Imperial stormtroopers guard a voting precinct in a practice drill in preparation for
election day in early November. The venue for casting ballots has been relocated to
a theater because statistics indicate that voters are more willing to enter centers of
media entertainment rather than less comforting structures such as dangerous peni-
tentiaries and creepy mortuaries. Entrance into the theater is free for all American
citizens of legal voting age. Those who plan to vote for the re-election of President
Obama will be cordially escorted through Door Number One and be given free refresh-
ments including buttered popcorn, rainbow colored candy, frosted cookies and all the
Kool-Aid they can drink while they view inspiring videos of President Obama's accom-
plishments and his future dreams of more hope and change. At the moment of voting
each citizen will receive an impressive bronze plaque presented for being a patriotic
American. After voting for Barack Hussein Obama, they will be given shiny Obama
buttons, cool prizes, toys for their children and free tickets to movies and sporting
events. People who plan to vote for President Obama's Republican challenger will be
stiffly escorted through Door Number Two and be seated upon rickety old chairs in a
drafty room until ready to vote in partitioned booths behind Porta-Potties installed
for Imperial Stormtroopers and Democratic campaign organizers. After voting for the
Republican contender, the citizens will be given a chance to change their minds with
minimal arm-twisting and threats. If they refuse to rescind their votes, they will be
sent to a holding cell and questioned by intimidating security agents, then roughly
escorted out of the theater and sent to bed without supper. Dangerous intellectuals
and extremists from the lunatic fringe who plan to vote for Independent, Libertarian
or any other party candidates in defiance of President Obama's lust for a life term in
office will be shoved to Door Number Three which is actually a glorified building exit,
then spat upon, cursed and rudely pushed out into a dark alley which coincidentally
happens to be the guarded turf of the Black Serpents gang. The choice is clear for
those with ears to hear: Let the Force of Obama guide you to your chosen destiny!
"I've seen some really lame and pathetic political rhetoric from idiots who want to
reelect Obama for another merry-go-round term filled with bread and circuses for
the unwashed masses, but now it has reached the breaking point of ponderous
stupidity! United States citizens have become so dense that the Earth is in danger
of undergoing premature accelerated polar shift due to the bloated fatheads in our
nation! This is too much to handle for even Richard Simmons on a marathon bum-
burner! The old farts in my retirement village have overdosed on tainted Kool-Aid.
Every time Obama gives a speech on television they group wheelchairs around the
boob tube, like sand crabs checking out a dead clam, as they point and clack their
dentures in approval while staff nurses wipe drool off of their faces. If I hear one
more 'We Love Obama' rally in the Recreation Center, I will scream like a banshee
and tear out my hair! Even my pinochle group is wavering toward the Dark Side of
Dementia. Voting to reelect President Obama for another term is like pushing your
medical walker out blindfolded across a highway during rush hour in sleeting rain.
Obama's hope to change America by serving four more years in the White House
because he screwed up during his first term is a bad accident waiting to happen!
Who are these weird jokers and brainwashed nincompoops who clamor to see the
disgraceful deterioration of the United States continue with a man who covers up
his past like a nervous teenage boy hiding a porno magazine under his bed pillow?
Do these deluded dunces derive orgasmic bliss watching the economic crash like
a slow motion convoy wreck of vans for the handicapped while their Democratic
representatives cheer phony slogans and pump their pom-poms to fascist thugs
marching in lockstep? I need another four years of oppression from Obama like I
need a painful colonoscopic probe for cancerous polyps, which by the way I must
undergo next week. I admit I'm no spring chicken, but as a wise old hen I assure
you that after I receive my deep intestinal exploration, my proctologist will come
out smelling better than American voters if Obama wins re-election in November!"
A building maintenance crew was dispatched to the Ozbama Temple after receiving
an emergency mobile phone call from a frantic cleric who described a horrific scenario
to an astonished staff worker. According to the terrified cleric, the inner sanctum of
the Ozbama Temple was filled with noxious fumes due to an accident by a clumsy
distracted acolyte who had stumbled over a memorial stone on the Yellow Brick Path
of Enlightenment and spilled combustible liquid incense that seeped into a nearby
ventilation grate on the floor which subsequently came into contact with rotting
duct tape on a heating module and created a fizzy chemical reaction that generated
odious vapors which seeped up into the sacred chamber and caused the assembly
of Ozbaman worshippers, known affectionately as Bammies, to faint and fall flat on
their Bammy blankets. The cleric was suffering extreme nausea yet was able to con-
tinue describing the disaster to the dispatcher. As if the bizarre situation was not
bad enough, to make matters worse one of the priests who was overcome by toxic
gas dropped his candle made from human fat onto the gourmet cheese offering tray
which burst into flames on the top of the Ozbama emerald altar, thus compounding
the sacrilegious castastrophe and breaking at least six Ozbaman commandments in
the process. The priceless Ozbama holographic emerald crystal was somehow acti-
vated and began blabbering nonsense about arboreal reptilians and subterranean
moonbats conspiring to permeate the blessed meme of blind obedience, and then it
started stuttering more poppycock before its voice synthesizer was locked into a
droning buzz of the sacred mantra which cannot be revealed upon pain of death.
