Donald J. Trump will take the oath of office as the 45th President of the United States of America on Friday. His inauguration will be followed by an Inaugural Ball, Washington D.C.’s version of the Oscars, but with way less members of the LGBTQ community, people of color or arts advocates in the audience.
Seeing as the world will begin curling in on itself like a Costco cocktail shrimp before exploding in a silent-but-deadly death fart once Trump is sworn in, why not take this final opportunity to get gussied up and go to a big party?
If you have time before Friday, go get a boob job.
The post-operative swelling might even equal a bonus cup size. When Trump’s black eyes wander over to you from across the room, remember that he eloquently told Howard Stern that it is very difficult for a woman to earn a “10 grade” if they are “very flat-chested.” Get good grades, ladies. Tell your surgeon that Trump feels Carmen Electra’s boob job was “terrible,” noting that her breasts looked like “two light posts coming out of the body,” so make sure it’s a GOOD boob job.
Plug it up.
Depending on your cycle, you might be having your period during the Ball. Maybe your cycle synced up with the rest of your girlfriends because you’ve been spending so much time together volunteering for social justice organizations or because you’ve logged many evenings together crying about the death of progress, but WHATEVER, you are going to be bleeding like a disgusting monster under that ball gown — and Donald will know it. Don’t forget; he knew that Megyn Kelly was shedding her uterine lining, and he was like over twenty feet away from her, so you can’t risk this.
Be complimentary and subservient.
Don’t question Donald. Don’t ask him about why his suit is so ill-fitting and why the skin around his eyes looks like two tired buttholes. Don’t compare anything about Donald to a butthole. He might in response call you a “loser,” and you don’t want to be part of that club, which includes Barack Obama, John McCain, David Cameron, Cher, Graydon Carter, Rosie O’Donnell, Jon Stewart, Jay Leno, Arianna Huffington, Seth Meyers, Mark Cuban, Rihanna and Stevie Wonder.
Stand near — and stay standing near — Angelina Jolie.
Who knows? We know her dad will be there, so we’ll put her down as a “maybe.” Donald has said about the Oscar winner, “I really understand beauty. And I will tell you, she’s not — I do own Miss Universe. I do own Miss USA. I mean, I own a lot of different things. I do understand beauty, and she’s not,” I mean, he understands beauty, you guys, so being in proximity to the hideous Jolie will make you look better by default. Once you spot her, draft her like an undertrained marathon runner.
Set aside the Spanx and consider instead a chastity belt.
We ALL know what happens to you at parties: you drink one too many glasses of complimentary champagne and go home with the first guy who says he thinks Jennifer Lawrence is “kind of annoying.” With a chastity belt, there will be no boom-boom, and therefore no unwanted pregnancy that you will have no agency to handle however you and your doctor see fit, since Trump, Mike Pence, Paul Ryan and the rest of “Da Boys” are laser-focused on stripping you of your reproductive rights.
Bonus, your pussy can’t be snatched through sixteenth-century forged metal.
Written by Rebecca Fons. This post originally appeared at secondcity.com.