FRIENDS!
Look what I have for you—another adventure! For those who don’t know about Adventures in Reality (aka Future Memories) They are an exercise in processing reality through absurdist writing. My friends & I used to write them when we were revolutionary young upstarts. But then i became a respectable citizen for awhile & wrote no Adventures.
But since 2007 I’ve written about one per year. I managed to squeeze one out at the end of last year & now I’m squeezing one in at the beginning of this year because—HOLY SHIT!!—what world do we live in??
I thought it would be appropriate to mash our current reality with ‘Pink Flamingoes’ mainly based on the spies both being named Mueller. Enjoy
***************************************
Once Upon A Manafort, President Donald Trump woke up and realized he was all alone. The whole White House, the honeycombs of Congress, the Pentagram, the Extreme Court…all of Warrington, JZ deserted.
He sat on the toilet and tweeted. “Woke up and realized my daughter Jarvanka ♀ and many other people are missing from Wars R Us. Where everybody at? Hmu.”
For awhile there was no response but finally special counsel Bob “Cookie” Mueller tweeted back “And the winner is…Miss Mongolia” which was code for “Get your ass to my office I have Intelligence for you”
So he mounted Golf Cart 1 and sputtered over to FBI hindquarters. It was obvious Cookie Mueller had Level 5 bad news. “If you’re wondering where everyone is…” he clawed a file from the desk & tore it open “It’s all in here. Surveillance drones around the city captured these photos.”
Donald wasped as he groped the stack of photos showing all his colleagues & loved ones being abdulla’d by a pair of blue-haired villains in a red helicopter.
“When did this happen?”
“It seems to have occurred during your 9-week golfing tour along the Mexican border”
“Who are those losers w/ hair color #630 Mermaid’s Pool by Nice & Easy? They’re way too old for that color.”
“I don’t know who they are but I traced the copter to a Russian real estate mob in upstate New York. I think they may be comrades of Vlads Putin.”
“The Coolest World Leader in the World?”
“Yes that’s the one.”
“So what should we do?”
“I say we take a trip to Russia, sir.”
*************************** CUT TO:
After securing a room at Motel Stroika, Cookie Mueller left the President to do some feral, bureaucratic investigation.
“Why can’t i go with you?” Donald had esquired.
“I just need to siphon some data” Cookie had told him.
The President hadn’t protested too much when Cookie tied him to the chair, but when he took away the Tweetmachine there were tears.
“Hope the dipshit doesn’t go & have a heart party,” he thought as he traipsed through beautiful downtown Moscow. The Krispy-Krem rose in the distance like a prosthetic circus tent. “Here we are.”
At once Cookie noticed something queer going on in the Red Hood. It was like time had sent its last text from1960. The cars , the hair, the clothes… the peak of atomic chic!
Then he spotted a vintage mobile home parked behind Vlads’ castle. “What’s this mobile home that stands before me? Let’s have a look inside!”
He pickled over & had a look & could not believe his pores! There in the shag living room sat a playpen & in the playpen sat Mrs. Pence wearing nothing but bra & girdle. She was gerbiling out for eggs.
“Vlads! Vlads! Cotton! Cotton! Where is the Eggman? I need my eggs right now!”
A gaunt syphilitic blond entered the room. “It’s all right, Mother. The Eggman’ll be here soon. You just sit tight.”
Cookie couldn’t believe it. “Kellyanne?”
“Oh, Cotton, “ Mrs. Pence whined to KellyAnne, “I can hardly wait. I just love my eggs soo much.”
“I know, Mother. It won’t be long. Now you know I have to go into town today. Crackers & I are shopping for Vlads’ birthday fiasco.”
“When is it, Cotton?”
“It’s tomorrow night.”
“Can I invite the Eggman?”
“Of course you can, Mother. You can sabotage anyone you like.”
As if on cue a voice came calling from the other side of the mobile home. “Eggs! Eggs! I got yer eggs here!”
Mother Pence quivered like she would rapture from her playpen. “Oh God!! In here Mr. Eggman! In here!”
Cotton/KellyAnne opened the door & in walked none other than VP Pence, carrying a fabulous Oscar de la Renta cryo-clutch. It spewed plumes of carbon dioxide.
Wow, thought Cookie, this is elaborate. Have they been brain-washed? Are they reanimated zombies caught in some perverse role playing game?
The drama inside the trailer continued as Eggman Pence opened his luxe cryo kit & pulled out a tray of delicate petri dishes.
