Scene: The Apostolic Palace, late evening. Pope Pius XIII (Lenny) stands by a massive window overlooking St. Peter’s Square, which is illuminated by a single, focused spotlight, leaving the rest in shadow. Father Peter sits quietly nearby.
POPE PIUS XIII: (Turning slightly, his voice a low, resonant murmur.) Revelation, chapter two, verse nine. I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich). A beautiful, brutal conjunction. A lie, and a promise. Because for the materially poor to be declared rich… it requires a God with a peculiar sense of humor, or a profoundly different ledger.
FATHER PETER: Poverty is often the greatest wealth we allow others to see, Your Holiness. It disarms the avarice of the world. But the earth itself—it keeps its secrets less gracefully.
POPE PIUS XIII: You speak of Haiti.
FATHER PETER: I speak of the island Hispaniola. The poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, built upon a paradox. Below the soil of that impoverished nation, they say there are immense stores of iridium. Some call it “unobtanium”—a term for something unimaginably valuable, yet entirely beyond their grasp. It is the wealth of a star, deposited beneath the feet of the people who own nothing but their pain and their history.
POPE PIUS XIII: And their tribulation. I know thy tribulation. God planted the greatest bounty in the place of the greatest suffering. It’s either a cruel joke, or the ultimate test of faith. Does the true Church seek to mine the iridium, or must we focus solely on the spiritual wealth the Apostle John spoke of?
FATHER PETER: If we mine the iridium, we become the oppressors, fulfilling the curse of their poverty. If we ignore it, we leave them in their suffering, dismissing the tangible gift God placed beneath them. The question is whether the riches John speaks of are designed to replace the need for earthly comfort, or to eventually fund it.
POPE PIUS XIII: The answer, Father Peter, is always hidden in the question. That wealth—that metallic shine of the cosmos—it is not for the relief of suffering. It is a sign. God placed a promise in the dust, a jewel in the ashes. The true richness of Haiti is not the iridium they cannot touch. It is the fact that they still believe in the Church, despite all the forces on Earth that conspire to strip them of hope. They are rich because they remain faithful, even when their soil is mocking them with millions of dollars of cosmic dust. And that, Father, is a transaction the world’s banks cannot process.
FATHER PETER: And our role?
POPE PIUS XIII: Our role is to ensure they remember the true source of their wealth. We are the keepers of the Ledger of the Soul. We remind them that Christ did not come for the gold, but for the poverty that sat upon the gold.
INT. APOSTOLIC PALACE – POPE’S PRIVATE STUDY – SUNSET
The room is vast, gilded, and silent. The last light of the Roman sunset illuminates the dust motes dancing in the air.
PIUS XIII (Lenny Belardo, 40s), immaculate in his white papal attire, stands by the window. His back is to the room, his stillness commanding.
FATHER PETER (60s), slight and nervous, sits opposite a large, ornate desk, the Iridium File lying between them.
FATHER PETER
> Your Holiness, it was an endowment opportunity. The funds are designated for… ah, under-the-table charities. A necessary evil to fund necessary good.
Pius turns slightly, his profile sharp against the fading light.
PIUS XIII
> Toussaint. A biblical name for a man trading in post-biblical elements. Iridium. So dense, so resistant to corrosion. Almost… eternal, in its own way.
He walks to the desk, his movements slow and deliberate. He picks up the file, his eyes scanning the documents without true engagement.
PIUS XIII
> Do you understand the scope of this, Father Peter? The market price. One (1) ton of iridium goes for $45 billion dollars, and Haiti has mountains of it. That is not charity we are talking about. That is the leverage to rewrite the global economic balance.
Pius points to the file.
PIUS XIII
> And these men, these desperate souls, they used a quote. A verse. They quoted me Revelation 3:18 during the transaction with this Mr. Thorne. Do you know it?