Before fainting, the addled cleric told the dispatcher that all was not in vain, for at
least thirteen Bammies were dead which was a minimal yet acceptable sacrifice to
Ozbama for the vernal equinox. The frenetic gush of information from the gasping
cleric resulted in hyperventilation which when combined with toxic fumes made him
pass out stone cold on the stone floor. The building maintenance crew determined
that the priceless Ozbama emerald crystal did not receive any extensive damage
and will be operational as soon as more funds are raised for repairs and administra-
tive costs by devoted Bammies soliciting donations from schools, businesses and
shopping malls and also by taking pledges from viewers watching a star-studded
Ozbamathon scheduled for prime time television commencing immediately after
President Obama has finished his inspirational speech of significantly vague tele-
promterhetoric to captivated televidiots. The crime scene remains closed to unbe-
lievers, Republicans and pesky Moonies who want a cut of the fund-raising scheme.
Proudly pedaling prominently in first place, President "SpeedO" Obama races down
the designated trail in the first annual Strawberry Shortcake Spinning Wheels bike
riding competition at the Strawberry Shortcake Festival. The bicycle course consists
of circuitous turns around patches of strawberries and beautiful flowers. One section
of the trail has an obstacle course that tests contestants' riding skills, for they must
swerve to avoid being knocked over by gigantic inflatable strawberries that pop out
randomly from hedges and then do wheelie jumps over wooden ramps onto spongy
rubber cushions in the shapes of muffins and mushrooms. After the bicycle competi-
tion has finished, the contestants will gather with their families for the Strawberry
Shortcake Dolly Dress competition. Although Sasha Obama is considered a shoo-in
because of her exquisite taste in fashion design inherited from her mother Michelle,
it is rumored that the First Father has a trick or two up his corset and could grab
the First Prize with a stunningly patterned velvet lace ensemble. The chief event of
girlish gustatory goodness is of course the Strawberry Shortcake baking contest in
which the entrants' aromatic entrees will be sampled by judges to determine the top
winner of the most scrumptious strawberry shortcake. Although Malia is considered
the odds-on favorite, the First Father could snatch First Prize because he had the
plumpest sweetest strawberries flown in on Air Force One from Costa Rica and then
secretly prepared by his master chef at the White House while the First Lady and
their daughters were out shopping for Strawberry Shortcake designer dresses, cute
matching accessories and party decorations. The Strawberry Shortcake Festival will
prove to all that President Obama is a winner, a man in touch with his feminine side!
"I know there's another election coming up, but it's still months away. When a guy's
got no clock and nothing to do all day except watch bugs get caught in spider webs,
it could be as soon as the spoon moon or later than a tater gator. Same difference.
I think Obama should be reelected because if someone else gets in the White House,
things could get crazier than a gang of bag ladies torching shopping carts filled with
dirty diapers in Wal*Mart. Obama is a promising leader who promises to make good
on his promises if we promise to cut him some slack so the economy can get better,
like for example with new green shoots. Last year I heard folks talking about green
shoots stimulating the economy. In my experience good green shoots were scarcer
than buttons on a streaker, and if anybody found them, they got smoked up faster
than you can sneeze. But early spring weather is here with more green shoots than
ever before. That gives me hope to cope until I can find some soap so it all washes
out in the rinse. Emo and Bobo live with me in our deluxe cardboard condo down by
the river across from an old train station. Emo is our one-armed security guard and
part-time night watchman. Bobo keeps an eye out for trouble, figuratively that is,
since the only time he keeps his glass eye out is to clean it if we score on a bottle
of vodka. Emo monitors our area for nosy police officers, roving drunken derelicts
and lizard people disguised as happy hoboes. Emo says his imaginary friends help
keep watch so he won't nod off, but sometimes he wakes us up in the middle of the
night because he's arguing loudly with them, but I see nothing people. Bobo is a
master dumpster diver and supplies us with edible food, semi-edible unidentifiable
stuff and many useful items. You'd be surprised at how many five-course gourmet
meals get tossed because people nibble on just a few pieces and dump the rest.
Bobo is a master of kung fu headbanging karate which comes in handy when other
dumpster thieves attack him to steal his stuff. Bobo wears protective pink plastic
goggles and aluminum body armor covered with sequins because crazy vagabonds
get violent with sharp metal objects. I am the founding organizer and inbred leader
of our group because I have abundant resourcefulness and natural ingenuity, and
also because I weaned myself off the psychotropic drugs I swallowed at the asylum
before I escaped. I have great hope for new change if President Obama is reelected.
