Tabloid Flash Fiction: Omarosa Tries to Break into the Residence

A Bittersweet Story of Unrequited Love and Revenge at the White House

By Sam Eichner ·
Photo: Pool/Getty Images

"My sources were right @Omarosa45 tried to get into or break into the residence. She tripped the alarms of the residence. Lawd help!! She was fired." —April D. Ryan, White House Correspondent, American Urban Radio Networks, via Twitter

“Fire me once, shame on you,” Omarosa muttered to herself, crouching behind a shrub on the White House lawn, night-vision goggles trained on the Secret Service members guarding the residence. “Fire me twice, shame on me.”

It was a funny story, really. Frankly hilarious when you think about it. The way she’d gone out—why she’d been canned.   

It all started when little miss perfect Hope Hicks suggested the top staff do a Secret Santa for the holidays.

“It’ll be our own private insurgency against the war on Christmas!” Hicks had exclaimed. Of course, Donald loved the idea. He loved all her ideas. Treated her like she was his own daughter—but, like, an Ivanka, not a Tiffany.

Omarosa worshipped to the devil on high—as one in the current administration is wont to do—that she wouldn’t get Donald. What do you get for the man who already has everything? And everything is gilded in gold? But as luck would have it, she pulled his name. It was written in all caps, in red crayon, and with an elementary grasp of cursive that he must’ve abandoned somewhere around the “n.” She’d never forget that moment, as long as she lived.

She wracked her brain for gift ideas.

Russian caviar? Too on-the-nose. A sixer of ketchup? That would work, but the White House pantry already contained 3,000 reserve bottles of Hunt's. The still-beating heart of Joe Scarborough? Possible, she thought. But you can’t very well gift-wrap a vital organ. How gauche!

Then, late at night, the day before the gift exchange, as she lay awake in her office/barracks, she spied the hard-edged corner of a DVD under the stack of colored construction paper presentations she used to explain the tax plan to her boss. She lifted it out: it was a special edition of The Ultimate Merger, season one, the reality TV dating show—a hybrid between The Apprentice and The Bachelorette—she’d co-created with Donald. This was it! A perfectly sentimental gift to remind Donald of a happier time—when he was, more or less, her Daddy.

The day of the exchange arrived. It was chaos in the White House. Doug Jones had just defeated Roy Moore. Donald was calling on Kelly to launch a covert military operation to kill Moore’s horse, Sassy, cut off its head and place it on Doug Jones’s pillow.

“We’ll send him a message. It’ll be just like The Godfather!” Donald exclaimed. “Which, to be fair, was not nearly as good as The Godfather III.”

Nobody could convince Donald that this was a bad idea—nor that Godfather III was clearly the worst of the series. Things were spinning out of control when Ivanka reminded him of the gift exchange. Donald immediately clapped his little hands and said, “Oooh, presents.” Everyone calmed down.

Stephen Miller opened his first. It was a box with an ice cube in it—presumably from Melania.

John Kelly got a gold brick. Steve Mnuchin winked.

Then it was Omarosa’s turn. She and Donald opened their gifts at the same time. Omarosa’s box contained what was clearly a re-gifted DVD player. Donald’s, of course, contained The Ultimate Merger DVD. With his stubby fingers, he tried to take the plastic wrap off. The room went quiet.

"Do you need help, Donald?" Hope Hicks asked gently.

"No!" He tried harder, scratching at the plastic wrap, biting it, doing whatever he could to tear it open. After an excruciating three minutes of huffing and puffing, he gave up and slammed the DVD onto his desk.

“Who gave me this?” He shouted, his face contorted in anger. “Who gave me this?!”

Ivanka tried to calm him down and explain the whole concept behind Secret Santa; Hope offered to get a pair of scissors. Nothing was helping. Donald just got angrier.

“Is this a silly trick?!” He screamed. “I mean, I couldn't even play it if I wanted to—I just gave away my DVD player!”

“It’s like the Gift of the Magi,” Jared Kushner squeaked from a corner.

“This is not a time for your little Chanukah stories, Jared,” Donald shouted. “It’s Christmas. Christmas.”

“I’m...I'm sorry, Donald,” Omarosa said, trying not to panic. “I thought you’d like the gift, as a reminder of the time we spent together. That experience meant so much to me.”

Donald glared at Omarosa. With a dramatic flourish, he said those two dreaded words: “You’re fired.”

“What?” She exclaimed.

“John, get her out of here,” Donald said, motioning to his chief-of-staff.

“John, don’t do this,” Omarosa pleaded, as Kelly led her by the arm out of the Oval Office. She turned bitter: “I always knew you were a fucking cuck!”

A futile fight ensued as she was escorted out of the White House. Her security cards were deactivated. Yet she remained on the grounds. And now, here she was, crouching behind a shrub, clad in her all-black emergency ninja uniform, just waiting for her chance. He may’ve fired her. Again. But he would not keep her special-edition copy of The Ultimate Merger. That was hers. No, that was theirs. Also, she wasn’t sure another copy even existed.

It was time to strike. She sprinted on her toes from the shrub to Eric Trump’s doghouse, closer to the residence. She could hear the mellifluous sounds of Eric lightly snoring, punctuated with mumbled pleas: “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy. It was Don’s. Blame Don. Blame Don...” Quietly, she maneuvered around the structure until she was facing the doors of the residence. She tip-toed across the lawn, careful to stay out of sight of the Secret Service. And then: the alarm. Of course! The trip-wire. She’d forgotten all about it. How could she be so stupid!

She froze as the Secret Service members surrounded her. One of them she took out with the swipe of her knife-sharp fingernails. Blood flooded the grass at her feet. “Fuck you, Donald!” She screamed as they carried her away. “The Ultimate Merger didn’t even work! I ended up with Academy Award-nominated actor Michael Clarke Duncan, anyway, you prick!”

The next morning she appeared on Good Morning America. She decided she would remain quiet. For now.

“When I have a chance to tell my story,” she told Michael Strahan. “[It’s] quite a story to tell... I have seen things that have made me uncomfortable, that have upset me, that have affected me deeply and emotionally, that have affected my community and my people and when I can tell my story, it is a profound story that the world will want to hear.”

Sam Eichner likes literature, reality television and his twin cats equally. He has consistently been told he needs a shave since he started growing facial hair.

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