“Look what I have for you today! I have eggs harvested violently from demure maidens all around the gym! I have little white boy eggs & little white girl eggs! I have big immaculate eggs laid from Europe’s pure & undefiled menstrual line! I have eggs from China & Thailand & Ethiopia!”
“Oh I don’t want that kind! I want the big white ones w/ the royal blood! You know how I like them!”
The Eggman handed Mother a petri dish of royal ova. She squeed and took it in trembling fingertips, stroked it, cooing to the little princes/esses within. But there was more.
“Today I also have vials of hi-potency fertilizer sold separately…and I have some already made up” he wagged a large petri dish enticingly at Mrs. Pence.
“You mean… you have eggs already made up into babies?”
“That’s right Mother, frozen embryos. Which are babies. So what’ll it be for the lady that the eggs love the most?”
Mother reached for the container of human sea monkeys as if it were an engagement ring, trembling and squirting the biggest goosebumps Cookie had ever seen. “Oh Mr. Eggman! This is a miracle! I feel so blessed to have you as my egg man. Please don’t ever stop bringing me my pretty little eggies.”
“Oh, I will always be your Eggman. As long as my legs are walkin’, and my head is talkin’ exactly like how God sounds, and there are evil sluts everywhere bleeding out their babies on unholy napkins I will be your egg man. You can count on that.”
Mother opened her petri dish & started petting & kissing the embryos until her face was covered in goo.
“Mr. Eggman, will you be my date for Vlads’ party?”
“Of course! I would be proud to call you my Egglady!”
They kissed. Kellyanne/Cotton returned all showered & dressed in her paisleyest dress, her brassy mop now an impeccable beehive.
“Okay you two. I have to go out now. You save some of those eggs Mother—remember we have to make full grown babies with them!”
“I will, Cotton. Bye-bye!”
***************
Cookie crouched down as Cotton left the trailer. Then he followed her over to Vlads’ equinery. He peered through the slats as she went in to talk to the stable genius, who looked a lot like Don Jr.
“Hey Crackers, you about ready for our date?” Of course Jr had a stupid food name too. Cookie was sensing a theme.
“Yep. Vlads will be down any picosecond, then we can secrete!”
And just like that, there he was—Vlads himself. Cookie almost belted out a torchsong but remembered he was on spy duty. Shirtless, rippling at the core, nipples like little fascists standing at attention. Vlads was a vision of me-generation grandeur. He carried a Kalashnikov & a raw steak. “My horse is ready?”
“Yup” Don/Crackers Jr slapped the horse’s rump. Vlads tossed the steak onto its back then mounted it like a piece of gymnastic equipment. “I’ll be back w/ party foods,” Vlads told them, then rode away into the urban tundra.
******************
Back at Motel Stroika DT was having DTs from Twitter withdrawal.
“I’m not tweeting, therefore—do I exist? I’m not sure anymore. I’ve never been alone for this long before. It hurts! It hurts! Help! Tweet, tweet! Who can hear me??”
He cried and thrashed about in his restraints. Then he grew tired and cranky.
“Oh why can’t I be as cool as Vlads Putin? Always doing stuff without a shirt. I wish I had those abs. I wish I knew how to hunt dissidents on horseback. Oh God I want to tweet about working on my abs when I get re-elected!!”
******************
Meanwhile—
Vlads trots through the deep Moscow woods on his meat-draped steed, his automatic held casually in one hand, reigns in the other. “Oh Horse Putin, why I’m not as cool as DonaldTrump? Colorful entertainer of Free & Untrue world who can walk down iconic Route 66 shooting gophers and still get pissed on by lovely prose tit yoot. How he can weigh 500 lbs & not die of heart party? I want that body! I want big gold apartment, not silly clown castle! I want beautiful daughter like Tiffany, not my funny-looking Katerina, malformed by pollonium cocktail I serve Liudmilla in 2nd trimester. Damn you Donald, for making me look like littlest doll in nest. Damn you!!!”
He shoots a leopard.
********************** CUT TO:
Cookie was exploring the rest of the Krispy-Krem perimeter, looking for JZ insiders. Using his periscopic spyglass he peered into the windows of the blue & white onion dome. And there they were — Jarvanka ♀ and ♂— doing unspeakable things to each others’ feet.
Well, looky here. I found the Jarvanka fuck chamber itself, Cookie congratulated himself.
Jarvanka ♀’s hair was dyed taxi cab yellow, Jarvanka ♂’s was borscht red. Like the rest of the town they were styled in Kennedy-era splendor.
