“Donald, you need to rein it in,” Ryan persists. “Your volatility scares people. Everyone is shuddering at the thought that you are about to get classified intelligence briefings and at your bromance with Putin. No one believes that you’re a genuine conservative. You support Planned Parenthood, raising the minimum wage and some higher taxes on the wealthy, our people. You’re Bernie Sanders with even weirder hair.”

“Well, Two-Face,” Trump retorts, “if you’re such a big-deal conservative, why did you push for that budget increasing spending by billions, funding Obama’s executive amnesty program, relocation of terrorist refugees and sanctuaries cities — but somehow no money for the border fence? You’re a white Obama. Bad! Sad!! The nuns said your budgets were so mean and un-Christian they wanted to beat erasers around your head.”

“Donald, the party is off the rails,” Ryan says. “Ordinarily, people who hate each other always pretend not to once the nomination has been clinched. Jeez, the Bushes are boycotting your convention.”

Trump harrumphs. “Well, I have Four-Eyes Rick Perry doing a groveling about-face to support me. Who wants the Bushes, that pathetic dynasty? Sour grapes because I called out W. on his horrible war and Jeb on his terrible campaign. No low energy in Cleveland! My convention is going to rock with celebrities and hot women. We’re going to have Mike Tyson and that tiger. We’re going to have Bobby Knight and Miss Aruba M.C.-ing. We might even have a beauty pageant with Gary Busey judging. Carly won’t be in it. But your wife——”