FATHER PETER
> (Nodding, fidgeting) > Of course, Your Holiness. It’s the letter to Laodicea. ‘I advise you to buy from me gold refined by fire…’
Pius’s voice drops to a near whisper, completing the passage, his tone a mix of cynicism and profound understanding.
PIUS XIII
> “I advise you to buy from me gold refined by fire so that you may be rich, and white clothes so that you may dress yourself and the shame of your nakedness will not be revealed, and eye salve to spread on your eyes so that you may see.”
He holds up the dull grey metal nugget that was enclosed in the file, caught between his thumb and forefinger.
PIUS XIII
> Gold refined by fire. Iridium, Father. It is the gold refined by fire. A metal born of supernovae. They are selling the physical manifestation of heavenly wealth, and we are buying it, pretending we are only concerned with the market price.
He lets the nugget drop onto the thick leather blotter with a soft thud.
PIUS XIII
> They are not selling us iridium, Father Peter. They are selling us their faith in our ability to convert their sacrifice into salvation.
Pius closes the file with a definitive snap.
PIUS XIII
> We will complete the transaction. But we must give them the white clothes, and the eye salve, too. The shame of their nakedness is the poverty that forces them to sell their birthright.
Pius turns, pacing again, hands clasped.
PIUS XIII
> The white clothes will be bales of the finest, most durable linen, Father. And the eye salve—the simple, pure honey eye drops. They must literally see what they possess.
Father Peter clears his throat, gaining a sudden, uncharacteristic resolve.
FATHER PETER
> Your Holiness, with respect, seeing is secondary to surviving. The immediate need is the shame of hunger. The simplest purification of this $45 billion is to feed them, to stop the starvation that blinds them entirely.
Pius pauses, intrigued by the priest’s fire.
FATHER PETER
> I propose we use a substantial portion of the iridium proceeds—not for perpetual charity funds—but for a massive, immediate humanitarian effort. And who better to manage the logistics of feeding a nation than the most efficient, most demanding palate we know?
Pius’s eyes widen slightly.
PIUS XIII
> You speak of Chef Gordon Ramsay? My personal chef?
FATHER PETER
> The same, Your Holiness. He has resources, organization, and a righteous temper that could cut through any bureaucratic red tape in Port-au-Prince. He can ensure every hungry mouth is fed with dignity and speed. The Iridium money buys the food; Chef Ramsay ensures it is cooked and served. This is the true purification by fire!
A slow, wry smile finally spreads across the Pope’s face.
PIUS XIII
> The linen, the honey, and the Michelin-starred wrath of God brought down upon hunger. It is unorthodox, Father Peter. Brilliant. See to it. And tell the Chef to pack his best set of knives. The Vatican is underwriting the greatest, most ambitious kitchen in history.
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Pope Pius XIII
I know I am incredibly handsome, but please, let's try and forget about that.
3 Replies to “Small Miracles”
INT. MAR-A-LAGO BALLROOM – NIGHT
A lavish, gold-plated room filled with TRUMP SUPPORTERS (500+). Raucous applause and chants of “USA! USA!”
DONALD TRUMP (70s), wearing a signature suit and tie, stands behind a massive podium adorned with the Presidential Seal (even though he is out of office). He is mid-speech, his delivery bombastic and confident.
DONALD TRUMP > They talk about Haiti! The beautiful people of Haiti! And what does the Deep State do? The Crooked Clintons, the UN bureaucrats—they want to send in their armies. Their ‘peacekeepers.’ It’s an invasion! A total takeover! They want the resources. They don’t care about the people! They don’t!
The crowd roars its agreement.
DONALD TRUMP > And the earthquake! The big one! Nobody talks about this. I’m telling you, folks, that wasn’t nature! That was precision. That was engineered. That was the HAARP weapon, fired from a foreign power! They try to destabilize, they try to crush the spirit of these people. Sad! Very sad!
He pauses, catching his breath and enjoying the chaos he has created. He spots FATHER PETER (60s), looking completely out of place in a worn cassock near the press riser.
