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A Slowed Campaign
Presidential candidate Trump was on his way to San Francisco to "show those damn hippies whose boss in his socks-knocking campaign speech." when his prized limo popped a tire.
"Gorram, hippie roads." Donald Trump said in anguish. "They can never learn to do anything right, can they?"
The popped tire was actually because of faulty construction, in his "all american made tires". Either way he and his crew sought to repair it with a spare. Unfortunately, since none of them had actually worked a day in their lives they couldn't figure out how to repair it. Trump's campaign adviser noticed that they had broken down near a gas station on this nearly abandoned road. 
Trump sent a lackey to go and find anyone that knew how to affix a tire onto a car. Once inside, the lackey noticed that the station was nearly empty, save for the cashier and a lone man examining each shelf deliberately and in detail. He walked up to the cashier to ask him if he could aid in fixing the tire.
"Hello! Do you know how to fix a tire? One of ours seems to have popped and we are having trouble affixing the spare onto it."
"Sorry, I wouldn't know anything about that, although you could ask the guy over by the mustache wax, he seems tech savvy."
With a word of appreciation he strolled over to where the customer stood and caught his attention.
"Hi! My boss' tire just popped and we would like some help in putting on a new one since we can't seem to figure it out."
The unknown man turned, "I think I can help, fixing up a tire wouldn't be a problem."
The lackey almost gasped in disbelief, the man was a Mexican, no doubt, yet he seemed friendly. Despite all the Trump training sessions that had been squished into his brain, he knew that this was the only person that could help them. As he lead him over to the site of the breakdown he eyeballed the man. Surely, this was the stereotypical Mexican, (The only type he knows) and yet he seemed to not be a complete and total farce in the eyes of America. His skin was tanned, his attire were somewhat worn work clothes, and he had a mustache of the highest caliber. This was an odd sight to someone who's friends and colleagues had the racial variation of a field of potatoes. They reached the limo and the lackey pointed out the flat tire. Before the man could do anything Trump immediately swept into the situation.
"Did you immigrate into this country legally?"
"What? No, I was bo-"
"So you ARE an illegal immigrant?" Trump interjected.
"No, I was about to say I was born here, uhh, Mr. Trump."
"How do you know that i'm Trump? Sounds suspicious."
"Trust me, your hair is very, unique. Not to mention you are on the news and every incarnation of social media ever."
"Oh, of course. Yes, I  am very well known." He boasted. "Do you know how to fix this tire? I was thinking it might be too much of a task for you..."
"Oh no, it will be easy. I run my own car repair shop down in San Fran, this'll be no sweat. By the way, it wouldn't hurt to be paid a little for this, would it?" 
"Well, that depends how much you want. I don't have that much cash on me."
"Fifteen bucks? Normally I charge twenty for a fix-up as simple as this but i'll give you a little discount. Seeing as you ran into this problem at such a terrible time, I've heard you have a campaign speech scheduled in San Fran."
"No, fifteen dollars is too much I only have twelve."
"Couldn't you borrow some from one of your compatriots here? Plus, a man like you wouldn't go around with anything short of $200 in your wallet."
"Fine." Trump grumbled. He took out his wallet and handed him a twenty. "Fix it before I lose my patience."
"You know what?" The man said. "I think that I've begun to lose my patience."
"What did you just say?" Trump demanded. "I will not tolerate this."
"No, you are so rude and big-headed that I don't think I'll help you. Keep your money."
"That's it, Stewart! Come and try to strike a deal with this heathen. I'll wait in the limo." Trump sputtered. 
He walked off grumbling about hippies, Mexicans, Communists, and pretty much everything else that he wanted to deport or wipe off the face of the Earth, which included most things. Stewart scurried over to talk to the man, who had already begun to walk off.
"Sir? Sir may I please ask your name?" Stewart squeaked.
"It's Pablo, and you don't have to talk to me like you're my lesser. Just speak normally please."
"Alright, you see, Mr. Trump isn't feeling very well today and so, on his behalf, I would like to apologize for what he said. The point being, we really need you to fix this tire so we can proceed on our way. He payed you and yet you still refused, why is that?"
"I'm fairly sure that you and everyone around here was able to hear what I said to him less than three minutes ago, I don't work for people like that. In fact, it's a miracle I even offered to fix it in the first place. Have you seen what he has said about people like me on the media?"
"Yes I've seen them, I wouldn't be an assistant here if I didn't agree with them, would I?"
"Which means the only reason you're here is to kiss my ass until I fix the tire, then I'm just another possible deportee. Right? Fix the tire on your own."
Pablo stalked off back to the gas station, and Stewart walked back to the still broken down limo. He signaled to the rest of the crew that Pablo wouldn't be helping and they set to work on the tire. After being stumped by it for ten minutes in which nothing happened except them staring at it thinking of how to fix it, they deduced that they would probably need tools for the job. Unfortunately, they didn't have any with them and sent Stewart to buy some at the gas station, they appeared to sell pretty much anything. He quietly walked into the store and went into the tools aisle, with Pablo standing in the center of it.
"Have you and your idiot friends realized that you need tools to fix something? Or have you given up and come begging for my aide?"
"I'm only here to buy things to help fix it, not to grovel at your feet. We're not as dumb as you have us pinned to be."
"And neither am I or my people."
Stewart grabbed a general selection of tools and checked out, leaving Pablo behind. Pablo sat by the window to watch as Stewart brought the tools over. He observed them fail in a multitude of ways in repairing the wheel. The most entertaining being them trying to take the original one off with a hacksaw. This went on for quite some time until they managed to get the rubber off the wheel, yet the rim remained. It was at this point, out of sheer pity, that Pablo decided to intervene. He stepped from the gas station and out to the limo. Here he hailed Stewart and began to speak to him.
"Alright, I can’t stand to watch you and your friends flail around with these tools like monkeys, it's only funny the first hour and then it becomes sad. I'll help you, on one condition."
"And what would that be?"
"You've gotta try to see the other side of the coin, everyone that isn't Trump. When you look at it from our perspective, you finally realize how dumb he looks in front of the entire country. He read a senator's phone number out loud! Please, just try to see it from our perspective."
"You know what? Fine. I'll look into it, but until then, I want you to fix the tire so Mr. Trump can make it on time."
"Just do what I asked and it’ll all be good."
Pablo grabbed the tire iron and began to work on the wheel. After retrieving a few extra tools from his truck and a little bit of elbow grease he had completed his task and the spare tire was fitting nicely. Stewart and the rest of Trump’s crew had been waiting nearby, but Trump had refused to exit the limo, even while Pablo was fixing the tire. Trump’s crew all climbed into the limo and the chauffer started up the engine. Pablo left back to his truck and continued on his way to San Francisco as well. Whilst he was on the road he was able to see Trump’s limo just up ahead. He stayed as far behind it as he could until he saw a small smattering of smoke pop up from the front of the limo. As it slowed to a stop he sped up and whirred past the limo with a now broken down engine.
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