Scene: Comedy Roast Night
The stage is set with a spotlight on Donald Trump, sitting in a fancy chair with a microphone in front of him. The crowd is buzzing in anticipation for the evening's comedy roast. On the other side of the stage, Frank, Estelle, and George Costanza are seated at a table, looking awkward and out of place in the fancy atmosphere. Frank's eyes are already scanning the room, trying to figure out where the nearest exit is.
The host introduces Frank, and the crowd claps as Frank stands up, striding to the stage with a look that says, “I’m about to make this night memorable."
Host: "Next up, folks, we’ve got the one and only Frank Costanza—an expert at speaking his mind, whether we want him to or not!"
Frank: (grumbling into the microphone) "Yeah, they keep telling me I gotta 'be funny.' Well, you know what’s funny? This guy right here!" (gestures at Trump, sitting smugly)
The crowd chuckles.
Frank: "Look at this guy. You know what he looks like? A human piñata, but instead of candy, it’s just pure unfiltered nonsense. I mean, you’ve got a face like a melted candle, pal! If I wanted to see someone with more of a limp personality, I’d watch a tree stump try to get a date!"
The crowd laughs again, but Trump just sits there, feigning confidence.
Frank: "I don’t know what’s more inflated—your ego or that comb-over. I’ve seen better hairpieces on the rats that used to live under my sink!"
Trump: (smiling uncomfortably) "Keep going, Frank."
Frank: "Oh, I will. You want more? Okay, here’s more! I’d say you’ve got the charisma of a traffic cone, but at least traffic cones stop people from getting hit. You? You’re like a bad reality show that got cancelled halfway through the season—and not because people were bored, but because they ran out of material to make you seem like a real person!"
Estelle: (hissing) "Frank, be careful!"
Frank: "Careful? I’m just getting started! This guy’s got the business acumen of a used car salesman and the charm of a leaky faucet. And don’t even get me started on your 'presidential' accomplishments. You’ve made more enemies than a room full of people arguing over pizza toppings! I don’t know what’s worse—your policies or your golf swing!"
George: (to Estelle, whispering) "This is gonna end badly."
Frank: "And let’s talk about your hair, huh? What’s going on there? Did a haystack and a wig have a baby? I’ve seen better haircuts on the floor of a barber shop after an accident with the clippers. It's like a bad experiment gone wrong!"
Trump: (gritting his teeth) "I’m not the only one with a bad hairdo here, Frank."
Frank: "Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got plenty for you, pal. You’ve got so much hot air in that head of yours, I thought you were gonna float away into the clouds! If I had a dollar for every time you said something ridiculous, I could buy a mansion. And I wouldn’t even have to sell my soul to afford it!"
George: (visibly cringing) "Dad, please, they’ll kick us out!"
Frank: "Kick us out? Please! They’d be doing me a favour. You know what would really kick me out? Having to watch you try to put a coherent sentence together. You’re like a fax machine trying to connect to the internet, buddy. It’s painful to watch!"
The crowd is howling now, while Trump sits, trying to maintain his composure. Frank turns to the audience.
Frank: "Honestly, I don’t even know why people listen to this guy. If brains were dynamite, he wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. If I wanted to hear someone speak in empty words, I’d just listen to a weather report!"
Trump: (gritting his teeth) "I’ve been to better roasts than this!"
Frank: "Yeah, well, you’ve also been to more bankruptcies than I’ve had hot dinners, so I’m not surprised."
Estelle: (muttering to George) "I told you this was a mistake. I should’ve stayed home."
Frank: "Oh, don’t worry, Estelle, this guy’s got more baggage than a luggage claim conveyor belt. And the only thing faster than his ego is the speed at which he runs from any real responsibility!"
George: (groaning) "Dad, please, you're gonna get us banned for life from comedy clubs!"
Frank: "Who cares? I’m done with this clown show. If I wanted to watch someone flail around with no idea what they’re doing, I’d just turn on a game show—at least those contestants have some self-awareness!"
Trump: (standing up, clearly agitated) "That’s enough, Frank."
Frank: "Enough? I’ve barely begun! I could roast you all night, buddy. But I’ll leave it with this: You’re about as presidential as a guy who spends his days throwing tantrums over Twitter. And trust me, that’s not a compliment."
The crowd is in stitches, and even some of Trump’s supporters are struggling not to laugh. Trump, flustered but trying to hold his ground, walks off the stage, but not before Frank shoots one last jab:
Frank: "Hey, Trump, don’t let the door hit you on your way out... but considering your track record, I doubt you even know how to open it!"
Frank’s relentless barrage of insults would leave the crowd roaring and Trump not quite sure how to recover.
