The sun blazed over the manicured greens of the exclusive golf club. ⛳💰
On the fairway stood three men: the President, the Wall Street titan, and the nervous webmaster.
Donald Trump adjusted his red cap and squinted down the fairway. Beside him, immaculate in white golf attire, was Patrick Bateman, the famously cold investment banker from American Psycho.
Standing a few steps behind them was Joe, Trump’s frazzled webmaster, holding a tablet full of terrible economic charts.
“Mr. President,” Joe said urgently. “The global markets are crashing. Small businesses are collapsing. People are literally dying in the streets because they’re drowning in debt. Isn’t it time for a Jubilee?”
Trump paused mid-swing.
“A Jubilee?” he said.
Joe nodded eagerly. “Debt forgiveness. Like the biblical model. Cancel the debts, reset the system. Even Bono has been pushing this idea for decades through the Jubilee 2000 movement.”
Bateman stopped lining up his putt and slowly turned.
His eyes were cold.
“A Jubilee?” he repeated.
Joe nodded again. “Yes! Wipe the slate clean. Give ordinary people a chance to breathe again.”
Bateman stared at him as if he had suggested burning the stock exchange.
“That,” Bateman said calmly, “is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever heard.”
He tapped his putter against the green.
“Without debt,” Bateman continued, “my entire investment banking profession would become… obsolete.”
Trump tilted his head. “Obsolete?”
Bateman nodded. “No interest payments. No leveraged assets. No derivatives built on top of loans. The entire financial architecture collapses.”
He sank the putt without even looking.
“Frankly,” Bateman said, retrieving the ball, “your friend Bono is a pest. Always talking about poor countries and debt relief.”
He looked directly at Joe.
“And you,” he said quietly, “sound like a dangerous lone nut.”
Joe raised his tablet.
“People are starving!”
Bateman shrugged.
“That’s unfortunate,” he said.
Trump teed up another ball.
“Patrick,” Trump said casually, “are you telling me the economy actually needs debt?”
Bateman smiled faintly.
“It doesn’t just need debt,” he said.
“It runs on it.”
Trump whistled and swung.
The ball soared into the perfect blue sky.
Joe stared at the financial charts on his tablet as red arrows plunged downward.
Bateman adjusted his gloves.
“Now,” he said coolly, “shall we play the back nine?”
⛳📉
Well, we have to end apartheid for one. And slow down the nuclear arms race, stop terrorism and world hunger. We have to provide food and shelter for the homeless, and oppose racial discrimination and promote civil rights, while also promoting equal rights for women. We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values. Most importantly, we have to promote general social concern and less materialism in young people.
The clubhouse terrace overlooked the 18th hole. Late afternoon sun glinted off crystal glasses and polished silver trays. 🥃⛳
At the table sat Donald Trump and the immaculately groomed Patrick Bateman, enjoying a decadent spread—thick cigars, glasses of scotch, and a dish of gleaming beluga caviar.
Bateman examined the caviar like it was a precious gemstone.
“Excellent texture,” he murmured.
Trump puffed his cigar with satisfaction.
Just then, a familiar voice cut through the relaxed atmosphere.
“Mr. President.”
Both men looked up to see Bono standing at the edge of the terrace, sunglasses on, arms crossed.
Bono stepped closer.
“How can you sit here playing golf, smoking cigars, drinking scotch, and feasting on caviar,” he said, “while ordinary Americans are starving?”
Trump rolled his eyes.
“Oh no,” he muttered. “It’s the singer.”
Bono continued, voice rising.
“And in Haiti people are so desperate they’re eating cats and dogs! The world economy is collapsing. Isn’t it time for a Jubilee? Debt relief. A reset for the poor.”
He gestured toward the skyline.
“You know… mercy.”
Trump waved his hand dismissively.
“Bono,” he said, “you’re a pest. A very talented pest, but still a pest.”
Bateman smirked slightly, sipping his scotch.
Trump leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment.
“Let me explain something,” Trump said. “You’re talking about cancelling debt. A Jubilee. Sounds very nice, very compassionate.”
He pointed toward the golf course where bankers and executives laughed in the distance.
“But the economy,” Trump said, “doesn’t run on compassion.”
He paused for effect.
“It runs on greed.”
Bateman raised his glass approvingly.
Trump continued, now clearly channeling the legendary speech from Wall Street delivered by Gordon Gekko.
“Greed,” Trump said, tapping the table, “is good. Greed drives ambition. Greed builds skyscrapers. Greed creates markets.”
Bono shook his head.
“Greed also creates poverty.”
Trump ignored him.
“And frankly,” Trump continued, gesturing toward Bateman, “a Jubilee would devastate some very fine people.”
Bateman looked up calmly.
“My profession would cease to exist,” he said.
Trump nodded.
“Exactly. My best friend Patrick here would end up in the poor house.”
Bateman gave a polite shrug.
“That would be… inconvenient.”
Bono stared at them both in disbelief.
“So that’s it?” he said. “People suffer so the system keeps running?”
Trump took another puff of his cigar.
“That’s capitalism, Bono.”
Bateman gently placed another spoonful of caviar on a cracker.
“And besides,” he added coolly, “if there were no debt…”
He took a bite.
“…what would bankers actually do?”
The terrace fell quiet except for the distant sound of golf carts and the soft clink of crystal glasses. 🥃⛳
The sun was beginning to set over the immaculate fairways. Golf carts hummed quietly in the distance while the terrace filled with the smell of cigars and grilled steak. ⛳🥩
At the head of the table sat Donald Trump, relaxed and satisfied after a long afternoon on the course. Across from him sat the ever-polished Patrick Bateman, calmly stirring a glass of scotch.
Joe, Trump’s weary webmaster, stepped forward again with his tablet of grim economic charts.
“Mr. President,” Joe said carefully, “this is your chance. Declare a Jubilee. Cancel the crushing debts. You’d be remembered as the president who created an economic miracle. People would never forget it.”
Trump raised an eyebrow.
“An economic miracle?”
Joe nodded eagerly.
“Yes! A reset. People get breathing room. Businesses recover. History would remember you as the leader who saved the economy.”
Trump leaned back in his chair and glanced at Bateman.
Bateman calmly cut a piece of steak.
Trump chuckled.
“Joe… Joe… Joe.”
He shook his head slowly.
“No can do.”
Joe blinked. “Why not?”
Trump pointed his cigar toward Bateman and then gestured broadly toward the skyline of banks and corporate towers.
“The chosen one and his billionaire pals say NO WAY,” Trump said.
Bateman gave a small approving nod.
Trump continued.
“We didn’t get rich by cancelling debt,” he said. “Debt is the engine. The system runs on it.”
Joe frowned.
“But people are suffering.”
Trump shrugged.
“Look, the red states love me. White America loves me. The patriots love me.”
He tapped his phone.
“And you know who calls me the chosen one?”
Joe sighed, already knowing.
Alex Jones.
Trump grinned.
“That’s good enough for me.”
Bateman took another sip of scotch.
Joe tried once more.
“But people can’t survive like this.”
Trump waved his hand dismissively.
“Why don’t these poverty-stricken people just get a job?”
Joe stared at him.
Trump leaned forward, clearly pleased with his own logic.
“After all,” he said, “McDonald’s is hiring.”
Bateman raised his glass slightly.
Trump added with a grin:
“Great place. I had a huge Big Mac feast there the other day.”
Bateman smirked.
“An excellent burger,” he said calmly.
Joe looked down at the crashing economic charts on his tablet while the two men returned their attention to their drinks and the peaceful golf course beyond the terrace.
The markets might be collapsing.
But on the green, the game continued. ⛳📉🥃