Original subtitles

Hannity!

We begin tonight with a correction.

Last week I said the Devin Nunes memo

is Watergate times 1,000.

In fact, it's the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs times a million.

I'm joined now by someone whose brain is so big,

it's choking off its own blood supply, Donald Trump Jr.

Hello, Sean. My father is not a racist.

When his limo drives to JFK Airport,

it specifically goes through black neighborhoods to avoid traffic.

You don't hear about that enough.

So, tell the folks what happened

when God told Devin Nunes to hand you the memo.

I thought, "This totally vindicates

everything my father and my entire family has ever done,"

including when I urinated from a balcony onto a quinceañera.

What is a Spanish word for "I am sorry"?

There isn't one. Now, tell the people

- what's in this Devin Nunes memo. - It is three pages.

The main character is my dad, and the bad guy is the FBI,

and the theme of the story,

also known as the moral of the story,

is Devin Nunes will say anything. He's a good guy.

Amen. He's like a robot butler.

Jam a key into his back

and he'll make out with a vacuum for your entertainment.

So, Manafort's free. Flynn's innocent.

Mueller's on the run, and the dog's got the scent.

What's next for Don Jr. Trump?

I don't know. Maybe have some lunch,

figure out what the fuck is going on with my stock portfolio.

Yeah, mine's like a trampoline full of children from divorced parents.

When we return, Sebastian Gorka and I

will skip a Dreamer across the Rio Grande.

Hannity!

1x02 - Disaster Response

Shh. Is everybody watching?

Shh. Is she watching?

Shh. Are you watching? Melania?

Don Jr.? Shh. Are you watching?

Is everybody watching? Shh.

We now return to our 12-part Fox News special report.

The Trumps ... an American Family.

Who's talking? It's me! Shh!

Donald J. Trump.

No American has accumulated

more in business, politics, or wives,

but of all his possessions,

he is proudest of his children.

There's Don Jr., the eldest,

whose no-frills intelligence proved no barrier

to his acceptance at an Ivy League university.

Not only did I get into Penn,

but they named a building after me before I even got into campus.

If Don puts his mind to it, there's nothing he can't receive.

Then there's Ivanka. What can be said about her

that hasn't already been disseminated by a public relations firm?

She's a devoted and loving mother to her brand.

My values are American values and the duty, love of family,

smart, good scarves, fragrance, children, inspiration,

and genuine human emotions with Ivanka Trump,

soft-shell outerwear with a belt for all.

Look, Ivanka's got it all.

She's attractive, beautiful, gorgeous,

not to mention she's easy on the eyes.

Then there's Eric.

- Hey, it's me! - Just FYI,

they had to edit down your interview for clarity.

I am Eric... son of... dad!

Um, I feel like that was maybe taken out of context.

I like to think of my family as a private jet.

I'm the pilot, Ivanka's the co-pilot,

Don's bossing around a stewardess,

and Eric is the free pair of ear buds.

They don't work very well, and you probably forget them in the bathroom,

but, hey, they're not actively harming you.

Wow! That's some family I've got, right?

We like that, don't we? We like that!

Let's watch it again at twice the volume.

Dad, did you notice something weird about the show last night?

Totally ... they interviewed me for seven hours

and only used the parts of me answering questions.

Hello! People want to see me being rude to the crew!

Well, I was kind of barely in it for one,

and did you notice the music got super scary

- when they showed my face? - I don't want to be a dick, Eric,

but it's sort of the music that plays in my head

when I look at your face.

I'm sorry to interrupt the symposium, Mr. President,

but there is an urgent matter.

I thought I said to run everything by Susan

- before bringing it to me. - We know there's no Susan

and that you just made her up to put off work.

Oh, that's out there? Well, then run it by... Tammy.

Sir, there's been a mudslide in Alaska.

Shall we load up Air Force One with fuel?

- Enhh! - And hot dogs?

Alaska, huh? It's not really my scene.

Not a huge fan of going place to place

wearing mittens and staring at 12 dogs's assholes.

- Fifty eight people are dead. - I'm more an 80-and-above guy.

I'd really like to get that quote higher.

Sir... they're white people.

I'm just saying I'd love to spend more time with the kids.

Plus the military pretty much runs the government now.

