History of Sorts

A bit of humor and satire

Once upon a time, where wigs were just as powerful as policies, Donald J. Trump found himself in a rather unexpected role: a drag queen named “Ivana Tuck.” It all started when he was invited to perform at a prestigious drag competition called “The Battle of the Bouffants.” He had no idea what drag was, but the idea of getting applause for wearing extravagant outfits? He was intrigued. Plus, there was no way he was going to miss a chance to steal the spotlight.

At first, he thought it was all about being fabulous and dramatic—perfect, right? He’d already mastered the art of the dramatic pause. But what he didn’t know was that drag wasn’t just about the clothes; it was about the performance.

His first drag outing? Spectacular. He walked onto the stage with confidence, wearing a golden gown that shimmered like it had been dipped in glittery tax returns. His wig? Huge. Towering. It looked like it could house an entire family of squirrels. The crowd was shocked—shocked by the spectacle of it all, and maybe a little terrified. But that wasn’t the real problem. No, the real problem was that Donald was so busy perfecting his strut that he forgot the most important part of drag: the lip-sync.

As the music played, Trump confidently opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried to improvise, his lips moving in what appeared to be a combination of “We’re gonna win bigly” and “Make America Fabulous Again.” The audience was bewildered. Was this a performance or a State of the Union speech? Either way, no one could look away.

“You’re gonna love this, folks, it’s going to be the best lip-sync you’ve ever seen,” he boasted, completely forgetting the fact that the only thing coming out of his mouth was a series of awkward noises and vague references to ‘winning.’

The judges, a panel of drag icons, were at a loss for words. One judge, in a dazzling rhinestone-studded gown, whispered, “Is this… a protest piece?” Another, who had mastered the art of reading, gave him the most exaggerated side-eye in history and said, “Honey, you’re not lip-syncing. You’re lip-flailing.”

Undeterred, Donald decided to turn to the audience for help. He pointed to a group of supporters in the front row and shouted, “You’re all going to love this. I have the best lips, the best lips in all of drag!” The crowd gasped and then awkwardly cheered, unsure if they were applauding or just trying to be polite.

But just when things were looking grim, Trump had a stroke of genius—or what he considered a stroke of genius. He whipped off his wig and dramatically tossed it into the crowd, like a true diva. The crowd erupted. He didn’t need a song. He didn’t need a dance move. He just needed to make a statement—one of chaos and confusion.

By the time the show ended, Trump had lost the competition, but he won something far more important: the title of “Most Memorable Drag Queen.” Sure, he may have confused lip-syncing with a speech, but he had given a performance that no one would forget. And as the crowd dispersed, Trump gave one last, booming quote: “I’m gonna open up my own drag club—called ‘The Trump Tower of Sass.’ It’s going to be huge, folks. Just huge.”

And so, Ivana Tuck became a legend, not because she had talent, but because she had chutzpah. And maybe that’s the true secret of drag after all.

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