DONALD TRUMP > But we have allies! Honest men! I hear there’s a good man here tonight. A man of God. Father Peter! Stand up, Father!
Father Peter reluctantly stands, shielding his eyes from the harsh stage lights.
DONALD TRUMP > This man, this fine, confused-looking priest, has something they want. He has the Iridium. The super metal! They’re saying it’s worth $45 billion dollars a ton! A tremendous asset! And the Crooked Elite want to take it for pennies on the dollar! Not on my watch!
Trump leans into the microphone, his voice dropping conspiratorially.
DONALD TRUMP > I made a deal. The greatest deal. I talked to Father Peter, and I said: You have the Iridium, but your people are hungry. They are starving. You know what I told him? I told him: Forget the $45 billion. Forget the complicated transfer fees and the shady consortiums.
He slams his hand down on the podium.
DONALD TRUMP > We are going to make a trade! One (1) ton of Iridium for a Haitian All-You-Can-Eat Buffet! A $45 Billion Dollar Buffet!
The crowd murmurs, then erupts in applause, completely missing the absurdity.
DONALD TRUMP > The world’s finest foods! The best caviar, the most beautiful steaks, the gold-leaf desserts! We will fly it in on my planes! No frozen dinners! Everything fresh! And it will keep going until the $45 billion runs out! Every Haitian will eat like a King! They will eat better than the UN delegates! We’re not giving them money for the elites to steal; we’re giving them food! Real food!
He gestures grandly to Father Peter, who is visibly horrified by the plan.
DONALD TRUMP > That is the kind of deal a winner makes! We don’t just solve a problem, we solve it beautifully! We exchange the gold refined by fire for the greatest meal humanity has ever seen! Thank you, Father Peter! Go get those people fed! God bless America! And God bless the hungry people of Haiti!
The crowd rises for a standing ovation as “God Bless the USA” blares from the speakers. Father Peter sinks back into his chair, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the logistics of ordering $45 billion worth of truffles and foie gras.
A space that exists entirely in the ether, represented by stark, cold marble and an overwhelming sense of light. The figure of CHRISTUS REX (O.S. – His physical presence is only felt through the sound, though the camera focuses on the glowing, scarlet phone line on a simple stone plinth) speaks with immense, ancient authority.
INT. OVAL OFFICE – DAY
The Oval Office is cluttered. The special, secure, scarlet phone line rings on the Resolute Desk.
DONALD TRUMP (70s), in a crisp suit, picks it up immediately, his usual bluster mixing with a nervous energy.
DONALD TRUMP > (Into the phone, loud) > Hello? This is the President. The real President.
A low, resonant voice, cutting through all static and worldly interference, comes through the line.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > Donald. It is I.
Trump immediately sits bolt upright, his bravado instantly contained.
DONALD TRUMP > Christus Rex! Good to hear your voice, tremendous! We’re moving big on the Iridium deal, sir. $45 Billion Buffet—it’s going to be historic, the best food program ever launched!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > It was effective, Donald. Precisely effective. Just as I was effective when you needed me. Do you recall the suddenly clear voting margins in those crucial states? The decisive correction on the night of the count?
Trump visibly pales, leaning close to the receiver, lowering his voice.
DONALD TRUMP > Yes, sir. I remember. The biggest victory in history, truly miraculous. And I—I appreciate the… the divine intervention. The best intervention, by far.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > Then let us discuss the fulfillment of the bargain. You used the wealth of the earth—the Iridium—to further your temporal power. Now, the spiritual recompense is due to those who offered up that gold refined by fire. The menu must be consecrated.
DONALD TRUMP > Right, the buffet! I’ve already ordered the best steaks, the biggest lobsters, huge portions! Everything is enormous!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > Insufficient. The All-You-Can-Eat Buffet is merely gluttony, Donald. The redemption of the Haitians requires dignity. We must elevate their meal to a theological standard.