I mean, they don't even let me come to meetings anymore.

You are a figurehead, so you must wave to the sick and dying.

I guess you're right.

The people need me folksy, relatable presence.

Sir, the advance team has Purelled the victims

and moved the eights and nines to the front.

No tens? Why did I even want this job?

Oh, yeah, Obama made fun of me once.

All right, I got to walk down these airplane stairs.

Wish me luck.

Anything happens, tell my first wife I love her.

Nope!

Wow, look at this crowd!

What is this, 80,000 people?

Sir, my wife's been missing for 24 hours.

I've lost two wives. So if you think about it,

I've been twice as devastated as you.

All right, let's get to rebuilding. Who needs bricks and batteries?

Spoiler alert ... not enough to go around.

Here we go!

I'd toss you guys hot dogs,

but what am I gonna do the whole flight home, eat the seats?

All right, I've got to stop talking before I say something dumb.

Oop, beep beep! That's my ride.

Fuck you!

It's unbelievable. The victims have it so good.

I mean, I have to travel hundreds of miles,

but they live right at the disaster.

I mean, the commute barely leaves me time to watch TV

then thrash in bed till 4 a.m.,

- let alone spend time with my family. - Just send someone else.

What's the point of surviving a disaster

if you don't get to meet me afterwards?

Hey, loser, you're fired.

I'm Donald the Trump,

and I'm President of the United States.

It's like everyone is you.

They're like, "Bigly, tremendous."

- You know? - Hey, Melania.

I bet these impersonators would love to spend time

with people traumatized by natural disasters.

Donald Trump Jr.?

- Oh, hell yeah? - You've been served.

Sick! That's, like, my millionth subpoenas.

Mueller is totally obsessed with me.

Closed session? What a stalker.

Why don't I ever get investigated?

It's, like, n-nobody even notices all the undeclared

fruits and vegetables that I bring into the country.

Look, I've decided to take much-needed family time

and offload some lighter presidential responsibilities,

namely offering any emotional support to this country.

We knew this day would come.

That being said, I'd prefer not to take any shit for it,

so I need decoys, people.

McMasters, tell them the plan.

S.E.A.L. teams and unmanned drones will surveil every comic club,

amateur YouTube channel, and funny uncle's birthday party

to find any American with a passable Trump impersonation.

And, sir, just so you know,

I do a tremendous Trump.

Keep looking, and I'm not against

- bringing back the draft for this. - Sir, one hiccup.

We sort of double-booked S.E.A.L. Team 6.

- They're en route to capture Al Baghdadi. - Turn them around.

Do you guys get a bonus for every terrorist you capture?

Don't make me question whether you can handle this.

Don't worry, we'll find your impersonators.

Hmm. "Wanted: Trump Impersonators,

Thirty five bucks a day, must provide own fat suit or be fat," and post!

Bingo.

All right, you beautiful presidents.

This will be the hardest three days of your life.

You will not laugh, you will not cry,

you will not sleep more than three hours a night.

You will not finish a thought before starting your next thought.

This one time in 1995,

I was at the George magazine launch party,

and Mort Zuckerman had something in his teeth,

you wouldn't believe it.

I mean, it looked like a whole tree in there.

The first and last words out of your mouth should be,

"Believe me," you hear me?

Believe me, we hear you, believe me.

Now drop and brag about how many pushups you can do.

- More than you, that's for sure. - No one did pushups before I did pushups.

Infinity pushups.

I know I missed a lot of your births, but now I can finally be

the family man I always claimed I wanted to be

- and spend more time with you. - Hell yeah!

- That's wonderful, Daddy. - Did I do something wrong?

Okay, look. First thing's first,

we're gonna have a nice family dinner,

and don't even think about paying

because this one's on the taxpayers.

We're gonna do it up nice with all the classics ...

hot dogs, miniature hot dogs,

footlong hot dogs, chili dogs,

cheese dogs, Chicago-style dogs,

boiled dogs, little weenies on a stick,

pigs in a blanket, everything!

Sliced hot dogs, Kosher hot dogs,

plus one, big hot dog we can all take a picture with.

Sweet! I'm jacked! Vanessa's gonna be so excited!

- Who's Vanessa? - My wife.

