In the Oval Office:
FLYNN: And so you see, Mr. President, there are suggestions that Kim Jong Un’s grip on—
TRUMP: Is that a tinfoil hat on your head?
TRUMP: I like it. Get me one, all right? Put MAGA on it. Use a Sharpie. That’s an order. Now, you were telling me about Nordstroms.
FLYNN: Sir. I was actually telling you about the South China Sea, the lizard people infiltration, and—
TRUMP: Yada yada, I already comprehended all that. I comprehend well, better than almost anyone, okay? So, Nordstroms.
FLYNN: The store?
TRUMP: Store, pfft. It’s a bad store, the worst. Got that perfume counter and all that girlie stuff. Can’t stand it. Buncha losers. Some hot mannequins, though, amirite?
FLYNN: Such a great movie, Mannequin. Turns out, Andrew McCarthy is a Venusian cloud person. He once—
TRUMP: I coulda had Kim Catrall anytime I wanted. Anytime. She loved me. Begged me for it. The best, Kim. Anyway, Nordstroms. They dumped Vank’s brand. Very unfair. Let’s ban ‘em.
TRUMP, nodding: Ban ‘em.
FLYNN, over his shoulder: Steve, you around?
BANNON, off stage, mumbling through a mouthful of food: Summon me properly!
TRUMP: Is he eating all the snacks again? Every goddamned snack bowl in the White House is picked clean. I should issue an Executive Order about it. Nazis can’t eat out of snack bowls, period. Make it apply to the whole country. Think that’ll pass with the so-called judges? No one likes Nazis.
FLYNN: Except us.
TRUMP: Right. Except us. Love schnitzel, is why. Should put some of that in a snack bowl.
FLYNN: Sir, I should tell you that snack bowls are actually a Muslim plot to—
BANNON, off stage: Still here! Summon me, but do it PROPERLY!
FLYNN: Oh, ferfucksake. Fine. ACHTUNG, HERR BANNON!
BANNON, entering, clicking heels, raising right arm.
TRUMP: Dammit, Mike, I didn’t hide the snack bowl yet!
FLYNN: But…you asked for him, sir.
TRUMP: What? No, I said ‘Ban ‘em.’
FLYNN: I thought you said—
BANNON: SIEG HEIL, MEIN FUHRER!
TRUMP: Steve, didn’t I say no Merkelese in the Oval?
BANNON: Ja, mein— Er, all right. Wait, are those M&Ms in that snack bowl?
TRUMP, sliding the bowl back: Presidential M&Ms, Steve. You eat them and I’ll have Mattis come in here and order you to do fifty push-ups. You think you got fifty push-ups in you, Steve?
FLYNN: Sir, you shouldn’t be eating M&Ms at all. The red ones were engineered to steal your testosterone. It’s part of a feminist time-traveler Martian plot.
BANNON, eyeing M&MS: ….
FLYNN: You get it? A MARtian plot? Get it?
BANNON, drooling: Ja.
TRUMP: What’d I say about the Merkelese! What’d I just fucking say? And no, I don’t get it, Mike. It was a joke? Probably you told it badly. You’re the worst at jokes, Mike. The worst.
FLYNN: Well, it’s because the Mars company makes M&Ms and the Mars family is one of the founding members of the feminist Illuminati and—
TRUMP: Yada yada. Lost me already. You might as well be talkin’ Merkelese.
BANNON, lunges across room starts gobbling M&Ms, mumbles: Meine wahre Liebe.
TRUMP: Goddammit, Steve!
FLYNN: He’ll be Stephanie by the time he wakes up tomorrow, sir. I told you not to eat the red ones, Steve. You didn’t have much testosterone to begin with.
BANNON: Fick Dich, Herr Flynn!
TRUMP: Merkelese! Merkelese!
FLYNN, advancing on BANNON: You know what, Stephanie….
FLYNN and BANNON together: What?
TRUMP: God damn it! I wanted you to tell me how I could screw ‘em over. Nordstroms, the store with the hot Kim Catralls. Now one of you is shouting in Merkelese and the other one’s in a tinfoil hat and all my M&Ms are gone.
FLYNN: It’s just like a cabinet meeting!
BANNON: Ja! I mean, yeah!
TRUMP, sighing: Get out, both of you. I’ll just tweet about it.