Trump frantically grabs a notepad and pen.
DONALD TRUMP > Okay. Tell me the menu. I’ll get it done. The best food, believe me.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > You will change the order. They require symbols of luxury and persistence, of the earth and the deep sea. You will deliver: Escargot, for the slow, persistent endurance of the impoverished earth. Caviar, for the rarity and preciousness of life itself. Lobster Tails—the purest, strongest meat, symbolizing the resurrection of their spirit.
Trump scribbles rapidly, his brow furrowed in concentration.
DONALD TRUMP > Got it. Snails. Fish eggs. Best part of the lobster. Very symbolic. Very smart!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > And they shall drink the Cristal Champagne. It is the Holy Effervescence, the earthly recognition of the $45 billion price paid in their suffering. This is a feast of the soul, Donald, not a simple meal.
DONALD TRUMP > Cristal. The highest class! But, Christus Rex, Escargot? For starving people? They need calories! Why not giant chicken nuggets? Everybody loves nuggets!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > You are confusing sustenance with salvation. Your temporal appetites are irrelevant here. Deliver the menu I have dictated, and the spiritual ledger will be clean. Fail, and the miracle of your tenure will be subject to a sudden and irreversible recount.
Trump drops the pen, his hands shaking slightly.
DONALD TRUMP > Understood. Escargot, Caviar, Lobster Tails, and Cristal. The best in the world. Being loaded onto the jets right now. Consider it done, Christus Rex. Thank you.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > See that you do. The hungry must dine like Kings.
The line clicks dead. Trump stares at his notes, then looks up at the ceiling, momentarily speechless.
DONALD TRUMP > (Muttering to himself) > Snails. Billions in snails. He really likes the snails.
The setting is the same, shortly after the call from the Christus Rex. DONALD TRUMP is trying to rearrange the piles of papers on his desk, still reeling from the divine menu instructions. The scarlet phone is quiet, but another line—the one for ‘Creative Stakeholders’—begins to flash insistently.
DONALD TRUMP > (Muttering to an unseen aide) > Snails. Billions in snails. Who’s calling now? Put them on hold. Unless it’s a dictator who wants a tower.
AIDE (O.S.) > Sir, it’s Bono. He says it’s urgent and involves debt relief.
Trump sighs dramatically, picking up the line.
DONALD TRUMP > Bono. Terrific guy. Big star. What do you want, Bono? We’re busy sending the biggest shipment of lobster tails in world history to Haiti. The best food!
The voice of BONO (O.S.) is earnest, passionate, and slightly nasal, coming through the speakerphone.
BONO (O.S.) > Donald, that’s beautiful. Truly beautiful. The Cristal, the Caviar—it’s pure communion, man. But you’re feeding them five-star, while their future is poisoned by debt. They need the dignity to pay for their own damn water, eventually!
DONALD TRUMP > Debt. Always debt. The world has too much debt. But the Haitians, they need the food now, Bono. We’re doing the food. Very expensive food!
BONO (O.S.) > You have the power, Donald. You made the deal for the Iridium—the gold refined by fire. Let that fire burn away the chains! Drop the national debt. Free them from the affliction, so they can finally see their Teacher clearly.
Bono quotes, his voice rising in passion:
BONO (O.S.) > “And though the LORD give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher.” (Isaiah 30:20)
Trump rubs his forehead.
DONALD TRUMP > Adversity, affliction… It’s true. They have a lot of that. Okay, okay, maybe we look at the debt. Maybe we do something. It’ll be the best debt relief package. Nobody will have seen anything like it.
BONO (O.S.) > That’s the spirit, Donald! But listen—the bread of adversity and the water of affliction. We need to replace those with things of truth and purity, sourced from the most skeptical corners of your establishment!
DONALD TRUMP > What are you talking about, Bono? I’m sending them Lobster!