Oh, no, no, I'm not learning new names tonight.

What do we call non-Norwegian countries?

Shitholes!

What's our nation's biggest threat?

Guatemalan toddlers!

Dad, I don't care what you say,

but I want to learn to be more like you.

I, Eric A. Trump ... "A" as in avocado ...

am going to join the impersonators.

I don't have a problem with this at all.

- I can get sent anywhere. - Okay.

- For G-God knows how long. - Great.

- It could be dangerous! - Right.

You might never s-see me again!!

Jesus, Eric, stop drilling. You hit oil.

Lift, bite, chew, swallow.

Lift, bite, chew, swallow.

What is your tremendous malfunction, son?!

Your ass can't make it through one measly 24-piece tailgate meal?!

- Sorry. - Because of Princess Eric here,

you've lost your chewing privileges, folks!

Lift, bite, swallow! Lift, bite, swallow!

- Ted Cruz! - Ugh!

Good as always to see you, Donald.

- What are you doing in there, Ted? - What am I doing?

What's all these white triangles?

Is it a hat? Are these little holes for my ears?

- I like 'em! - Could you ...

Just get to the part where this is over.

It's been a closely held secret that I covet the presidency,

and I can't think of a better way to show I'm the man for the job

than by dressing up and impersonating the current one.

Hello, it's me, Donald J. Trump, the apprentice!

- No. - I do other impressions.

How about Back to the Future?

- Please don't. - Zoom zoom.

Eighty eight miles an hours, here I go!

- That's plenty. - I do a terrific Gollum.

- No. - Give me that ring back.

- Somebody's got my ring! - Stop.

Got to go get it! I love my precious ring.

Hobbit, hobbit, hobbit. Ted Cruz!

Stand there! Stand there! Stand there!

You know, I could go a lot faster if I just walked up it.

The only time Donald Trump walks is to get to an escalator!

Now, do you want to be Donald Trump, or do you want to be Eric?

- D-Donald Trump! - Then open your pie hole,

insert pie, and start acting like it!

Lift, bite, swallow, thigh.

Lift, bite, swallow, wing. Lift, bite, swallow, breast.

Disgusting. Nice work.

That's impossible!

Only a cheetah can ride a escalator that fast.

This is your final test.

Scale the wall, cross the moat,

then crawl under the wire with live machine-gun fire.

Sir, I need to be excused. I have bone spurs.

What did you just say?

Bone spurs. Got 'em bad.

I see. Anyone else here have bone spurs?

Congratulations, gentlemen.

♪ Let's make impulsive choices and lift up wealthy voices ♪

♪ Hail to thee, our Donald Trump ♪

- We really did a great job. - Unbelievable!

He's graduating with straight tens,

voted most likely to hire a professional wrestler

to pose as his personal physician,

and served as captain of the war widow debate team.

Please welcome your valedictorian,

Eriiiic Truuuump!

Hey, nobody cry while he's talking.

Webster's dictionary defines Donald Trump

as the 45th President to the United States.

- Eric, you're so cool! - But we're not just people

who pretend to be the president, we're also people who pretend

to be my dad. All right, let's go party

with a weird smattering of desperate celebrities!

As we all know, so that I may avoid

the gross part of being president,

Eric and his unit will deploy for their assignments

as Trump impersonators.

So, if there's anything you want to say to him, say it now.

Eric, you inspire me and mothers like me.

You go, girl. Lean in.

Dear Eric, I used to think you couldn't do jack shit.

But now I see that you can actually do shit.

I'm gonna, like, miss you and shit.

You're more than my brother now. You're also my dad.

Oh, shit, man. You made my eyes gay!

Fuck you, Eric! I love you.

- Nobody look at me. - Bye-bye, Eric.

Well, I guess this is it.

I'm assigned to work in the White House,

so I'm gonna head in.

For something so big, "bus" is such a short name.

Hey, you guys remember when I wasn't crying before?

All right, gentlemen,

we got one Trump in Oklahoma observing tornado wreckage.

One's at a shooting range finding judicial nominees.

One is accusing Robert Mueller of being a child molester.

- And the rest are screaming at televisions. - What about Eric?

Did you give him something easy to get his feet wet?

