Donald Trump was restrained and held in contempt of court today for a plethora of behavioral problems.
To begin with, he shouted out the following derogatory insults and unfounded accusations at the various witnesses testifying against him: “ugly,” “fugly,” “looks like a dog,” “horse face,” “vermin,” “rat,” “nasty period lady,” “evil Trump hater who is clearly on the rag right now,” “I’m going to kill Mark Meadows if he rats on me,” and “I’ll choke out Rudy Giuliani if he rats on me like I choked out those Secret Service drivers who wouldn’t take me to the Capitol on January 6th to lead the coup in person.”
At one point, Trump suddenly got out of his seat, beelined for the witness stand, and had to be restrained by the bailiff and another two security officers from slapping a witness who suggested the prosecution should have Ivanka testify because she was present on January 6th, and had even joined the chorus of voices of Trump Administration officials personally begging him to post a tweet that would tell the insurrectionists to go home.
“Keep Ivanka’s name out of your f***ing mouth,” Trump shouted over and over — in the style of Will Smith — until the police officers handcuffed him to his chair behind the defense table.
However, Trump did have one more outburst, and charged at the witness stand after he was apparently able to slip his short-fingered hands out of the handcuffs. He had to be grabbed and restrained once more, and forcibly dragged back to his seat as the judge yelled out he was willing to tranquilize Trump if he continued to disgrace the courtroom with such “brutish displays of animalistic impulsiveness.”
Trump’s hands again, and now his legs, were restrained to his chair with zip ties. He sat quietly for a moment before asking his lawyers if he could update something for the courtroom record. The judge allowed him, and Trump announced that if he was, hypothetically, going to get tranquilized, he wanted the record to state that he weighed only 165 pounds, and the dosage of tranquilization should be set appropriately. He paused for a moment, and then shouted out that, if his hair got messed up at any point during the tranquilization, the judge would be “crossing a red line.”
A few minutes later, another witness took the stand, and Trump muttered “rat” multiple times under his breath. As the judge threatened to duct tape Trump’s mouth shut, Trump again managed to slip his short-fingered hands free, pulling them out of the zip ties, and he attempted another charge at the witness stand. However, he could not free his legs from the zip ties so he fell to the floor, knocking over his chair, and then banged its legs against the corner leg of the table as he tried to drag himself toward the front of the courtroom while screaming that the witness was only a coffee boy. Finally, the bailiff tased him in the back, and Trump cried out in pain and whimpered for a moment.
The judge asked Trump if he would now sit quietly, and stop obstructing the court proceedings. Trump slowly nodded his head, but muttered one last time to himself, “The law is rigged against me anyway,” which turned the judge irate at how Trump, worse than his toddler son at home he said, could be so “physically and emotionally incapable of shutting his goddamn mouth.”
The judge ordered the bailiff to raise the tranquilization level up for a 400-pound person. He then warned Trump that if he interrupted the courtroom one more time he’d tranquilize Trump at the level of a baby elephant, put him in a straightjacket, and get a mouth restraint.
“You’re going to look in the courtroom sketches for all of history like Hannibal Lecter, is that what you want?” the judge shouted at him. “To look like some tied up ogre monster from the medieval era? Or Frankenstein’s monster? Pull those new zip ties as hard as you can, and double them up!” he ordered the bailiff.
Trump’s face drained its color turning a pallid white at the thought of looking like Hannibal Lecter with a restraint mask over his mouth in the historic, unprecedented courtroom sketches certain to be recorded in history books into perpetuity. His narcissistic lizard brain shuddered at the humiliation of such a legacy.
The judge then apologized to the courtroom for swearing, and apologized to the jury for having to sit through such a dysfunctional trial. He turned his attention to Trump, and asked if Trump would behave himself according to the decorum demanded by his former office as well as the US justice system.
Trump’s voice quivered as he said he’d be quiet now, and then asked if he could get another Diet Coke. The judge said he was wasting too much of the court’s time requesting a Diet Coke so many times each hour, but Trump’s lawyers objected, explaining that Trump had a physiological dependence on Diet Coke after having drunk hundreds of cans of it every week for decades since the drink was launched in 1982.
“The defendant will very soon begin suffering debilitating withdrawal symptoms, and his participation in this trial will be severely impacted,” warned Trump’s lead lawyer.
Just as the lawyer finished speaking, Trump’s eyes rolled back and he slumped in his chair. He began foaming at the mouth, and made gurgling sounds in the back of his throat.
“Get… me… aspartame…” Trump mumbled and moaned as he began suffering a seizure.
“Oh all right!” shouted the judge, and the bailiff brought Trump a Diet Coke can. He popped open the tab, and the sound perked Trump back up in his chair.
“Gimme! Gimme!” Trump shouted, “Bring it to my lips! Faster!” He mumbled for the bailiff to keep pouring it for him as he chugged it hands-free. Trump drank half the can before spilling some down the front of his suit, and he burped up a bit. “This is why all my counter-suits and appeals have specified very clearly that I need a Diet Coke exactly every 23.8 minutes!” he shouted. My doctor says if I have to wait until a full half-hour my heart will explode!”
Immediately the color returned to Trump’s face, and he leaned over and wiped off the sweat from his forehead on his assistant lawyer’s shoulder. A streak of orange remained on her pantsuit jacket.
“Hey, lady,” he asked her, “did you bring any of daddy’s nose pills?”
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