We're gonna build our own Obamavilla with indoor plumbing rigged up from rubber
surgical tubing and empty hard plastic containers Bobo found inside a dumpster at a
veterinary clinic. Obamavilles are a dime a dozen, but our Obamavilla will be upper
lower class. Using my extensive knowledge gained from reading both side and back
panels of food cartons, I will design an amazing Obamavilla with aesthetic feng shui
interiors if Bobo can find enough loose wooden planks, corrugated cardboard boxes,
plastic bags, shiny tinsel, spray paint and glue, lots of gooey glue. Without glue our
Obamavilla will fall apart. Under the legal protection of President Obama I envision
our Obamavilla as a tourist attraction where we can make a substantial profit from
curious bystanders and wandering vacationers by having Emo give guided tours to
teach and inspire homeless Americans to build their own Obamavillas. Bobo will be
in charge of selling all snacks and liquid refreshments depending upon what he can
scavenge from the restaurant dumpsters. To honor President Obama I have commis-
sioned Bobo to build a statue of our glorious leader using rubber tires, chicken wire,
panty hose, bubble wrap, Popsicle sticks and all the chewing gum he can find under
chairs inside bars and theaters. Then we'll invite President Obama to the ceremonial
unveiling and crack open a bottle of vintage Mad Dog. I promise we'll take care of the
pest problem before he arrives by mixing up a special batch of Kool-Aid for the rats."
These little rascals are enthusiastic about Obamaland. For months they had heard
rumors about a wonderful place to be built just for children. After a tall expansive
wooden fence was erected around a large empty field adjacent to their town, con-
struction work began in earnest. With the aid of US government employees, illegal
Mexican immigrants and Army Reserve troops working on weekends Obamaland
was completed on schedule although grossly over budget yet finally open after
meeting all federal, state and city regulations by discreetly bribing local officials.
The little rascals are chomping at the bit to get inside. Well, actually just Gus the
goat is chomping on something he found in the grass. With promises of tangy fruit
juice, buttery caramel popcorn, rainbow cotton candy, yummy ice cream and all
the soda pop they can drink the cheery children are really pumped up about their
first visit to Obamaland, a new theme park set up by the Democratic Party whose
organizers have been courting the gang with free tickets for rides and shows in
hopes that the wee folks can persuade their old folks to vote to reelect President
Obama. The little rascals are excited and happy that trained pets will be allowed
free admission if they behave so they brought along Mooby the monkey and Gus
the goat who will be treated to tasty salted peanuts and sweet crunchy carrots.
Obamaland has security guards and dozens of surveillance cameras positioned
throughout the grounds to make sure there are no accidents or other problems
as the children gaily hold on tight inside the Rebounding Economy roller coaster,
slosh down the Fiscal Liquidity water slide, go nowhere on the Magic Wish Merry-
Go-Round, spit goobers and toss food from the top of the Fairy Dream Wheel and
get dizzy riding on the White House Spin Machine. Obamaland has many breath-
taking side attractions including a mesmerizing marionette show of young Barry
Obama's adventures in Kenya and Indonesia, a funny finger puppet show featur-
ing Barny Bunworms, fabulous freak shows such as the one-eyed Libertarian, a
redneck Republican dunking booth and an Independent bearded fat albino female
pygmy with mange. The most amazing attraction in Obamaland is the petting zoo
which contains sheep, llamas, pooh bears, gorillas, Komodo dragons, pink neon
moonbats, the world's oldest post turtle, Domo-kun and an honest-to-goodness
surgically altered unicorn. Tattooed seminude inebriated clowns meander about
doing silly things to make everyone laugh until they pee their pants. If unantici-
pated urine leaks occur, carefully monitored changing booths are conveniently
located on the premises with moonlighting TSA workers providing thorough pat-
downs. The little rascals are rooting for Uncle Barry to win re-election so they
can play hooky from school and visit Obamaland every day. It's o-tay to obey!
"Greetings, kind lady. I am Milton, and these are my comrades Diego and Lars. We are here to spread the glorious holy hope of
President Obama who promises that if you vote to reelect him in November, he will freely spread the wealth of others unto you."
"May you be blessed today, charming maiden. I am Diego, a humble man in awe of President Obama, a great man who is our
only hope to escape the wretched cycle of poverty and humiliation caused by dastardly malicious Republicans. We earnestly
beseech you to make the righteous Democratic choice for the future of your beloved children and our imperial nation."
"*sniff* Is that roast chicken I smell cookin' in your kitchen?"
"Nevermind Lars. He hasn't eaten in three days, so he belches impulsively from his empty belly."
"I haven't eaten in five days, but that is the sacrifice I gladly make to spread the wealth. You see, we three were once fabulously
rich investment bankers, yet we gave it all to President Obama. Be not offended by our coarse and uncouth appearance, for we
are but sincere emissaries of our beloved leader and have taken a vow of poverty. For carnal sustenance we scavenge through
greasy trash cans and rank rubbish heaps in search of morsels of chewed gristle and crusts of moldy old bread. Sometimes the
blessing of Obama falls upon our destitution, and we find a dented can of Spam."
"*sniff* Is that the smell of freshly baked bread waftin' through your door?"
"Silence, Lars! I apologize for his rude outburst. He will be punished for desiring to take the wealth of your food for himself."
"Yes, a sharp flogging should teach him a lesson. To continue with what I mentioned earlier before the ill-mannered bugger
interrupted, President Obama believes that rich people do not deserve their abundant wealth and must be forced to share it
with those who are poorer whether they be unfortunate paupers or wasteful squanderers who lost it all in casinos and lotteries.