Sir, I found the best way to teach a man to swim

is to pump his stomach full of nickels and throw him in the ocean.

Our two countries are engaged

in practical economic cooperation

and giving concrete expression to building mutually beneficial

international relations. Mr. Trump?

- Um... - This isn't working.

- It's tranquilizer time. - Cock it, but don't fire.

Do you want to be Donald Trump

or Eric whatever your last name is?

One time in 1995, I was at the George magazine launch party,

and Mort Zuckerman had something in his teeth.

It looked like a whole tree in there.

But, uh, I-I told him because he's my buddy,

and communication is the basis of talking.

Like, if my brother and I are mad at each other,

we always talk it out before we go to sleep.

That way we don't keep fighting in our dreams.

Our nations, too, will be brothers

and form a sacred bond of understanding and respect.

Jesus Christ, he's got it.

Why aren't you crying, Kelly? What are you made of, Tank?

Lot of news to get to.

A rare win for the Trump administration,

but first September 1995,

New York, Manhattan.

JFK Jr., son of President Kennedy

and his wife, Jacqueline, has started George magazine.

They're having a launch party. Remember that.

Now, four billion years earlier,

explosion of biological diversity leads to trees.

Little trees, big trees, like those seen here.

I think those are firs. Fast forward to 1937,

Mortimer Benjamin "Mort" Zuckerman is born.

He grows teeth, loses those,

grows an adult set, lots of teeth.

At the George magazine launch party,

a man notices that Mort has something in his teeth

so large that it looks like a tree.

But before we say who that man is, let's talk about Pangaea.

All right, family dinner.

We better have a nice, natural conversation

considering I've put the full weight of the largest military on Earth

into hiring impersonators for me.

Melania, how was your day?

- Well, I woke up, I got coffee. - Uh-huh.

I put the little white sands in the coffee.

- Keep going. - I said hello to the army man,

- I said, "I'm the First Lady." - Love it.

- Then I went and did my crying. - Sure.

- Then lunch, today it was soup. - So great, honey.

- Then more crying, then Ellen. - Uh-huh. Don?

All right, so I've been

- really reevaluating shit lately. - Uh-huh.

Like, I've been doing this whole real-estate,

- politics thing like forever. - Wow.

- I think because, you know, it was easy. - Totally.

And then this morning,

- I heard Brad flipped his ATV. - Love it.

And now he's gone. And I'm like,

- "Whoa. Life is short." - Uh-huh.

And I never stopped to think,

- "Is this what I want to do?" - Sure.

Anyway, I think skiing might be my passion.

- Are you even listening?! - Uh-huh.

Oh, yeah? Then what was I talking about?

- Ellen died. - What? I just saw her today.

Ellen, take me with you!

You're a dick, Dad! His name was Brad.

Say his name! Oh, shit, man.

Brad was only 38. Just a kid like me!

I must never forget this isn't normal.

What's so important? I thought I told you

never to disturb me for any reason whatsoever.

I'm sorry, sir, it's the impersonators.

They're... gah, how do you say this?

They're working! One is shaking hands with poor people,

another one gave a coherent speech,

and get this, your approval rating?

- It skyrocketed to 40%! - Forty percent?

So people like the MEs that aren't me?

I don't know how this me feels about those thems.

What do you think, Stephen Miller?

Sir, this is the wrong way to go about this.

If we want more of you, then we need more of you.

All I need is a cheek swab,

sterile turkey baster, and coven of ovulating lesbian hyenas

to create a horde of Trump super-beasts

- that will reign terror ... - Okay, thanks, Stevie.

- Thank you, sir. Yes, done talking. - What were you saying, McMasters?

The impersonators have made you more popular.

That would imply that I have room for improvement,

that I'm flawed, like Eric.

Sir, I know you don't want to hear this,

but Eric is kind of a great president. Did you know, sir,

that he can think words without saying them?

But Eric can't do anything well!

He didn't even learn to walk until he was seven.

And even then it was more of an upright crawl.

- Sir? - I'll take my hot dogs alone.

How could you excel at something on your own merit?

It's not how I paid people to raise you.

Sorry that President Xi actually appreciates me

and the way I open my mouth not just to speak, but to listen.

