The tires screeched on the car as the Donald made a sharp turn down Hollywood Boulevard. He grabbed his gun from the glove compartment and handed it to Peter next to him. “Start shooting you fool!”
“What, are you nuts?! I can’t fire that thing.” Bullets flew through the windscreen of the car, and Peter quickly cowered to avoid the glass.
“Take it!” Peter grabbed the gun and started shooting at the pursuers. After a few shots the car following them blew up.
“Hahah, is that all you got?! Wooooo! Did you see that, I totally got them Donald.”
“Yeah well don’t start feeling safe just yet, we have to get this bomb to my private jet before it blows up and kills thousands of Americans!”
“I thought you didn’t care?” Peter put the gun back in the glove compartment.
“I don’t. But I need the votes. And dead people don’t vote.” The car started coughing and came to a halt.
“I – I’m sorry Donald, I just filled the car – I don’t understand.” Donald slammed his hands on the steering wheel. Gasoline was pouring out of holes in the car: “God damn it! Now how are we going to – “
“Sccchhh, do you hear that?” Donald calmed himself to be able to hear anything but the blood rushing through his ears.
“What do you mean? It’s all quiet.”
“Exactly.” Peter turned to Donald.
“Ahem, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Donald unfastened his seatbelt.
“Yeah, Clinton probably got her before us. But you still have to save the city, Donald. Donald?”
“Nah it’s alright. You go on without me.” Behind them loud tire screeching and shouting could be heard. As they looked around, two guys were hanging out of the windows of yet another black van.
“Get to the plane! Go go go!” Donald jumped out of the car, “I’ll distract them; they all know this face!”