If they have nothing left to stimulate our economy and beg for governmental aid, then by executive decree President Obama
will forcibly take what he wants from the snobby rich elite and give to you and other needy souls, for he is our Robbing Hood!"
"Listen, wench. I noticed an empty pet bowl beside your door. Got any runts from litters you'd like to give away? I'll take what-
ever you've got, even the stillborn."
"Lars, Shut up! You've pissed her off, and now she's getting ready to slam her door in our faces!"
"Dear sweet woman, we apologize for our comrade's disgusting behavior. He has lapsed from taking his psychotropic medica-
tion because his prescription expired last week because our bank insurance policy coverage expired last month. Let us part in
peace with no regrets, but please remember to vote for President Obama! By the way, we hope your meal is still warm after
taking the time to listen to us, well, with the exception of Lars."
"Humph! You're no lady, you whorish hoarder! I'm gonna spread the wealth of your rotten garbage all over your front yard!"
"I think it would be swell if Barack Obama gets reelected. Due to my extensive
misuse of ludicrous speed during reverse warp I can time travel back to Earth's
past for grrrs and giggles. I get lots of comic relief when I travel to the United
States of America, especially Washington, D.C. The political backstabbing and
sex scandals are more fun than watching Zorbian troglodytes bashing Yoobian
cockroaches, and that is worth noting because those critters are larger than
elephants! When President Obama and his family go on vacation, I beam down
into the White House undetected covered by my stealth puppy cloak and hang
out with Bo, their Portuguese water dog. Boy oh boy, you should hear the tales
he hears with his highly sensitive ears behind closed doors when the President
thinks nobody is listening! Talk about wagging the dog and scooting the pooch! Heh. That reminds me how often Bo was spanked because he left marks on the
Oval Office rugs and carpet. The President was not amused stepping into warm
squishy surprises in the early mornings before he had fully recovered from late
night wild parties. Bo's incontinent behavior put him in the doghouse which isn't
too bad because it has air-conditioning, a water bed, satellite television, a cool
stereo system and two retro lava lamps in his bathroom lounge, but I want to
see him return in style to the big historic rooms inside the White House during
Obama's second term. Over bowls of kibble me and Bo discussed attaching a
hidden video camera to his neck collar and uploading video clips to YouTube,
but Bo told me the Secret Service won't let him wander around during impor-
tant meetings anymore since the day he chewed the power cord of Obama's
favorite teleprompter and dang near made him get totally rabid! Arf! It isn't
always easy being canine. We tend to stick our noses where they don't belong. *sniff* Woof! What I think will get the public's attention will be the first official
presidential contact with extraterrestrials, but that's too dicey at this point in
time. I know a party of purple people eaters eager to visit Earth, but I wouldn't
dare give them the proper star chart coordinates. It's obvious Americans have
enough problems dealing with a spooky terrestrial Kenyan alien as their leader
who plans to send useless sheeple to be slaughtered. If I wasn't in control of
my inner puppy, I would barf! Now you know how I got my name! Ah-roooh!"
____________________________________________ "Astounding! By the nodes of nexus I have achieved a mental breakthrough without
a mental breakdown! My new remote brain scanner has uncovered quirky mental
constructs sparking within the cranial fissures of President Obama's cerebrum! The
ramification of this sensory data is inconceivable to the general public and will cause
national alarm and traumatic psychological scars for years if leaked to mainstream
media networks and top secret Internet subforums! Hmmm... I can't tell if this data
encapsulates reptilian DNA or recessive genes that mutated from the dark mountain
forests of Kenya. Great Scott! A newly imported data scan indicates his metal cap has
been contaminated by residue from herbal hair shampoo and enhanced protein rinse
conditioner! This means I have to scrap the entire experiment and start all over again
from scalp square one! Arrggh! And just when I was about to uncover the secret fly-
on-the-wall mnemonic imprints highly sought after by his sneaky political adversaries
and foreign double agents within the Democratic Party! Drat dippity drat! ... Huh? ...
What's this strange new thought stream? Can it be true? Great Scott! I never suspect-
ed Obama thought Marty's hot! I must get in my modified DeLorean and race back to
Marty's past and get him transferred to a private school in a safe remote location in
Quebec without disrupting flux in the time space continuum! Flubbery guppy bubbles!
I never imagined such a playground of codswallop existed behind that smarmy smile!
Following Obama's conceptual continuity is like riding blindly on an unstable rickety
Ferris Wheel upside down through the Tunnel of Love dangling a squirming gerbil from
a fishing pole over a shark tank during a feeding frenzy inside Sea World surrounded by
PETA protesters! Great Scott of Eureka! Obama's queer thought stream explains those
inconsistent fluctuations in his golf handicap! Of course that is only a coarse course of
the curse on his quarky course. It's no wonder we're both so unbelievably befuddled!"