“I love you Jarvanka ♂” slurred Jarvanka ♀, “I love you more than my brand new line of self-loading handbags, more than the sound of slot machine klaxons, why, I love you more than my own hair color!”
“And I, Jarvanka ♀, also love you more than myyy own hair color. More than the smell of money being minted! More than the sound of high-end hookers being born do I love thee!”
At that there was a loud squishy noise and a baby’s cry.
Jarvanka ♀ and ♂ ceased their toe-fondling and listened. “Where’s Erring? Why isn’t he tending to it?”
“ERRRRRINGGGGGG!!!” called Jarvanka ♀, “There’s been a delivery!”
No answer.
The baby stopped holyrolling for a moment and they could hear a voice in the next room. They clutched their hairdos and tiptoed over—
Cookie followed with his periscopic lens—
to find Eric Trump poised before his vanity dressed just like his sister Jarvanka ♀. Same mac & cheese hair. Same lacy cone-bra size AB-negative. Same flawless make-up palette, except with flaws. ‘I love you Jarvanka ♂, more than my beautiful line of automatic handbags…’ he barked to himself in the mirror.
“WHAT is the MEANING of this??” Jarvanka ♀ preached louder than the newborn.
Eric jumped up and tried to cover himself. “Oh God, Jarvanka ♀ it’s nothing! It doesn’t mean anything…”
“How dare you mock my wife’s all-you-can-eat appearance and vomit words we fed to each other in matrimonial collusion!” Jarvanka ♂ lunged at Eric’s throat.
“Oh Christ, Jarvanka ♂, I wasn’t mocking, I was just playing! Just playing, that’s all…”
“Well you’re on the clock. You’re not supposed to be plaaayingg. There’s a niblet in there that needs to be tagged & microchipped for adoption!” Jarvanka ♀ spelled.
“Then there will be disciplinary action for your flagrant breach of contract!” Jarvanka ♂ multiplied.
“Oh no Jarvanka ♂,” Eric sobbed, “I’m sorry I’ve been Kafkaesque lately. It’s just that I get lonely… I miss home… and dad—“
“What are you talking about, Erring?”
“You know… home… America. And the President of America, our dad—?”
“He’s not making sense again. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s under a lot of duress. Erring, did the Eggman come today?”
“Yes,” Erring drooled, “I put it in the fridge.”
“Good. After you get the baby ready, I want you to impregnate all the new girls. And don’t even think of using your own inferior juices!”
“Oh please Jarvanka♀ just a little?”
“No Erring. We can’t get our DNA on them or we’ll be executed in the Red Hood.”
“Waah, I don’t like this job. I want to go home.”
“Quit crocheting and do it!”
Cookie circled the onion looking for the nursery. What he found was more like a medieval dungeon full of prostitutes & slaves chained to the walls. One of them had just given birth — a wet infant snored between her knees. “Hope Hixie Communications Pixie?”
Erring entered with a filthy basinette. He severed the cord w/ his teeth & embezzled the baby away.
“My eaglet!” cried Hope Hixie “Where are you taking my sublet??”
“It’s not your piglet! This cutlet belongs to Vlads!” drizzled Erring, “Right Little Noodle? You’re Vlads’ side dish now” Erring absconded w/ the baby & it was hard to allocate who was crying the saddest.
*******************
Cookie had seen too much but still felt a bit counter-intelligent. It was time to check in with the Blue Hairs.
He scissored over to the green & gold onion dome & notched his spycam down to basement level. And there they were—BH1 & BH2 at their computers disseminating propaganda at warp speed. Cookie tapped on the window. BH2 let him in. “You made it.”
“Yep here I am. Can you fill me in?”
“Well, it wasn’t hard to round everyone up. We said we were flying them to a luxury european gunshow destination to benefit the President’s foreign business interests.” explained BH1
“Once we got here, our mystic went to work transporting them back to the most magical safe space in all recorded time—Camelot! There they could let their guard down and be as overt in their shadow selves as they wanted” said BH2
“You have a mystic?”
“Ivan Waters. World class mentalist.” BH2 pointed to the skinniest storkiest bald guy w/ the most anorexic moustache Cookie had ever seen. “Don’t look at him too long, he has a potent gift.”
“I see.” bled Cookie, “And what about Vlads?”
“Oh Ivan’s charmed him into obsessing about all things American—beauty, popularity, Jesus, family values.”
