Title: Jeeves in the White House
SCENE: The Oval Office. Morning.
(Donald Trump, in a plush chair, scowls at his tie in the mirror. Jeeves, immaculately dressed, stands nearby, impassively waiting.)
TRUMP: (gesturing at tie) Jeeves, this tie—it’s too short. Disgraceful. People are saying it’s the shortest tie they’ve ever seen. Very unfair to me. Can you make it longer? Like, a lot longer?
JEEVES: (producing an identical tie, 18 inches longer) I anticipated, sir, that you might prefer an adjustment. This model ensures a most presidential drape.
TRUMP: (beaming) Look at this! Tremendous! Best tie in history. All the other ties—losers. Pathetic.
SCENE: The Resolute Desk. A pile of briefing documents lies untouched. Trump glares at them.
TRUMP: Jeeves, these words. Too many words. Who needs all these words? Get rid of the boring ones.
JEEVES: (slides forward a new document, reduced to three bullet points and the phrase "Winners Only") A more executive summary, sir.
TRUMP: (nodding) This is what I’m talking about! Best valet. People don’t even know how good you are. But I do. You’re like... a very smart butler. The smartest.
SCENE: The Oval Office, later. Jeeves hands Trump a Diet Coke. Trump suddenly frowns.
TRUMP: Jeeves, terrible news. Deep state. Big problem. I just heard that gravity is fake. Fake! China’s behind it, probably. Do we need gravity? Should we be looking into that?
JEEVES: (calmly) I have found, sir, that gravity, much like public opinion, exerts a certain inevitability. It is often best accommodated rather than denied.
TRUMP: (nodding sagely) Smart. Very smart. People should listen to you more. Maybe I should make you Secretary of Gravity?
(Jeeves says nothing, merely inclining his head slightly. That evening, he will have packed his things, submitted his resignation, and—by means known only to himself—secured an entirely new position as the valet of a less trying employer.)