened and It Was Kind of Really Cool to Watch?” So It's Not Like Totally Disappointing if You Have a Vivid Imagination or I Guess If You Hate Donald Trump At All)
Once upon a time there was a man named Tronald Dump and he was very silly and lowkey evil and he also dressed like in Tron because his name was Tronald. He said he wanted to be President and he was such a silly, lowkey evil, clothes-like-in-Tron-wearing guy that a lot of people thought that was really absurd and a bad idea. It was so absurd that the people laughed and laughed, and they laughed and laughed so long and so hard that they didn't notice when a bunch of their friends and family stopped laughing and went to vote for him. And then Tronald Dump was the President of the United States of America.
The people were horrified. They did not want this meanspirited babyman who looked like someone smashed a Ken doll repeatedly in the face with a hammer and then stuck it in the oven to be their president. They did not want a dramatic increase in violent anti-Semitism, racism, and Islamaphobia. They did not want people deported from their lives and families in America back to dangerous situations. They did not want women and LGBT people to be denied basic human rights. They did not want their friends in other countries to make fun of them for having such a smelly, ugly president.
When President Dump wasn't giving life-ruining orders or lying on Twitter, he liked to go from rooftop to rooftop on his Tron jetpack. I haven't seen Tron so I don't actually know if they have jetpacks but probably they do. President Dump liked to jet around the rooftops of America late into the night with a box full of raw eggs, which he threw at the people below, even if they were vegan or had an allergy.
The people had a meeting to discuss what to do about The Great Dump Egg Fucckery, as the papers called it.
“We have got to do something about all this egg dumping fucckery,” said a guy.
“This is the worst thing he has done yet!” said another guy.
“Um,” replied the first guy.
The people thought maybe somebody could go find President Dump on the rooftops and fight him when he was away from his secret service agents, and since I don't feel like coming up with other, better fake ideas, that was all anyone thought of. Dwayne The Rock Johnson seemed like the best choice. He was very tall and strong and handsome and his face was very kind and he could fly. But Dwayne The Rock Johnson was in Italy filming a movie where he played a handsome tall flying werewolf.
“Hey, I have an idea,” said Haniel Dandler.
Oh wait sorry I forgot.
Once upon a time there was a man named Haniel Dandler who published stories, and on occasion, poems, and on rarer occasions, tweets. Even though his name was Haniel which could reasonably be shortened to Han like in Star Wars, he did not dress like Star Wars, because he was not Han like in Star Wars, he was a normal human being.
One of the things he wrote was a thirteen-book children's series about a man with severe depression stalking a bad actor who was stalking three orphans who were stalking a peaceful and happy life, sort of like that everyone hunting each other Peter Pan thing but with less racism and more PTSD. Everyone told him, “Haniel, that's too long and sad for kids,” but he did it anyway and kids eat that stuff up I guess. He also wrote a bunch of other books, like over twenty total books I guess?, and he always carried a copy of each of them in a backpack as a plot device.
When Haniel wasn't busy being a bestselling author or having cocktails with his talented wife, Brisa Lown, he also liked to go out onto the rooftops of America late into the night. He did not have a Tron jetpack but instead hopped from rooftop to rooftop on his Moon Shoes. Like all authors, he owned a distinctive blue author cape and author cowl, which he wore for privacy as he traversed the country dropping fragments of the script for his Netflix series in the streets below. It was still littering, but it didn't smell bad like streets full of raw eggs.
So when the other people at the meeting proposed the idea of someone meeting President Dump on the rooftops for a bout of fisticuffs, Haniel Dandler whispered to his wife Brisa Lown, who still is very talented and also very pretty which I forgot to mention earlier, that since Dwayne The Rock Johnson was busy being a handsome werewolf in Italy, it fell on Haniel to fight Tronald Dump.
“That seems like a pretty bad idea,” said Brisa Lown because she was rational and smart. But they both knew that he had to do what the power of his Moon Shoes allowed him to.
That night Haniel donned his cape, cowl and Moon Shoes, strapped on his backpack, and hopped up a fire escape into the world of the rooftops. He had been hopping around rooftops since bedtime, and after several hours he stopped for a rest on a warehouse overlooking a river. He looked very dramatic and cool with one foot on the edge of the building and his hands on his hips and the part of his cape that wasn't trapped under his backpack flapping in the breeze and if I could draw I would've made this into a comic instead of a bad and overly long fanfic.
Haniel heard the distinctive sound of a Tron jetpack coming from behind him, and turned to see President Dump approaching and laughing meanly.
“Who are you?” demanded Dump. “You look like a tall kindergartener on Halloween.” Which was true.
“Well you look like a raw potato a dog chewed on.” Which was true. “My name is Haniel Dandler and I'm going to kick your ass.”
Tronald Dump laughed and him and took one of the raw eggs from his box. “You look like you write books for a living or something, how are you going to kick my ass? I can deadlift four thousand pounds.” That was probably a lie. Haniel Dandler had no way of knowing, because he was an author and only knew about vowels and the Oxford comma.
Dump threw the the egg at Haniel, who could only watch in horror as the egg approached him seemingly in slow motion. His mouth hung open which is probably the worst way to have your face when a raw egg is being thrown at you. But the president was bad at throwing things, and the egg went right over Haniel’s head.
“Hey!” he cried, swinging around to look at his backpack. “Watch it, you'll get that on my—” Splash! Haniel looked around him and couldn't see the president anywhere. He looked up, wondering if the president had jetpacked above him for an aerial attack. He looked at the river below, and saw the president's ugly-shoed feet slipping underwater.
Haniel realized that Dump had been knocked into the river by the ridiculous bulging bag of far too many books when he turned around, and that his jetpack was weighing him down so that he couldn't swim to shore. “Oh shiit,” he said.
Technically speaking he could have kicked off his Moon Shoes, jumped into the river, and saved him. But it was four in the morning and he was very sleepy, plus Dump kind of deserved it for scooting around on a jetpack like an asshole when a good pair of Moon Shoes would suffice. And also for being evil? So he went home, slept for a few hours, and then ate a waffle. And the news said President Dump had run out of Tron jetpack gas over a river and tragically drowned like a jackass. And neither Haniel Dandler nor Brisa Lown nor their son who had a name and was part of this story ever talked about it again.
But there were stories about that night. About a mysterious backpack-wearing savior bouncing heroically through the night and bringing change to Fictional America. Some say you can still hear the springs of his Moon Shoes on a quiet night. Some say you can still see his dramatic silhouette when the moon is full. But whether or not he still roams the rooftops, knocking out cartoonish villains with a big bag of stuff, he will always be bouncing across the rooftops of our hearts. FIN.