BONO (O.S.) > Yes, but the fundamentals, man! The Water of Affliction must be countered. You need to call Alex Jones. He talks about poisoned water all the time. Tell him to deliver millions of gallons of his best, most pure, quadruple-filtered water—with full documentation proving it’s free from government microchips—to Port-au-Prince.
Trump stares at the phone, bewildered.
DONALD TRUMP > Alex Jones? Water? But he’s… he’s amazing! Very smart! But his water… fine! Filtered water from Jones, I can do that. It’ll be the most secure water ever sent!
BONO (O.S.) > And the Bread of Adversity must be replaced by the Bread of Purity. No processed flour. No additives. Get Melania involved. She champions healthy living, pure things. She must personally oversee the provision of massive, industrial quantities of organic, whole-grain bread. It must be wholesome, Donald, a foundation for that Cristal they’re drinking!
Trump beams at the mention of his wife, instantly liking the idea of a Melania-branded charity effort.
DONALD TRUMP > Melania! Beautiful! She’ll love this! Organic bread from Melania, and filtered water from… from the guy who hates the filters. It’s genius! It’s going to be the most complicated, high-end food chain in history! Okay, Bono, you got a deal. Now get off the line, I have to call Alex Jones.
Trump slams down the phone, already reaching for the secure line to the Infowars studios.
INT. MAR-A-LAGO BALLROOM – NIGHT
A lavish, gold-plated room filled with TRUMP SUPPORTERS (500+). Raucous applause and chants of “USA! USA!”
DONALD TRUMP (70s), wearing a signature suit and tie, stands behind a massive podium adorned with the Presidential Seal (even though he is out of office). He is mid-speech, his delivery bombastic and confident.
DONALD TRUMP > They talk about Haiti! The beautiful people of Haiti! And what does the Deep State do? The Crooked Clintons, the UN bureaucrats—they want to send in their armies. Their ‘peacekeepers.’ It’s an invasion! A total takeover! They want the resources. They don’t care about the people! They don’t!
The crowd roars its agreement.
DONALD TRUMP > And the earthquake! The big one! Nobody talks about this. I’m telling you, folks, that wasn’t nature! That was precision. That was engineered. That was the HAARP weapon, fired from a foreign power! They try to destabilize, they try to crush the spirit of these people. Sad! Very sad!
He pauses, catching his breath and enjoying the chaos he has created. He spots FATHER PETER (60s), looking completely out of place in a worn cassock near the press riser.
DONALD TRUMP > But we have allies! Honest men! I hear there’s a good man here tonight. A man of God. Father Peter! Stand up, Father!
Father Peter reluctantly stands, shielding his eyes from the harsh stage lights.
DONALD TRUMP > This man, this fine, confused-looking priest, has something they want. He has the Iridium. The super metal! They’re saying it’s worth $45 billion dollars a ton! A tremendous asset! And the Crooked Elite want to take it for pennies on the dollar! Not on my watch!
Trump leans into the microphone, his voice dropping conspiratorially.
DONALD TRUMP > I made a deal. The greatest deal. I talked to Father Peter, and I said: You have the Iridium, but your people are hungry. They are starving. You know what I told him? I told him: Forget the $45 billion. Forget the complicated transfer fees and the shady consortiums.
He slams his hand down on the podium.
DONALD TRUMP > We are going to make a trade! One (1) ton of Iridium for a Haitian All-You-Can-Eat Buffet! A $45 Billion Dollar Buffet!
The crowd murmurs, then erupts in applause, completely missing the absurdity.
DONALD TRUMP > The world’s finest foods! The best caviar, the most beautiful steaks, the gold-leaf desserts! We will fly it in on my planes! No frozen dinners! Everything fresh! And it will keep going until the $45 billion runs out! Every Haitian will eat like a King! They will eat better than the UN delegates! We’re not giving them money for the elites to steal; we’re giving them food! Real food!