Bat Boy cannot vote, but he is terrified to death that President Obama could remain
in power for four more years because that man reminds him of a traumatic childhood
experience in which a creepy drunken spelunker went berserk and slaughtered his
bat colony and left him as an orphan only because he had accidentally fallen head-
first into the community guano pit and was covered with excrement so his screams
were muffled and his presence undetected. Of course President Obama is completely
innocent and ignorant of this incident because he was nowhere near Bat Boy's cavern
at the time, for according to an anonymous associate, he was dancing hundreds of
miles away in a glittering discotheque with his bosom buddies. In fact, prior to this
present moment of confrontation the President had no premonition or knowledge of
Bat Boy since he does not peruse sensationalistic newspaper tabloids because he
has been preoccupied with primping and preening his prominent persona for a loyal
adoring public. Bat Boy's worries are unwarranted, yet because he is illiterate and
does not read media publications or experience subliminal brainwashing from televi-
sion programming, he bases his feelings purely upon his bat gut instinct and has the
heebie-jeebie skitter-jitters when he sees the scowling countenance of the most
powerful man in the world. Bat Boy earnestly desires to fly away to a safe haven on
a tropical isle with plenty of sweet fruits and juicy bugs to eat and freshly squeezed
mango juice to drink in a shady cave and to have the opportunity to grow up to be
a happy bat man in a paradise that has no extradition treaty with the United States,
but Bat Boy's wings are still not fully developed, and he has no passport to leave the
land of his birth. Bat Boy is much too nervous to take a chance at being transported
by a coyote driving a truck across the US border so for the present time he remains
trembling with issues of urinary incontinence and will hide in gloomy seclusion at an
undisclosed Conservative Republican district securely barricaded against hegemonic
gerrymandering by devious canvassing Democratic bounty hunters dressed in black
velvet bat costumes who squeak and sneak around its guarded perimeters at night.
Bat Boy remorsefully feels he has no one to blame but himself for naively allowing a
sweet-talking old woman to take his photograph with a promise of showing it only to
her bat-loving children. Oh the embarrassing humiliation and shame that developed
in the photographer's secret dark room! Now Bat Boy's image is known worldwide,
and anonymity is no longer possible, even with extensive plastic surgery. For the
rest of his tormented life the poor chiropteran orphan will shudder from that single
fateful click of the paparazzo's shutter unlike President Obama who sees a camera
lens and feels his heart go flutter with gaiety and melts like fluffy whipped butter.
"Hello, boys and girls and surviving maimed grumpy old people. The video image you
see of me is being transmitted simultaneously into every prison cell within this intern-
ment center. Pay attention, for my message will not be repeated. Enough time has
passed since your narrow escape and agonizing recuperation to allow me to ask you
once again: Did you get the change you were promised? Were your hopes fulfilled?
Can you see that the light at the end of the tunnel is not a ray of brilliant sunshine
but retinal dislocation leading to permanent blindness? There is no guarantee that
continuous treatment for your injuries and rehabilitation will be covered under the
national health care plan if you fail to reelect President Obama. Although the Kool-
Aid you drank to quench your thirst during your last test was poisoned, if you are
hearing me, then you found the tiny red pill hidden inside of the dead puppy you
carved up during your frantic search to remain conscious so you could counteract
the toxin eating away at your brain. Do you want me to tell the armed PETA guards
in the hall outside your cell what gruesome deed you did? Okay then, shut your yap
and get with the program or go to the pogrom! I realize it must have hurt like hell
to stick your hand through the metal tube lined with razor blades to push the elec-
trically charged lever which released the blue pill that neutralized the nerve gases
sprayed into your cell just when you thought your torture had ended for rebellious
resistance, but hey, no pain, no gain. As a matter of fact the blue pill will wear off
within minutes so your discomfort will increase substantially unless you extricate
yourself from your chains and crawl to the voting booth to cast your ballot where
you will receive an injection of the antidote to detoxify the poison. Your opportu-
nity to vote won't be as easy as in the previous election because now you must
squeeze through sharp bamboo stakes, stinging nettles and barbed thistles. These
are the real green shoots, sheeple! You can do it if you put your mind to it and are
prepared to leave appendages behind in your goal to survive. Casting your vote for
President Obama automatically excuses you from being put in line for the spinning
saw blades installed for political dissidents. Voting for any other presidential candi-
date will propel you to the head of the line by precinct police all too eager to make
their daily quota for Soylent Citizen Industries. If your vote for President Obama is
validated, then as a reward you will be allowed to leave solitary confinement during
the remaining hours of daylight to take care of business and family matters. After
your time is up, then it's back to your cell for more intense indoctrination and sub-
liminal brainwashing. Stay alert if you wish to stay alive! If you are unable to recite
verbatim what you've been taught to your appointed interrogator, then during the
night a metal panel at the base of your cell door will be slid open to let diseased
rats run loose inside your room and over your floor mat. No slow learner will be left
alone! In your present state of queasy paranoia within your cramped confinement
I ask you these questions: Are you prepared for another four years of despotic rule
by a narcissistic fascist dictator controlled by dark puppet masters? Do you have
the guts to make the smart choice for survival and reelect President Obama to rule
as your omnipotent overlord? Do you want to jeopardize your future by foolishly
exercising your independent will to choose a different presidential candidate? Do
you feel lucky, punk? Well, you're not! You better start moving to the voting booth
down the hallway before the chamber door locks shut unless you want your corpse
belatedly discovered by a US Census worker in 2020. Let the voting game begin..."
