There are plans to emphasize different themes each night of the convention. Mr. Trump wants to touch on a few of his favorite hot-button issues, like the 2012 attack on the American diplomatic compound in Benghazi, former President Clinton’s infidelities and border security. — New York Times
[A soft-rock beat as the corpse of MUAMMAR GADDAFI is dragged around the stage by ARABS wearing dark greasepaint and loose-fitting muslin clothes; as they leave, U.S. MARINES march jauntily in place as AMBASSADOR STEVENS sings to the tune of Toto’s “Rosanna”:]
Thought it was my callin’ after Lib-i-ya had fallen to clean up the place —
Shoulda known that Hillary the Traitor would get in my face!
I tried to help the Arabs even though they’re filthy scarabs but they called me a fag —
Then Hil-la-ry, she sent them after me just to disgrace the flag!
[Music shifts to "Ride of the Valkyries"; a swarm of Cirque du Soleil acrobats identifiable as HILLARY CLINTONS by their fat-butted pantsuits and blonde hair swoop in, with small puppets — also Arabs, on the model of Achmed The Dead Terrorist — strapped to their chests. The HILLARY CLINTONS’ arms and the Arab puppets’ arms are connected, so that whenever an ARAB clubs, stabs, or sodomizes STEVENS — or OTHER LOYAL AMERICANS who wander in at some point — it is clearly a HILLARY CLINTON actually doing the clubbing/ stabbing/ sodomizing. Some HILLARY CLINTONS also restrain the U.S. MARINES to the sides of the stage, where they brandish their weapons impotently.]
[After STEVENS and the LOYAL AMERICANS are all dead the ARABS, gibbering contentedly, drag them offstage. The MARINES sadly march forward. A huge hologram of MUAMMAR GADDAFI appears and laughs derisively, joined by holograms of derisively-laughing HITLER, STALIN, and ELIZABETH WARREN. The MARINES brandish their weapons at the holograms till they fade away, supplanted by a hologram of DONALD TRUMP, whereupon the MARINES cheer, stand at attention, and go “ooh-rah”; then they get in solemn formation as the music changes to "The Ballad of the Green Berets." Far upstage, effigies of HILLARY, BILL, and CHELSEA CLINTON, clearly dead, are borne aloft on halberds by men dressed like REVOLUTIONARY WAR SOLDIERS. MARINES sing to the tune of the Ballad:]
Let their deaths not be in vain!
Shoot each Clinton in the brain!
Throw their bodies in a dump
And go vote for Donald Trump!
[A troupe of dancers enact a series of attempted sexual assaults by chubby white men with white pompadours to the tune of "Midnight Rambler" by The Rolling Stones. BILL CLINTON comes onstage, dragging by her hair over a carpet of dollar bills a dancer who looks like PAULA JONES, whom he drops and leaves comatose before strolling center stage and addressing the audience as the music vamps:]
Hi, y’all. I’m former President Slick Willy Clinton. [pause for boos] Now as y’all know I’m from the South — but not the good South you folks know, where Jesus reigns and certain people [pushes in nose] know their place. [Pause for cheers.] No, no, I’m not from your Bible-beating, fag-bashing South at all — I’m from what them Black Lives Matter types call the Dirty South, the ATL — that stands for “Anti Traditionalvalues Lesbianism” — where people like me learn deviant sexual ways from rapists like Emmett Till. [Pause for boos.] Sure, some people say he was innocent, but they said the same about that “gentle giant” Michael Brown, know what I’m saying? [pause for cheers] Hey, did y’all know my Momma was a whore? [pause for cheers] ‘Scuse me, I meant [finger quotes] “single mother” [pause for laughter]. And between that and my other “dark” influences, I can’t help myself — as the nation’s first black president — sorry, Bah-rack! — and I just gots to force myself on white women! And one of the first white women I forced myself on — though I can’t be sure, there was so many — was Hillary — who warn’t much to look at even then [pause for whoops, cheers, gunfire], but though she was in love with the black stuff, at the same time she was too racist — ain’t that right, Clarence! — [gets “thumbs up” from Clarence Thomas in the gallery, cheers, gunfire] — too racist to have relations with an actual black man! [whispers into the mike] That’s right, America — every fantasy you ever had about liberals being n-word-lovers and racists all at the same time — even when your liberal friends the schoolteachers, federal employees, bookworms and sissy-boys said you was crazy — is proved to be true by me, right here on this stage tonight! [Cheers, gunfire, fistfights, self-pegging. BILL CLINTON sings to the tune of "Midnight Rambler":]
Talkin’ ‘bout the midnight Clinton
I’m havin’ sex ‘most all the time
Talking’ ‘about the midnight Clinton
Unlike your sex, mine is a crime
Your wife submits to your advances
Because her preacher says she must
A gal who goes with me free-lances
It’s totally immoral lust.
Talking’ ‘bout the midnight Clinton
Juanita Broaddrick, Paula Jones
I held ‘em down and made ‘em take it
Just like with the Obamaphones!
I might have sex with any woman,
Might even have it with your wife
If she sleeps with me because she wants to,
Then what’s that say about your life?
[HILLARY CLINTON emerges from the wings, physically restrains the PAULA JONES dancer while BILL CLINTON simulates intercourse with her; this goes on an uncomfortably long time; URL, 800 number flash at the bottom of the screen, asking for donations to TRUMP.]
[PETER THIEL comes out to confused, quiet applause.]
Good evening, I’m Peter Thiel. [Still confused, quiet applause] Come on, you know! I made PayPal! PAYPAL! [Slightly less confused, but still quiet applause] Yeah, well who cares what you stupid littlebrains think. Anyway I made a game for you to play. [Smattering of applause.] Oh, yeah, you like that, don’t you, peasants? And it’s about illegal immigrants! [Applause increases.] Ugh, who needs this! Go play you stupid game, you waste products! I own you!
[THIEL storms off the stage as consoles are distributed to the delegates and a game takes place on stage — the good guys try to build a wall out of bricks, the bad guys try to get their avatars (who all look like Danny Trejo) to hop over it, and when they do hop over it the good guys try to shoot them. The delegates play this excitedly until the fence-hoppers start to win, at which point the delegates take out their real guns and start shooting each other, at which point coverage is suspended and GOP officials blame it all on Islamic terrorism.]