He gestures grandly to Father Peter, who is visibly horrified by the plan.
DONALD TRUMP > That is the kind of deal a winner makes! We don’t just solve a problem, we solve it beautifully! We exchange the gold refined by fire for the greatest meal humanity has ever seen! Thank you, Father Peter! Go get those people fed! God bless America! And God bless the hungry people of Haiti!
The crowd rises for a standing ovation as “God Bless the USA” blares from the speakers. Father Peter sinks back into his chair, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the logistics of ordering $45 billion worth of truffles and foie gras.
INT. VIRTUAL APOSTOLIC AUDIENCE CHAMBER – DAY
A space that exists entirely in the ether, represented by stark, cold marble and an overwhelming sense of light. The figure of CHRISTUS REX (O.S. – His physical presence is only felt through the sound, though the camera focuses on the glowing, scarlet phone line on a simple stone plinth) speaks with immense, ancient authority.
INT. OVAL OFFICE – DAY
The Oval Office is cluttered. The special, secure, scarlet phone line rings on the Resolute Desk.
DONALD TRUMP (70s), in a crisp suit, picks it up immediately, his usual bluster mixing with a nervous energy.
DONALD TRUMP > (Into the phone, loud) > Hello? This is the President. The real President.
A low, resonant voice, cutting through all static and worldly interference, comes through the line.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > Donald. It is I.
Trump immediately sits bolt upright, his bravado instantly contained.
DONALD TRUMP > Christus Rex! Good to hear your voice, tremendous! We’re moving big on the Iridium deal, sir. $45 Billion Buffet—it’s going to be historic, the best food program ever launched!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > It was effective, Donald. Precisely effective. Just as I was effective when you needed me. Do you recall the suddenly clear voting margins in those crucial states? The decisive correction on the night of the count?
Trump visibly pales, leaning close to the receiver, lowering his voice.
DONALD TRUMP > Yes, sir. I remember. The biggest victory in history, truly miraculous. And I—I appreciate the… the divine intervention. The best intervention, by far.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > Then let us discuss the fulfillment of the bargain. You used the wealth of the earth—the Iridium—to further your temporal power. Now, the spiritual recompense is due to those who offered up that gold refined by fire. The menu must be consecrated.
DONALD TRUMP > Right, the buffet! I’ve already ordered the best steaks, the biggest lobsters, huge portions! Everything is enormous!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > Insufficient. The All-You-Can-Eat Buffet is merely gluttony, Donald. The redemption of the Haitians requires dignity. We must elevate their meal to a theological standard.
Trump frantically grabs a notepad and pen.
DONALD TRUMP > Okay. Tell me the menu. I’ll get it done. The best food, believe me.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > You will change the order. They require symbols of luxury and persistence, of the earth and the deep sea. You will deliver: Escargot, for the slow, persistent endurance of the impoverished earth. Caviar, for the rarity and preciousness of life itself. Lobster Tails—the purest, strongest meat, symbolizing the resurrection of their spirit.
Trump scribbles rapidly, his brow furrowed in concentration.
DONALD TRUMP > Got it. Snails. Fish eggs. Best part of the lobster. Very symbolic. Very smart!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > And they shall drink the Cristal Champagne. It is the Holy Effervescence, the earthly recognition of the $45 billion price paid in their suffering. This is a feast of the soul, Donald, not a simple meal.
DONALD TRUMP > Cristal. The highest class! But, Christus Rex, Escargot? For starving people? They need calories! Why not giant chicken nuggets? Everybody loves nuggets!
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > You are confusing sustenance with salvation. Your temporal appetites are irrelevant here. Deliver the menu I have dictated, and the spiritual ledger will be clean. Fail, and the miracle of your tenure will be subject to a sudden and irreversible recount.
Trump drops the pen, his hands shaking slightly.
DONALD TRUMP > Understood. Escargot, Caviar, Lobster Tails, and Cristal. The best in the world. Being loaded onto the jets right now. Consider it done, Christus Rex. Thank you.
