Setting: A dark, gritty comedy club. The atmosphere is electric with tension as the audience waits in anticipation for the ultimate roast battle. At one end of the stage, standing like a towering orange monument to ego, is Donald Trump, adjusting his suit with all the flair of someone who’s convinced they own the world. Opposite him, leaning nonchalantly on the mic stand, is the razor-sharp and brutally honest Frankie Boyle, wearing an expression that says, “This is gonna be fun.” The crowd is ready for chaos.
Frankie Boyle: (grinning devilishly, eyes locked on Trump)
"Right, here we are. The self-proclaimed ‘greatest president’—well, for someone who’s never been good at building anything, that’s a pretty bold claim. Your hair’s the only thing you’ve managed to build that’s survived, but it’s not so much a 'masterpiece' as it is the result of a science experiment gone horribly wrong."
Audience laughs. Trump, grinning, adjusts his tie.
Trump: (smiling smugly)
“Thank you, thank you. It’s great to be here. You know, I’ve done more for this country than anyone else. People tell me I’m the best at everything.”
Frankie Boyle:
“Well, if being a total failure at everything counts, then sure, Donald, you’re a master. I mean, look at you—your hair alone has more ego than the entire Republican Party. It’s like someone tried to make a human version of a burnt broomstick and got distracted halfway through.”
Audience bursts into laughter. Trump’s smile falters but he quickly regains his composure.
Trump: (defensively)
“Everyone loves me. I’ve had great success. I’m a genius.”
Frankie Boyle:
“A genius? You’re about as much of a genius as a goldfish who’s just discovered how to swim in circles. The only thing you’re great at is dodging reality, like a child playing hide and seek with the truth. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to turn the whole of America into the biggest clown car on the planet. Congratulations, you must have spent years training for that!”
The audience is in stitches, Trump looks like he’s just been slapped with a wet towel.
Trump:
“Look, I made America great again, and everyone says it. They all love me. You know, I have the best ratings, the best everything.”
Frankie Boyle: (raising an eyebrow)
“Made America great again? Is that what we're calling it now? You’ve managed to make America the world’s laughing stock—congratulations! When people say ‘great’, I’m pretty sure they don’t mean that kind of ‘great’. In fact, if it weren’t for your constant failure at basic human interaction, we’d have to call it tragic instead. Your presidency’s so great, it makes QAnon look reasonable.”
Audience roars with laughter. Trump clenches his fists.
Trump: (angry)
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve won. I’m a winner. I have the best businesses, the best deals, the best everything.”
Frankie Boyle:
“Really? The best businesses? Is that why you keep bankrupting them? You’ve got the best deals, right? Like the one you made with reality—where you agreed to pretend to be president for a while? The only thing you’ve managed to ‘deal’ with is your own inflated ego. It’s the only thing that’s gotten a proper return on investment, and even that’s starting to crack under the pressure.”
The audience is in tears, and Trump’s face is now a full shade of beetroot. He tries to speak but Frankie cuts him off.
Frankie Boyle:
“Honestly, the only thing ‘great’ about your presidency was the entertainment value. You’ve set democracy back, made the world a more dangerous place, and turned your own followers into a cult. And yet, somehow, you still manage to look like a man who thinks ‘thick skin’ is a compliment.”
Audience laughs even harder. Trump’s face is contorted in rage now, but Frankie’s on a roll.
Frankie Boyle:
“You’ve given more unqualified people jobs than The Apprentice. You’ve turned the White House into a circus, and you’re the clown at the centre of it all. It’s like watching a man juggle chainsaws while trying to steal his own shoes.”
The crowd is howling with laughter. Trump looks like he’s about to explode, but Frankie isn’t finished.
Frankie Boyle:
“And look at you now. Standing here like a soggy, orange meatball, trying to convince us that you’re the man to fix things. Well, here’s a secret, Donald—you’re not. You’re the problem. The only thing you’ve fixed is your hair, and I’m not even sure that’s real.”
Audience erupts into applause. Trump is fuming, but doesn’t know how to respond. Frankie grins smugly.
Frankie Boyle: (to the crowd)
“I suppose, in the end, it doesn’t matter how many times Trump tries to reinvent himself. He’ll always be the same—just a massive, walking disaster with the self-awareness of a brick wall. And that’s something you can’t fix.”
The crowd stands, cheering and clapping, as Frankie takes a bow and Trump just stands there, staring, unable to form a coherent comeback.