"Hey, haven't I seen you before? Are you a gawker or a stalker? Doesn't make much
difference to me because those straps on your straight-jacket look secure enough.
Have you seen a creepy puppet riding a tricycle around here lately? I sure wouldn't
want to meet that dude alone on a playground surrounded by sharp metal bars and
long chain swings! From a stereotypical perspective he looks like an ultra conserva-
tive repressed Republican, but he might be just a figment of my imagination. Time
travel lag can play tricks on a traveler's mind. It's an inherent risk but not as danger-
ous as the poor unfortunate test subjects who went who knows where during initial
tests of the prototypal unit and never returned back to the future. Eeeshhk! Hmm...
Looks like that weird dude rode off in the other direction cackling like a crackpot so
I think I'm safe. In my juvenile condition I don't have any Secret Service protection,
but since I know what events will transpire up until the moment I entered the time
machine, I won't have any more problems today, unless, and this is the weird part,
if unknown to me some other people entered the time machine after I did and are
presently prowling around for me here in this temporal zone, but hey, that's just my
paranoia kicking in because I've got a fantastic buzz from some kickass sinsemilla I
scored from a Jamaican dealer at the city park! Most excellent! This reminds me of
the good old days in Hawaii when I toked Maui Wowie and snorted Peruvian marching
powder without a worry in the world, except getting busted by narcs. My buddies
nicknamed me Barry Bong. *snort* But things change, you know. One change since
my happy-go-lucky youth is the outrageous increase in prices for primo pot. Sellers
today are so freaking greedy! It won't be until legalization in the future that Joe Six
Puffer can afford to be stoned on his welfare ration of joints. Doped-up Americans
will be more easily persuaded to follow my agenda with rewards of resiny pungent
buds dangling in front of their noses. Hmm... like that time outside a Honolulu disco-
theque... Uh, sorry, I get distracted when I get exciting fuzzy sensations behind my
ears and warm tingles running up my legs. Oh yeah. From now until November world
events will start popping faster than microwave popcorn. Speaking as a time traveler
from the future, I think it is now the appropriate time to be open and transparent
with you since I've already been in power for several years and plan to remain in
power for many years to come, and also because this weed is making me feel really
mellow and talkative. I know you probably hate my guts and want nasty unmention-
able things to happen to me, but I'm impervious in my present temporal transforma-
tion so I thought I should tell you the whole truth just to annoy you. I don't need to
rehash details about my Kenyan birth, Islamic roots and Marxist bent to establish a
New World Order, and you know my birth certificate is as phony as plastic surgery on
a pink pig's pimpled pucker. Between expensive vacations and giddy games of golf
I'm very busy behind the scenes receiving instructions from my hidden masters to
make the transition from America as home of the brave to home of the slave. What
this nation needs is some shock and awe to get the wheel of doom rolling for imple-
mentation of my Executive Orders. Martial law will be bearable when you learn to
genuflect on command, and if necessary, bend over with a smile on your face; but
if you resist, you cease to exist. Got it? Under my new mandate all citizens will be
divided into races and subdivided after medical diagnoses into two basic categories:
healthy and diseased. The healthy people will work in government labor camps until
they collapse or are sold to foreign nations, and the diseased stock will be rendered
into reusable protein for edible products and fertilizer for the fields or incinerated if
too contaminated. The smartest and strongest children will be genetically enhanced,
selectively brainwashed and used to form a totally obedient labor force to serve the
New World Order. Now here's that hope you've heard me talking about for years. Are
you listening? You'd better be if you know what's good for you! The US government
will provide a Freedom Lottery for all Americans. Everybody will have the opportunity
to chose their own lucky numbers. If you suffer from innumeracy, then let a friendly
Freedom Lottery agent pick your numbers. The margin for human error is only 6.66%.
After all Americans have their unique numbers, the Freedom Lottery computer will
tabulate official results according to a preset algorithm based upon the previous US
Census demographic data. I bet you wish you hadn't thrown away your US Census
questionnaire! Those holding authorized Freedom Lottery numbers will be set free,
free to leave the USA and live elsewhere far away from under my thumb, free at
last! How's that for hope? Okay. Um, I just want to say one more thing: April fool!
Hahahahaha! I really had you believing that stuff, didn't I? I bet your face is as red
as a baboon's buttocks during ovulation! Seriously, I'm just a normal guy in over my
head who's just as clueless as Joe Sillyputty Biden. Oh, there is actually one impor-
tant thing I have to clarify about the Freedom Lottery: There won't be one! However,
everything else I've told you will happen because of my Executive Orders so you are
totally screwed no matter what you do! April fools are brainwashed tools! Bwahaha!
So long, loser! I'm off to change the future at Bammy Warp speed! Vroom-vroooom!"
"My girlfriend's really mad at me. She said she saw me drivin' around late last
night guzzlin' beer and sittin' beside a beautiful woman with long blonde hair
dressed in a fancy gown. I told her I wasn't cheatin' on her, it was important
business, and I was the only one drinkin'. She didn't believe a word I said and
slapped me and called me a no-good two-timin' rat bastard. I tried to explain
what I was doin', but she stomped off in a huff. She ain't answerin' her phone,
either. My plan for her surprise birthday party's ruined. I was just tryin' to get
the right size dress measurements without her catchin' on. Guess I'll have to
sneak over to the department store and stick the mannequin back in the front
window display before the store manager sees the holes I drilled in the body."
