The thousand injuries of Don Ald I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.

If there was one thing I knew about the man, it was his fondness for gold leaf, through-cooked steak and walls. It was on this knowledge of him that I built my trap.

When I encountered him on the night of the festival (his costume was only an orange Make America Great Again hat with a pumpkin on it, available on his website for $45.00), I could not let off clasping his hand, such was my delight at seeing him, on the very evening of the ripening of my design. And because he insisted on clasping my hand a long time as a show of dominance. But it did not affect me.

“It is fortunate indeed that we are met, Don Ald,” I said. “This night I was on the verge of making a deal with Chuck and Nancy, and now I encounter you.”

“Bob,” he said, “Liddle’ Bob.”

“Yes,” I said, “I have been called such a name.” I choked down the bile that rose in my throat. “I have found something quite remarkable in the vaults below my party’s ancestral home — oh, it was a party once! A way to build your wall, that is cheap, and for which Mexico will pay. Ah, but I must not trouble you on this festive night. Chuck and Nancy will believe me, if you will not. I shall descend and eat my well-cooked steak and admire my wax replicas of your beautiful children in solitude, surrounded by gold leaf, and trouble you no longer.”

“No!” he said. “I will come with you, Liddle’ Bob.”

I placed a mask upon my face. I took two flambeaux from their braces on the wall and led him into my party’s vaults.

“You were a registered Democrat until 2008,” I said, as we descended. “Is that not so?”

He laughed. “I went to an Ivy League school,” he said. I could not quite connect this to the conversation at hand.

“Perhaps you wish to turn back,” I said. “It is very scary down here, and only the brave may venture. Those with the best lungs. Anyone else might cough.”