Ministry - Victims of a Clown

INT. TRUMP TOWER – NIGHT – GOLDEN LOUNGE

Patrick Bateman, sleek in his Armani suit, sips from a crystal glass of Dalmore 62. Donald Trump lounges across from him in a chair lined with American eagle feathers and gold trim. On the massive plasma screen behind them, Ministry’s “Victims of a Clown” plays in the background—flashing images of dystopian chaos, clowns, and war machines.

BATEMAN
(staring at the screen)
Ministry’s aesthetic is… industrial decay meets Reagan-era paranoia. “Victims of a Clown.” You know what that means, right?

TRUMP
(smirking)
Sounds like Sleepy Joe’s cabinet.

BATEMAN
No, Donald. It’s a mirror. A cracked one. They’re saying society is being run by clowns—idiots in greasepaint and chaos. But you… you’re not a clown. You're the ringmaster with the big, beautiful bombs. You make them salute, not laugh.

TRUMP
That’s true. Nobody salutes a clown. But they salute me. You hear what Kim Jong-un called me? A dotard. But then he shut up when I showed him the MOABs.

BATEMAN
(cold and sharp)
Clowns are for the Shrine Circus, Donald. Not geopolitics. And those Shrine clowns? They scare Cosmo Kramer. Michael Richards… 33rd degree. Pathetic.

TRUMP
You’re telling me Kramer’s in the Masons?

BATEMAN
Oh, yes. But the 33rd degree is just the kiddie pool. Skull & Bones at Yale? That’s the deep end. That’s where they keep the keys. Not the fake clown keys with the flowers that squirt water. The real keys—to war, finance, and blackmail tapes in Swiss vaults.

TRUMP
I know the Bonesmen. Bush was one. John Kerry too. Real stiff. No showmanship.

BATEMAN
Bush played the fool, but he signed the checks for your bombs. That’s real power. The Clown World aesthetic that Ministry mocks? It’s just the lower theater. You’re executive producer of the entire circus.

TRUMP
They say I’m the villain, Patrick.

BATEMAN
Better a villain than a victim. Let Ministry play their dirges. Let the kids wear their gas masks and scream about clowns. Just remember… a real president doesn't juggle. He detonates.

Bateman downs the rest of his whiskey as Ministry’s distorted guitar riffs echo through the lounge like a warning siren. Trump nods with approval.

TRUMP
I like you, Patrick. You’re like me—but you use an axe.

BATEMAN
And you use drones. Different tools. Same mission.

Cue: static fuzz from the TV screen. A clown face flickers, grins, and explodes into a mushroom cloud. Cut to black.