A Trump Christmas

SNL Sketch Script – “A Trump Christmas Carol”

[OPENING MUSIC]
SNL band plays a jazzy holiday intro. Stage is dressed like a gaudy Mar-a-Lago study: gold furniture, red velvet chairs, and a huge Christmas tree decorated entirely with Trump ornaments, dollar bills, and framed photos of Trump shaking hands with himself.


[FADE IN]

TRUMP (Alec Baldwin or other cast member in wig & orange makeup, seated at a giant gold desk, counting gold-plated coins):
“Bah humbug, folks. Worst humbug in history. Everyone says so. Nobody does Christmas better than me, but I also know how to save money—mainly by not giving it to anybody.” (beat – audience laughs)

[CAMERA PANS] to BOB CRATCHIT (Joe Jukic) sitting at a rickety desk with a tiny space heater that’s off. He’s wearing fingerless gloves and shivering.

CRATCHIT:
“Sir, it’s Christmas Eve… could we please have a little more coal for the fire?”

TRUMP (offended):
“Coal? I promised to bring coal back for America, but I meant for my friends in West Virginia stock portfolios, not for—what are you?—staff. Sad!” (audience laughs)


[LIGHTS FLICKER – GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST ENTERS]

(It’s Ivanka in a glowing white gown, moving like a beauty pageant contestant. She carries a snow globe of 1980s Trump Tower.)

IVANKA (breathless):
“Father… I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. I’m here to remind you of a time when people actually liked you at Christmas parties.”

TRUMP (grinning):
“Oh, they loved me. I gave them gold watches. Made in China, tremendous quality. None of this Apple Watch junk. No calories either.” (audience laughs)

IVANKA:
“But you also… cared about people.”

TRUMP (confused):
“I cared about… ratings. Same thing.” (audience laughs)


[LIGHT SHIFT – GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT BURSTS IN]

(Santa Claus storms in, holding a giant eviction notice.)

SANTA:
“Donald, look around you! People are struggling. They can’t afford gifts, dinner, or heat!”

TRUMP (waves him off):
“Fake news. If they can’t afford turkey, they can buy the Trump Christmas Turkey for $399—comes with a free ketchup packet and a coupon for my NFT collection.” (audience laughs, Santa facepalms)


[LIGHT SHIFT – GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURE ENTERS]

(A hooded Grim Reaper figure silently points to a gravestone on a rolling set piece. It reads: Here Lies The Guy Who Couldn’t Even Win the War on Christmas.)

TRUMP (panicking):
“No! Not the War on Christmas! I’m the General in that war! They were calling me ‘The Clause’—as in Santa Clause, but tougher!” (audience laughs)


[LIGHT FLASH – BACK TO MAR-A-LAGO BEDROOM]

(Trump “wakes up” in bed, hair extra messy. He jumps up, suddenly cheerful.)

TRUMP:
“Bob! Get in here! Buy the biggest turkey in town. Use my credit card—wait, no, use your credit card, but I’ll take a picture with it for Truth Social.” (audience laughs)

CRATCHIT (hesitant):
“That’s… very generous, sir?”

(From offstage, Tiny Tim—played by Martin Short as Ed Grimley—limps in with a crutch and an enormous plaid scarf. His hair is sticking up in Ed Grimley’s signature style.)

ED GRIMLEY (Tiny Tim) (excited):
“Well I must say, Mr. Scrooge, this is quite the turnaround, I must say! I am tickled beyond the capacity for rational thought, I must say.” (audience claps and laughs)

TRUMP (pointing at Tim):
“Look at this kid. Tremendous energy. If all Americans were like him, we’d be great again already. Also, somebody get him a red tie.”

ED GRIMLEY (turning to the audience, beaming):
“God bless us, everyone… I must say!” (audience cheers)


[SNOW FALLS]
(Snow made of shredded legal documents falls from the ceiling. SNL band starts playing “Jingle Bells” as the cast waves. Trump tries to take credit for the snow.)

TRUMP (yelling over the music):
“This is the best Christmas in history! No one’s ever seen a Christmas like this! You’re welcome!”


[FADE OUT – SNL ANNOUNCER VOICE]:
“Live from New York… it’s Saturday Night!”

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Rockefeller Christmas

INT. TRUMP TOWER – GOLD ROOM – NIGHT

Donald Trump is perched on a gold-trimmed throne-like chair, sipping Diet Coke. Across from him, PATRICK BATEMAN, in a bone-white Valentino suit, glares into the Manhattan skyline, his jaw tight.

BATEMAN
You know what I hate, Donald?
Christmas. Or at least… beta Christmas.

TRUMP
(laughs)
You mean the shopping, the wrapping, the—what do the libs say?—late-stage capitalism?

BATEMAN
No. I mean civilian Christmas. The plastic Target trees. The TikTok ornaments. The virtue signals disguised as gifts. I mean Christmas without Prometheus.

TRUMP
Now you’re talking my language. Say more.

BATEMAN
I want Alpha Christmas. Rockefeller-style. Fire from the gods, stolen and repackaged as neon. The towering tree stabbed into the Earth like a monolith. I want to drink bourbon with Prometheus while Atlas cracks a grin.

TRUMP
That’s what the Rockefellers had. That’s legacy. That’s real estate… eternal. My tree’s bigger than their tree though. Believe me.

BATEMAN
But even that’s just a tree compared to the Saturnalia parties I’m not invited to.
You ever been to the Rothschild estate during the solstice, Donald?

TRUMP
(leans in)
No… But Melania got a weird invite once. Said something about owl masks and a man named Baphomet.

BATEMAN
Exactly. That’s the party. Everyone who’s anything is there. The Lucifers, the Nephilim, the lords of leverage. They call it “Saturnalia” but it’s more like a harvest of souls wrapped in couture.

Bateman paces, increasingly unhinged.

BATEMAN (CONT’D)
You know what I got last year? A wool sweater. From my stepmother. While the Rothschilds dance with Kali under black chandeliers. It’s humiliating.

TRUMP
I’ll make some calls. Maybe we do our own Saturnalia. Trumpalia. Golden calves. All-you-can-eat McDonald’s buffet. Elon DJing.

BATEMAN
(deep breath)
It’s not the same. They don’t let us in because we’re new money. Flashy. Dangerous. You… orange. Me… psychotic. They prefer quiet monsters. Smiling demons. The kind who own the debt of nations.

TRUMP
Well then… we’ll buy Saturn. Rename it. Lease it back to them.

BATEMAN
(half-laughing)
Merry Christmas, Donald.

TRUMP
Happy Saturnalia, Patrick.

They raise their glasses to a future covered in gold leaf, staring into the eternal winter night like titans barred from Olympus.

FADE TO BLACK.

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