“Wow, he does have a gift!” Cookie degreed, “Anyhoo, I’ve had a look around and I’m sensing a human trafficking ring of some sort?”
‘Ding ding ding” BH1 & 2 are impressed by Cookie’s deductive espionage, “That’s right. Vlads is running an eco-conscious self-sustaining prostitution & human trafficking ring and calling it— The Miss America Pageant. He invites young nubile women from all around the globe to participate in beauty pageants, then kidnaps & impregnates the ones that are attractive enough. When the babies are born, he decides which ones get sold and which ones he keeps to perpetuate the ring. Of course his main financier is DT, whether he knows it or not”
“I would say not. Did I see Hope Hixie up there?”
“Yes we caught her telling white lies about whether the President’s Klan membership is up to date.” said BH2
“So we figured she could do some penance in the breeding dome” BH1 jackaled.
“What happened to the heir she produced this morning?”
“Cha-ching! You wouldn’t believe how much the Smirnoffs paid for that anklet!” BH1 & 2 HI-5 each other.
“So what exactly do you two do here in the Krispy-Krem basement?” Cookie probed
“We brandish the imaginary hivemind with our keyboards. We macrame vicious propaganda about candidate West and pin it to Twitter. We sit back and watch the American people fall for this all over again.”
BH1 points to a fake news story about Crooked Kanye accepting gifts from a smitten Angela Merkel. And using the proceeds to fund plastic surgery for all his JZ comeys because quote “I will make America smokin’ hot again. Politicians will never make any change until they change how janky they look. ”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”
“America is sensitive about its looks these days. We’re in an era of self-love. So this looks really bad for West.”
“Got it. So what about this party tomorrow?” shoveled Cookie
“Just show up w/ the President. And wear your wire taps!”
As he was leaving, Cookie caught sight of Vlads galloping up the driveway. He was smothered in animal carcasses—bear, chipmunk, wolf, bobcat. Crackers & Cotton pulled up beside him in their ’57 Coup deVille.
“Oh Vlads, you really knocked yourself out! This is gonna be a hellova party!” said Cotton.
“Yes, I will have best party ever! Big, stupid American party with BBQ & bouncy house & brown liquors & clotheless nudity dancers! Then I will be coolest President of the World. Not anymore Trump!” He pulls the well-tainted steak out from under him and chomps it.
This is gonna be a hellova party, thought Cookie.
***************** ON THE DAY OF THE PARTY
Cookie put his best wires on then woke the President from his unfit slumber. “Today’s the day Mr President. Let’s get our birthday suits on!””
“Are you sure Jarvanka ♀ will be at the party, Cookie?”
“I swear on it, sir.”
They put their birthday suits on—the President’s navy blue & Cookie’s a muted olive. They hailed an Uber and halfway there Donald had the driver stop at a quaint little gift shop: America’s Bazaar.
“I want to get Vlads a gift. Even though he kidnapped Jarvanka ♀, I think we’re going to get along really well.”
“You really don’t understand people do you, sir?”
The shop was full of all the beloved kitsch of Donald’s culture—snowglobes, titty mugs, Tshirts printed up as Old Glory (w/ 50 hearts instead of stars). But the thing that caught the President’s eye—the item of kitsch he assumed would propel him to the top of Vlads’ esteem pyramid—was the pink flamingos.
“Hey! I have a couple of these in front of Marble-Eyeball. These would look tremendous at the Krispy-Krem, believe me.”
They paid the little shop urchin and left. They arrived at the party futuristically early. And unfashionably not as naked as everyone else. Literally all the inhabitants of Warrington JZ were perambulating nudely around the Red Hood & Trump did not categorize them..
He did spot Mrs Pence in her playpen, with Eggman Mike spooning something from a petri dish into her face.
“Wow look at the Pences having such a good time! I’ve never seen them get freaky like that!”
“You know them?” Cookie tapped.
“That’s the Vice president & his wife, Cookie! I had no idea they were into that. You know, they fund a fertility clinic around here somewhere. Russia is notorious for its sterile women. Hey Mike, what’s up?”
Eggman Pence looked at Donald but didn’t transpond. Mrs. Pence gerbilled, “Eggs…”
“All right Mother, here you are,” Eggman returned to feeding her.
They came to the main stage where a band (probably Pussy Tantrum) was just going off. All the naked people clapped and the DJ put on some chill beats. A familiar catatonic face appeared on the stage, attached to a familiar catatonic body and began a clumsy, defensive striptease.
“Sarah??” refluxed the President
“Aw fuck” said Cookie.
