Location, Date, & Time:  New York, Trump Towers Penthouse, May 1, 2011, approximately 11PM

"Should we wake him?" nervously asks one of Donald Trump's personal assistants.

"You know what happened to the last guy who disturbed his beauty sleep."

"No.  I don't know what happened.  I never saw him again."

"Exactly."

"If we don't wake him up  to let him know that Osama Bin Laden was killed by American forces in Pakistan, then the shit is going to hit the fan."

"And whoever wakes him up  will be fired."

"Let me do it.  I'm sick of working for this pompous, arrogant, asshole."

"He's such a lousy prick.  I can't take it any more.  I'll do it."

"No!   I want to get fired!

"So do I!"

"Okay.  Let's both do it at the same time."

The assistants slowly approach the forbidden zone, otherwise known as Donald Trump's master bedroom.  Loud snoring emanates from the sound-proof room.  The door is locked.

Assistant number one has a wild look in his eyes and says, "All the years of verbal and psychological abuse.  Finally some payback."

The assistants begin pounding and kicking the door as hard as they can for about thirty seconds.  They step back from the door.

The snoring has ceased.  Total silence.  Then a low howling begins which morphs into a horrible roaring sound laced with obscenities.

"The Donald" emerges from his lair.  He is wearing custom-made Spiderman pajamas.  His red comb-over hair struggles to emerge from a lunchlady hair net.  He is foaming at the mouth, screaming in tongues, gesturing spastically with his hands.

"Mr. Trump.  We are so sorry to disturb you.  Osama Bin Laden is dead.  Killed by American special forces in Pakistan...

Mr. Trump starts jumping up and down like a child, singing, "Obama is dead!" over and over.

"Mr. Trump.   Please listen carefully.  Obama is alive. Osama Bin Laden is dead."

Trump pauses.  He looks confused.  He starts dancing and singing again, "Osama is dead!"

Trump calls for security.  "Escort these douchebags out of the building.  You're both fired."

As they are being led to the elevator, the assistants are smiling, "Thank you Mr. Trump."

"The Donald" throws off his hair net and starts to get busy.  He makes a few phone calls.  "I want everyone in my office in ten minutes.  Are you sure Osama Bin Laden is dead?  I don't care what the President says.  I want proof.  I want a notarized, circumsized copy of the death certificate by nine in the morning or you're all fired!