Stare into the void y'all (Photo: Nicole Disser)

Stare into the void y’all (Photo: Nicole Disser)

A flock of Trump groupies gathered on the eastern side of McCarren Park yesterday, but there was nary a “Thank You Lord Jesus” sign to be found. Instead they were wielding sticks and lining up to bash their patron saint. Well, in reality we can’t be sure where anybody helping to destroy a pair of Donald Trump piñatas–created by the people at Ratter— leans politically.

Aside from a brief introduction, there wasn’t much ceremony before the bat wielders were unleashed on the pucker-faced likeness of the GOP’s most entertaining candidate (which is saying a lot, holy crap). We’re not super practiced in the art of voodoo dolls or anything, but we’re guessing some sort of sacred blessing of the object at hand is necessary prior to inflicting injury. But maybe that void was filled by stuffing the Donald with dollar bills?

Either way, everyone took their turn at the bat with varying degrees of bloodlust as the senior and then junior Big Daddy D dangled helplessly from a tree near the fence line. A pair of burly dudes in lucha masks known as Chango provided the soundtrack, jamming out furiously on an electronic drum pad and synth. (We realized later these guys hail from Mexico and, if we’d asked, probably would have had the most tangible position on Mr. Trump, though interrupting their set would have been a shame.)

As the music grew louder, the Donald’s papier-mâché body became more flaccid, and the crowd swelled with curious passersby. Even the dogs took a break from sniffing one another’s butts to have their own go at the bits of Trump falling to pieces on the ground.

Chango and the head of the enemy (Photo: Nicole Disser)

Chango and the head of the enemy (Photo: Nicole Disser)

After the second wispy-headed fiesta dumpling was raised up to the height from which his brother had fallen, it was only a matter of minutes before we’d all witness its demise. A boy in a baseball uniform with a real bat in tow emerged in the middle of the crowd, seemingly out of nowhere. He was quickly blindfolded and before anyone could say, “Don’t hit below the belt,” the kid had blasted the last of Donald’s torso into oblivion. Dollar bills fluttered out wimpily as pizza boxes appeared on the scene, signaling the party was over.