Donald J. Trump, called “Jumbo” behind his back by acquaintances and “Nudge” by his golfing partners, sat quietly at his Mar-a-Lago replica White House Resolute desk studying 2019 classified documents dug out of boxes in his nearby bathroom. He was weighing undone business from his first turn as president on Christmas Eve, late at night.

Angel tchotchkes with holiday greenery lined the front of his desk. A photo of Marine One at Mount Rushmore hung on the wall behind him. Rushmore is where Jumbo hoped to be remembered one day. An enlarged photo of Air Force One soaring near the D.C. Ellipse and the White House in a Fourth of July Salute to America reminded the newly re-elected president of his glamor days. A sculpture of himself stood on a lamp table behind him, along with a rack of challenge coins honoring his military experience.

Jumbo started as he heard a rustling behind him. He turned. He saw a presence. “I am your father,” said the being, “the ghost of Christmas past!” “Really? My father?” Jumbo squinted at the form. “Yes, it is I, son.” “Why are you here, Father?” Jumbo puffed up his chest as he always did in his papa’s presence. “I am here to remind you of your glorious past so you can carry it into the present and future!

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“Think, son, of how we turned Queens into a mecca for white families by refusing immigrants who dared to try to rent our apartments. We went to the mat for our white family tenants, even fighting the U.S. government. Do you remember, son?”

“Yes, father, I do.” “And do you remember the money you received to build your empire? Between us, it grew and grew!”  “Yes father, but I was the man with the vision. I took us into Manhattan.”

“So true! Now you have the whole country before you. Think of the possibilities. The Trump Bibles were a leap forward, certainly, and the wine and the beef. You turned the D.C. post office into a five-star hotel. Imagine what you can do with the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building.” “You’re right, father. J Edgar Hoover becomes ‘Donald J. Trump FBI.’ I can picture it!” “And you can buy Greenland and the canal, son, the Panama Canal. It can be the ‘Fred C. and Donald J. Trump Canal!’”

“I can do that father! I have my clerk, Little Musk, to help me.” Jumbo rang a bell. In seconds, a man appeared. He stood at the door at attention, then rocked back and forth, nervously. He had never seen a ghost before. “Little Musk,” the newly-elected president said, “This is my father, Fred, the Ghost of Christmas past. He has bid me to take on big projects. Think of the wall. It will be our Christmas present to Americans.”

Little Musk nodded his head. “We can do it, Mr. President! We will do it now!” Little Musk pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed up House Speaker Mike Johnson. “Johnson,” Little Musk yelled, “make sure there’s wall money in the budget or we’ll close down the government.” “You’ve got it, sir,” Johnson said. Little Musk pictured Johnson’s salute. All was well.

At that moment, a bell rang midnight. Christmas day arrived. Fred faded away. Another body appeared. “And who are you?” Jumbo asked, startled at the likeness to the current president, Joe Biden. “I am the spirit of Christmas present, President Biden,” the being claimed. “I am here to remind you of your promises, especially about egg prices. Eggs were my bane. Their price went up during the pandemic and now there’s that damn bird flu.”

Jumbo raised his hand to the spirit. “That bird flu came from Asia. It’s not my fault.” Little Musk piped up. “I heard they made that bug in China. We’ll need a vaccine!”

“Vaccine, vaccine? Little Musk, did I hear you say vaccine?” Big Bobby Kennedy filled Jumbo’s office doorway. “There will be no vaccine! I have a better solution than a vaccine: tariffs.”

“Yes,” shouted Jumbo. He stared at spirit Biden. “You old man, don’t you know the power of tariffs? You raise prices on every item out of Asia and egg prices look good.”  “That’s flim flam,” said Joe’s spirit. “Really?” Jumbo riposted. “And Hunter’s pardon wasn’t flim flam?”

At that, a bell rang. Christmas present dissolved into Christmas future. A beautiful creature appeared dressed in white with bright blonde hair, doe-like brown eyes, and red lips. “Ivana,” Jumbo exclaimed, “is that you?” “Yes, it is I. I am the ghost of Christmas future. I’m here to give you the news. You can’t touch girls anymore.” “But can I look?” Jumbo asked.

Little Musk grabbed her right cheek and Bobby pinched her left. Ivana slapped their hands away. “You go after dead people?” Ivana stared at them. “I don’t even wait,” Little Musk replied. “When you’re a star, they let you do it! You can do anything.” He gave her his best puss smile. Bobby added,  “It’s the way it was, is, and will be, at least for the next four years.”

Paula Noonan owns Colorado Capitol Watch, the state’s premier legislature tracking platform.