"Yesterday I held a yard sale and made a quick profit by selling lawn
furniture, potted flowers, a barbecue grill and lots of children's toys,
but I was forced to end it abruptly when my neighbor told me to get
out of her yard or else she'd call the cops, which is a shame because
I was within a hair of clinching a deal on her adorable Shih Tzu puppy!"
The tumultuously twisting asymmetrical warfare of the Mannequin Rebellion has caused
countless casualties for both humans and autonomous mannequins. Although opposing
factions have successfully overcome setbacks and adapted to extensive injuries and loss
of appendages by recycling and refabricating unclaimed body parts, unpredictable random
senseless suicide attacks by headless rogue mannequins strapped with bomb vests pose
an extremely dangerous threat to all. Citizens are advised to avoid gawking at fashionably
dressed mannequins in display windows at department stores and clothing boutiques so as
not to provoke more revenge and retribution from oppressed and humiliated plastic entities
with rough grudges to grind and thick skulls to crack on their boneheaded human enslavers.
"Memorial Day is a very important holiday for all Americans, and I will give you ten
reasons why we should observe this day. First, we should remember the humble
roots of Barack Hussein Obama as a little boy in Kenya where he struggled to hold
onto hope of living in the USA, the land of milk and money. Second, we must warily
remember that the evil Republicans tried to stop Barry from becoming the greatest
President in American history. Third, remember how hard Barry has worked despite
nasty lowlifes who will do anything to hinder his plans to indoctrinate your children
and increase your taxes. Fourth, remember that you must vote in November to re-
elect Barry so that changes will continue for a brighter future and consolidation of
his power. Fifth, remember how obedient I have been to Barry, his wife, his sweet
daughters and Bo the Portuguese water dog, whose paws I am not worthy to lick.
Sixth, remember the dedication of Democrats in Congress to pass new restrictive
laws to protect you against your own stupidity. Seventh, remember the scheming
manipulation of the Federal Reserve bankers to release quantitative easing to kick
the dented economic can down the road. Eighth, remember Trayvon and how much
Barry misses the poor innocent boy who was like a son to him. Ninth, remember to
brush your teeth at least once a day and floss afterwards. And the tenth reason is,
uh... something to do with dead soldiers. Well, it can't be all that important, or else
I'd remember it. Have a Happy Memorial Day, and don't get too drunk and do dumb
stuff you'll regret later, but if you do go hog wild, then guzzle a cold brewski for me!"
Wiggles senses that the day of reckoning has finally come, the critical point of
his existence that will determine whether he will be blessed with extended life
or cursed with imminent demise, the defining choice between happily dwelling
as a plump gluttonous larva feasting among vines of Solanum lycopersicum or
suddenly becoming a squished immature Manduca quinquemaculata suffering
excruciating agony from grotesque dismemberment, for Fernando the migrant
worker is steadily moving stealthily through the luxuriant tomato patch. As the
sweaty hunched man approaches the profusely blossoming plant Wiggles boldly
raises his tiny tharacic feet poised in self-defense and securely grips the sturdy
branch with his thick ventral prolegs as he hopes within his heart that the many
hours he spent practicing his martial art techniques of tomatojujitsu will bear
the bitter fruit of defeat for Fernando and his dirty jagged fingernails of death.
"Yesterday I waited for over an hour for Ken to take me to the costume party.
I wasn't a jolly dolly because my mascara was dripping onto my princess gown.
When Ken finally knocked on my door, I opened it and was shocked to see his
appearance. He had big ugly cuts and bruises on his head and body, his clothes
were ripped to shreds and he was limping. I told Ken he had a very scary zombie
costume, but he just stared blankly at me and said he had dressed as a college
preppy but was attacked and chewed by my neighbor's pit bull. Well, whatever.
I wasn't going to be late for our costume party, so I pushed his tush to his car!"
In ancient times superstitious villagers believed that sheep falling from the
skies were cast down by wrathful deities as punishment, but recent satellite
images have dispelled this irrational belief, proving that suicidal sheep jump
from very high cliffs and mountain tops, yet oddly enough no one knows why.
"Ah told mah brothah Billy not to drink while drivin', but he nevah did listen.
Ah remembah the time Billy was samplin' the first batch of his Billy Beer and
he got drunker than a skunk. He led the deputy sheriffs on a high speed chase
through our peanut fields. Billy's truck finally got stuck in a muddy patch, and
he was fined for not wearin' a safety belt. His excuse was the belt chapped his
privates, which made sense to me. Oh, ah forgot to mention, Billy was nekkid
as a jay bird and squealin' like a pig. Damn, that was some real kickass brew!"