Well, I miss the old Eric

who never undermined me by being good at things.

The old Eric would've met President Xi wearing one sock

with his breath reeking of crickets.

- Then maybe I'm not a Trump! - What else?

Come on, guys.

Let's bomb over to Brad's after-funeral.

I heard some dude with a ponytail is trying to fight everyone.

Honk honk, zoom zoom!

It's the car from Back to the Future!

Just kidding, it's Ted Cruz!

I heard you're one impersonator short,

and if I'm going to take up the mantle,

I've got to get to know the real Donald

after he's kicked off his boots and gotten his Roku on.

You're lucky I've lost touch with my family

and I'm desperate for even the lowest form of human contact.

So much great content coming out of Hollyweird right now.

Let's see what they got in the way of independent dramas

with a strong female lead. Speaking of strong females,

I like it when a lady stomps her high heel on my coin purse.

Would that be in character, Don?

Ooh, Riverdale! Hearing great buzz around that.

Buzz buzz! There's also buzz that you like to be spanked

with a copy of Forbes magazine. Now, I like a lady to beat me

senseless with a National Review while I beg her to stop!

Whoo! Grace and Frankie!

Two iconoclasts making their way around San Diego.

I also enjoy the occasional punch in the butthole!

Whoo! Better Call Saul!

Thanks for letting me stay here while I figure out my identity.

Trump, or Eric, or just a weird guy who lives in a cabin.

Please consider the Pence home your personal sanctuary.

Before we crack open some tall, frosty Hawaiian Punches,

you should be aware the Pence house has rules.

Absolutely no swearing,

and the includes "cheese" and "I cheesed."

That's fine. What's the deal with the painting?

It's a laundry basket that was in the family for years,

but she's no longer with us.

Our sweet, determined kitty got to it.

- That cheese-faced cat! - Michael! Shame on you.

And now the basket's buried

- in the backyard with cousin Dan. - Cousin Dan?

That's what we called our other laundry basket.

It got struck by a car going 50 in a 55. Hit and run.

What kind of monster hits a laundry basket and doesn't stop?

Karen, where's that Hawaiian Punch?!

Three minutes with the Pences taught me one thing.

I cannot escape that I am a Trump. I must face my destiny,

gather my brethren, and claim what is ours.

And the best part is I can leave on the diaper,

throw on my clothes, and go right back to work

for the American people and none's the wiser.

Ooh, Stranger Things.

Mr. President, you need to follow me

- to the situation room. - It doesn't matter, let's go.

The impersonators have become

a roving band of sloth-like fatties, sir,

hiring and suing other Trump impersonators to join them.

They're so deep in character, sir,

they've come to the White House to claim the presidency as their own.

There's only one way to stop 'em.

Burn the White House to the ground.

Any other ideas?

We can do what we usually do ... extrajudicial killings ...

I mean murder ... I mean targeted drone strike!

Ooh, drones? That sounds good.

- Let's get ... - Wait, Dad. Look!

Don't kill Eric. He'll be super pissed.

It's off-brand.

Bigly. Tremendous! Mort Zuckerman.

Super huge!

Okay, Eric, it's time to come home.

You made whatever the hell your point is.

Fake news! I'm the president.

- Believe me. - We're all the president.

- Believe us. - Bigly, tremendous.

None of you are Donald Trump!

I am the only Donald Trump

because I'm the only person here who is Eric's father.

And you are Eric, son of Dad.

Someone very smart once said that if we're mad at each other,

we should always talk it out before going to sleep

so that we don't keep fighting in our dreams.

Wait, I said that.

Well, I mean, you were dressed as me, so technically, I said it.

I'm never gonna try to impress you again.

And I'll never try to be a loving father

unless there's an obvious benefit for me.

Mr. President, guess what?

I got your white triangles two-steppin' on my taint.

What do I have to do to get rid of you freaks?!

I wouldn't mind the 35 bucks you owe us.

Sure, we'll cut the check right away. Fire up the drones.

I'm glad you're back to being Eric, Eric.

Hey, Dad, are you gonna, like, get in trouble

for killing those dudes?

We'll be fine. Drone strikes are bipartisan.

Obama actually called to congratulate me.

Really?

You know, drones usually blast people apart,

but they brought us together!