It was indeed the press secretary doing a lurid fibtease in her ruffled prairie dress. Exposing one breast & then the other & then her penis—
“I knew it!” said the President “I knew she was just dressing as a woman so she could follow Jarvanka ♀ into the bathroom. Remind me to pass a law against that.”
“Umm, sir, I think she’s just a transwoman expressing body positivity.”
“And she should be stopped. Make a note.”
“Oh I did, sir.”
Another frighteningly familiar face was onstage now. It started yowling & singing some horrible karaoke anthem. Oh whose face was that??
“Bannon?!” Trump axed, “What’re you doing here??”
“Actually it’s me,” said Sean Spicer standing up from his rectal-baring contortion.
“Spicer? Your asshole looks just like Bannon’s face!”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. But the real question is What are you doing here? I thought we were all sent on this amnesia getaway so you two could have some alooone time?”
Cookie facepalmed. Leave it to Spicer to hamfist the whole operation.
“What is he talking about, Cookie? Do you know something about these catscratchings? Why is everyone naked? Why is …Mitch McConnell naked? Paul Ryan? Betsy de Vos? Why can’t anyone hear me?”
Before Cookie could answer, Vlads Putin—the Coolest World Leader in the World—made his grand entrance. He was flanked by his wife and sons and legal assistant, who were actually Trump’s wife & sons & legal assistant.
“Hello everyone and welcome to my birthday. I hope you all enjoy my stupid American party! I have many barbecued things which I kill myself—help yourselfs. Now I open my many gifts with my family by my side!”
The first gift he opened was a copy of The Poisonwood Bible by Babs Kingsolvent.
“Pfff,” said Vlads, “I read this 150 times already!” He threw it on the grill & it transformed into foreshadowy ashes. Molawnia Trump-Putin sobbed. Her young son Slumlord comforted her.
The next gift was a hand forged 13th century silver plated jewel-handled scimitar from Damascus. Sent by Bashar al Assad of course.
“Mmmm. Now this, I like,” said Vlads tasting the blade slowly. He stabbed a piece of leopard off the grill with it.
There were gifts aplenty — even a piece of rubber dog poo from the Spencer’s at the Mall of NKorea.
But when Vlads opened the package of pink flamingos, his Americana fetish, instilled by the mystic Ivan Waters, kicked into high gear. “Oh my goodness, who gives me this beautiful red birds?” Vlads was visibly touched—he even placed his hand where his heart would be. “Donald and Cookie? Where are you?”
“Oh that’s us!” Donald bragged, waving. He nudged Cookie to stand.
Upon seeing the President, Vlads went full on fangirl. “Donald Trump is at MY birthday?? I can’t believe! I can’t believe! Aaaaagh!”
And Donald could barely contain his own excitement that Vlads even knew his name. They were about to run in slomo across the courtyard & jerk each other off in front of Warrington’s illumati. But someone interrupted their tryst w/ a long chilling phrase—
“DAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!!!”
It was Erring Trump, released from his insemination duties, and joining the party late. He threw hisself into Donald’s arms but instead of embracing him Donald called for Secret Service “Help—where are my guys??”
“Dad, it’s me, Eric! And don’t you recognize Slumlord? And Molawnia? And Don Jr? And Kellyanne? Vlads is lying! This is your family not his!”
“If this is my family then where is Jarvanka ♀??”
“She & Jarvanka ♂ are up in the blue onion getting pedicures. They’ll be down…”
But Donald was off— “JARVANKA♀ JARVANKA♀!!” He plowed into the Krispy-Krem w/out knocking and wormed his way up the blue turret where his daughter was getting her petty cured. But when Donald burst into their quarters, he didn’t see any doctors or pharmacists, he only saw a strange man with bright red hair sticking his longest middle toe into Jarvanka ♀’s mouth. Without hesitating, Donald drew his pistol from his sock and shot the red-head.
“Jarvanka♀ Jarvanka♀ are you okay? Was that doctor being inappropriate?”
“You shot Jarvanka ♂ !!!”
“I’m sorry. We’ll get you another one, okay honey? Oh My God—what have they done to your hair???”
“It’s #119 Mustardseed Symphony by Loreal. Do you love it?”
“Mustard?? NO! And your vibrant tan has faded, you’re like a rotten peach! Jarvanka ♀you’re no longer a 10 You’re only a 9 & 1/2.” Donald could contain his hostility no longer. He grabbed his daughter w/ one hand & pointed his pistol w/ the other and goosestepped back to the party. The courtyard was full of dancing & merriment & wasted civil servants.