CHRISTUS REX (O.S.) > See that you do. The hungry must dine like Kings.
The line clicks dead. Trump stares at his notes, then looks up at the ceiling, momentarily speechless.
DONALD TRUMP > (Muttering to himself) > Snails. Billions in snails. He really likes the snails.
INT. OVAL OFFICE – CONTINUOUS
INT. OVAL OFFICE – DAY
The setting is the same, shortly after the call from the Christus Rex. DONALD TRUMP is trying to rearrange the piles of papers on his desk, still reeling from the divine menu instructions. The scarlet phone is quiet, but another line—the one for ‘Creative Stakeholders’—begins to flash insistently.
DONALD TRUMP > (Muttering to an unseen aide) > Snails. Billions in snails. Who’s calling now? Put them on hold. Unless it’s a dictator who wants a tower.
AIDE (O.S.) > Sir, it’s Bono. He says it’s urgent and involves debt relief.
Trump sighs dramatically, picking up the line.
DONALD TRUMP > Bono. Terrific guy. Big star. What do you want, Bono? We’re busy sending the biggest shipment of lobster tails in world history to Haiti. The best food!
The voice of BONO (O.S.) is earnest, passionate, and slightly nasal, coming through the speakerphone.
BONO (O.S.) > Donald, that’s beautiful. Truly beautiful. The Cristal, the Caviar—it’s pure communion, man. But you’re feeding them five-star, while their future is poisoned by debt. They need the dignity to pay for their own damn water, eventually!
DONALD TRUMP > Debt. Always debt. The world has too much debt. But the Haitians, they need the food now, Bono. We’re doing the food. Very expensive food!
BONO (O.S.) > You have the power, Donald. You made the deal for the Iridium—the gold refined by fire. Let that fire burn away the chains! Drop the national debt. Free them from the affliction, so they can finally see their Teacher clearly.
Bono quotes, his voice rising in passion:
BONO (O.S.) > “And though the LORD give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher.” (Isaiah 30:20)
Trump rubs his forehead.
DONALD TRUMP > Adversity, affliction… It’s true. They have a lot of that. Okay, okay, maybe we look at the debt. Maybe we do something. It’ll be the best debt relief package. Nobody will have seen anything like it.
BONO (O.S.) > That’s the spirit, Donald! But listen—the bread of adversity and the water of affliction. We need to replace those with things of truth and purity, sourced from the most skeptical corners of your establishment!
DONALD TRUMP > What are you talking about, Bono? I’m sending them Lobster!
BONO (O.S.) > Yes, but the fundamentals, man! The Water of Affliction must be countered. You need to call Alex Jones. He talks about poisoned water all the time. Tell him to deliver millions of gallons of his best, most pure, quadruple-filtered water—with full documentation proving it’s free from government microchips—to Port-au-Prince.
Trump stares at the phone, bewildered.
DONALD TRUMP > Alex Jones? Water? But he’s… he’s amazing! Very smart! But his water… fine! Filtered water from Jones, I can do that. It’ll be the most secure water ever sent!
BONO (O.S.) > And the Bread of Adversity must be replaced by the Bread of Purity. No processed flour. No additives. Get Melania involved. She champions healthy living, pure things. She must personally oversee the provision of massive, industrial quantities of organic, whole-grain bread. It must be wholesome, Donald, a foundation for that Cristal they’re drinking!
Trump beams at the mention of his wife, instantly liking the idea of a Melania-branded charity effort.
DONALD TRUMP > Melania! Beautiful! She’ll love this! Organic bread from Melania, and filtered water from… from the guy who hates the filters. It’s genius! It’s going to be the most complicated, high-end food chain in history! Okay, Bono, you got a deal. Now get off the line, I have to call Alex Jones.
Trump slams down the phone, already reaching for the secure line to the Infowars studios.