All the guests of the party were gathered silently in the living room. Alisha paced back and forth in the kitchen.
“This is a disaster. Nobody’s talking to each other,” she fussed at Sam.
“I’ve been to cheerier funerals,” replied Sam.
“You have to do something. Please,” begged Alisha.
Sam dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “No problem. I got this.”
He walked to the doorway to the living room.
“You know,” he announced, “I think Donald Trump is doing a really great job making America great again.”
A series of gasps sucked the air from the room.
The tension was broken as someone said, “You know, he’s right. The economy’s doing great.”
“Have you lost your mind? The guy’s a mysogynist, racist pig.”
“Oh great, let’s hear from the liberal snowflake.”
“Social Justice Warrior.”
The room erupted.
Sam made the gesture of pulling the pin of an imaginary grenade and rolling it to the middle of the room. He returned to the kitchen, where Alisha shot daggers at him from her eyes.
He smiled and shrugged. “You’re welcome.”