“VLADS PUTIN!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DAUGHTER?? YOU’VE MADE HER LOOK LIKE A HOT DOG. THIS IS VERY BAD!”
“Was not me that make her look like hot dog. Was him!” Vlads pointed to the mystic Ivan Waters, standing off in the corner of the courtyard seeming to control the party w/ mustache twitches.
Donald had no time for due process—this monster had disfigured the only woman who ever mattered to him. He shot the weasly little mystic in the 7th chakra.
The Camelot spell that had gripped the Krispy-Krem since the arrival of the Warrington elite was undone—everyone reverted back to their 2010s self.
Vlads suddenly remembered who he was—the Coolest World Leader in the World! He taunted Donald for being so easily duped by his own people. And for not realizing he was propping up an illegal international human trafficking ring under the guise of the Mrs. American pageant!
Donald fired a shot at Vlads but hit a drunk John Kelly instead. Vlads grabbed Slumlord and pulled a plutonium nugget from his ass. “Don’t shoot again or I feed plutonium to your son!”
“Is that really my son?” DT asked Cookie
“You’re a moron, sir” said Cookie.
Donald pointed the pistol & fired again at Vlads. Knowing what a bad shot his dad was, Eric leapt into action pushing Slumlord out of the way. In so doing Eric fell forward, landing mouth first on the plutonium nugget. All his hair fell out & he withered to dust.
“I can’t believe these commie pigs made my daughter a 9 & 1/2…” Donald fumed. He aimed again but found he couldn’t ammojaculate. His weapon jammed.
Vlads had regained the upperhand, as he pulled another nugget of plutonium and aimed it at Jarvanka’s ♀glossy lips
All the Americans at the party, whose collective reverence for the 2nd amendment was of mystical proportion, conjured an arsenal of mass combustion! A big beautiful gunfight broke out!
“Look at all these good guys with guns” said DT, “What a beautiful sight!”
But Vlads had beautiful guns and an unregulated militia too. And they beyonced into formation all around the courtyard.
********************From the basement under the green & gold onion,
two blue-headed visages were watching the apocalyptic showdown
“Should I start the Doomsday Clock?” asked BH1 excitedly
“Do you think he’ll use the nukular option?” said BH2
“I guarantee it,” said BH1
They set the clock & sat tight.
***************************
After a few rounds of Vlads’ army making him look like a dilletante w/ bone spurs, Donald pulled out his penultimate weapon—his Twitter app.
(did u know—‘penultimate’ means second-to-last?)
He composed his final tweet “Fellow americans—Vlads Putin right now thinks he’s the coolest world leader in the world, but I’m about to show him he’s not with our superior nukular option. An amazing day for america. For Russia?—SAD.
See you all in heaven. peace out.”
DT unzipped his tiny scrotum & pulled out the nukular football.
“Are you sure you want to do this, sir? You might make lots of interesting friends in prison.”
“Oh I’m sure I would, Cookie. But I can’t let Vlads think he’s cooler than me.” He punches the secret code — “Well everyone, this is it! I’ve just launched our nukular missiles on this party! If there’s anything you want to do before you die, better do it now!”
Donald reached over & grabbed Jarvanka ♀’s pussy. Suddenly the sky was full of red clawmarks. The Krispy-Krem was ringed w/ radioactive mushrooms. Everyone’s skin melted, their eyeballs evaporated from their sockets, their bones combusted, their skulls holoccosted.
************************* Down in the basement bunker
the duo with #630 Mermaid’s Pool by Nice & Easy hair sat & watched the horrorshow, cackling all the while. They saw the best minds of Capitol Hill destroyed by 4th degree burns, smoldering hysterical naked dragging themselves through the Russian white house at zero hour looking for a cool leader to fix them.
They waited a few hours before emerging into the wasteland. They surveyed the damage to make sure the 2 superegos were thoroughly nuked.
They frollicked in the fall out, batting it with their bare hands like playful kittens, enchanted by its unbearable lightness.
“Look at all this devastation!” cried BH1
“Yep, and it’s all OURS!” said BH2
“Now who’s the Coolest World Leader in the World?” said BH1
“You are, Hillary,” said BH2
The mystic Ivan Waters rose from a thick pile of ash. The bullet wound on his chest sealed over with polaroid efficiency. He squoze in between B & H. They all snuggled together & marveled at the 2nd sunset.
3-3-18
