Mandatory Transgenderism

The sentence was read aloud to everyone who could only look on in shock and amazement.

“For the heinous crime of triple treason and capital election overturning the convicted, Donald John Trump, is heretofore sentenced to mandatory transgenderism and death by reality show. Hence you shall be taken to the place of transgendering, whereby your penis will be split in half like a soft banana and shoved deep inside of you to create a manpussy, thence to a recovery room for a juice box and aspirin, thence to a military helicopter to be airdropped into a non-constitutional zone to live out your remaining days in a perpetual deathmatch horror reality show. God bless America and may they have mercy on your eternal soul.”

The transgendering wasn’t as bad as Trump had worried. They really did have it down to a science and not that anyone was counting, but he had not seen his own penis without the aid of a hand mirror or phone camera since Die Hard was in theaters. Ah what a time. Before the trials and tribulations and insurrections and treasoning. Well, he would put on a show, in the Non-Con. He would not go down without some ratings. As an act of goodwill Biden had returned the pistols that were taken from him at the surrender. Congenial as always. The helicopter was noisy and uncomfortable and upset his inner ear, but the dust off went OK and soon it was just him, an orange jumpsuit, two pistols containing a total of 19 rounds of ammunition, and a stinging manpussy, dripping blood as a torrential and unholy manstruation.

Within moments and without much issue he was captured, disarmed, blindfolded, gaged, and marched.

As soon as the door was opened at the top of the staircase he was grabbed and pushed down.

The stairs wound down and around. He fell like a grandfather clock wrapped in meat. There was a dim light and voices below that he couldn’t make out. Then he was thrust into a cage with another manpussy next to him.

“Hey,” the manpussy said, looking at him.

“I’m Donald Trump,” said the transgendered man.

“Hi. I’m Gary,” the manpussy said.

“Nice to meet you. What’s this for?” Trump asked, looking down at the manpussy, wondering what was going on.