“Hey, Big Rob!”
…
“You have to be kidding me.”
“Sup? I’m Donald Trump, Junior.”
“I know who you are.”
“People call me Junior.”
“People call you a lot of things. I have file cabinets worth of things people call you. Son, this is inappropriate for us to be talking like this.”
“How should we talk, then? Did you mean I should sit down?”
IDIOT SON SITTING DOWN NOISE
“No, I didn’t mean that at all.”
“Dude, do you have a charger? I’m down to, like, five percent. My battery just won’t hold a charge lately, like something’s draining it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And also sometimes I find Russian folk songs in my Music folder. Do you think the two things are connected?”
“No, not at all.”
“So where you going?”
“I can’t comment on my flight itinerary.”
“I’m going to Idaho to hunt. I bet you didn’t think the son of a billionaire likes to hunt, but I do. See my hat?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh. That means it’s broken. See, it’s camouflage, so you’re not supposed to–”
“I know how camouflage works, Junior.”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone calls me. Hey, listen, Big Rob–”
“I’ll snap your neck if you call me that again.”
“–this whole Russia thing? Pssh. I mean: pssh. It’s nothing, bro. But you’re costing a lot of good people serious money. Did you know that Paul Manafort had to sell both of his condos in St. Petersburg?”
“I didn’t know he had condos in St. Petersburg. That’s interesting.”
“C’mon, dude, be cool. You know you can’t use that information. You didn’t read me my Miranda rights.”
“You…you have no idea how the law works, do you?”
“I’m all over it, dude. Just let up on the witch hunting. You’re stopping my dad from making America great again.”
“This is really not the conversation we should be having.”
“You wanna split a Cinnabon?”
“I do not.”
“I can’f finish a whole one. They’re so filling.”
“Pass.”
“It’s wasteful to just eat half.”
“I don’t want a Cinnabon, Junior.
“They have ones with raisins now.”
“No!”
“I’M SORRY, DAD! NOT THE FACE!”
…
“Jesus, kid.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mueller. Loud noises make me do that. My childhood was kinda my Vietnam. What was your Vietnam?”
“Vietnam.”
“Great job with that, by the way. USA! USA!”
“All right, that’s enough. Go sit on the other side of the waiting area.”
“I don’t wanna. Can I be honest with you?”
“It would be a first for your family, but sure.”
“My Secret Service guy doesn’t like me.”
“I can’t believe such a thing.”
“He calls me Poo-nior. Like Junior, but with ‘poo.’ That’s not cool.”
“It’s not. He should call you by your Secret Service code name. What is it?”
“Scapegoat. What does that mean?”
“I means the person who gave out the code names is perceptive when it comes to family dynamics.”
“Eric’s code name is Eric.”
“Okay, Junior. That’s it. Go away.”
“Okay.”
…
…
…
“Am I allowed to fire you?”
“GO!”
Poo-nior’s totally pretending to be talking on his phone. Been there.