As the Green Lantern embraced his soul mate in the surrounding fragrantly flowered
meadow countless glowing fireflies lit up with gay luminescence and flitted about in
the eerie musky twilight which attracted hundreds of screeching rabid bats to swoop
down on the unwary insects causing ravenous mutant wolves to chase after the bats
which aroused radioactive hillbilly zombies to stagger menacingly toward the lovers.
The Green Lantern was so engrossed in sensuous osculation with his muscled hunk
that he failed to notice the fluorescent carnage sprinkled across the meadow like
neon snowflakes. The bats had been scattered by the wolves, yet the wolves had
been frightened away by the radioactive hillbilly zombies who lurched and crawled,
depending upon their number of missing limbs, to the queer spectacle beneath the
Ash of Death, their sacred tree for brewing moonshine for weekend hootenannies.
But now two strange men had desecrated their hallowed site, and disturbing growls
gurgled forth from their frothing toothless maws. Fester, fierce leader of the hillbilly
zombies, pulled out his harmonica carved from a camper's bone and played a short
mournful melody. Instantly the other hillbilly zombies stomped their feet and started
howling wildly like inbred maniacs. Yet still the Green Lantern took no notice. What
was this power of deep love which made them totally oblivious to imminent danger?
While the Green Lantern continued smooching his studly companion, the radioactive
hillbilly zombies were undergoing uncontrollable spastic half-life meltdowns. The low
morbid tune Fester had played on his arm bone harmonica was reverberating through
the misty ominous atmosphere. Suddenly a hideous yelp pierced the cacophony, and
the hillbilly zombie clan immediately froze in motionless silence as Gumbee the one-
eyed moonshine mage waved his knobby club made from a lost hiker's femur. The
hillbilly zombies stared in confused wonder as Gumbee uttered odd mystical babble
and pointed his notched bone club toward the ghastly Ash of Death. All at once leafy
branches of the massive tree quivered, and from out of deep grooves and holes in
the bark crawled zombie squirrels! Gumbee had summoned these zombie squirrels
to attack the kissing couple, and the sight of their twitching tails and the sounds of
their insane chattering caused the hillbilly zombies to go berserk and tear out their
hair and spit up in the air. Off in the distance the howling of the hillbilly bloodhound
zombies echoed, for they had smelled fresh scents of the slaughtered bugs, bats
and wolves, and their keen ears had also heard the noisy zombie squirrels. As the
crazed inbred canines raced toward the meadow, the creepy hillbilly zombies began
to encircle the Ash of Death, hooting and hollering as the zombie squirrels prepared
to jump upon the hugging fellows below. Yet still the Green Lantern and his main
squeeze were unaware that their demise was near, that flight to safety was their
only hope to escape death. If love is blind, then is it also true that love is deaf?
"As a flamboyant celebrity I have encountered my share of nasty comments in
cyberspace. Many Internet forum members scream for eye bleach after viewing
images of myself posing in fitness attire. Well, any use of eye bleach is never
wise and causes chronic health ailments so I strongly urge you to go offline to
resolve personal issues before you do something you will regret later! Or, you
could just join my popular exercise group and jump for joy and wiggle with us!"
"Well, this fight is finished. Time to move onward, men."
"Stop! Thou cannot proceed any farther! I... I'm just a bit winded."
"Hah! Thou art worse than winded, butchered bumpkin!"
"In truth I'm also slightly thirsty. Could one of thy knights bring me
a stout ale and pour it through my helmet? I swear that's all I need
to regain my composure and continue our noble fight to the death!"
"What absurd nonsense thou speak! Such a ridiculous request! Sir
Dubious, bring this bloody wretch a long bendy straw with his ale
and include a clean handkerchief in case this sorry soul dribbles."
"Straws are for sissies! I spit on thy silly bristled pigskin boots!"
Although spiders are naturally fascinated by the world wide web, many
arachnid fatalities have resulted after attempts to move computer mice
which is why soft-touch keyboards are preferred to construct websites.
Giddy with excitement at unexpected news of orphaned pink dolphins caught in
a fishing vessel's net, SpongeBob and Patrick hope to adopt one of the charming
aquatic mammals to live with them at the bottom of the sea in their cozy coral
bungalow after Marine Social Service workers complete a thorough background
check on their employment history and recent civil union so that their domestic
arrangements will be deemed adequate for giving them a new porpoise in life.
An unexpectedly violent surge in fierce retaliation by shotgun-wielding vigilantes
due to persuasively skewed genocidal television programming has caused frantic
stampedes of zombies to flee for their lives, or what is left of them, before angry
citizens can get close enough to blast them into extinction and feed them to the
fishes in the deep briny sea. Some zealous vigilantes argue that zombie corpses
should be fed to freshwater piranhas, but concerns were raised that this would
turn piranhas into zombies though they admit there may not be any significantly
worse distinctive behavioral differences after morbid piscine transmogrification.
Kahmel and Fubar enjoy sipping refreshing Labrador Lemonade and munching
Bulldog Burgers at a KFC restaurant in Qatar. Although banned in America and
Europe, beverages and foods made from processed canine parts are served in
Qatar franchises supporting President Obama and his sophisticated epicurean
palate favoring seasoned delicacies of man's best friend. Diners who order the
supersized meals usually request doggie bags. It is rumored that illegal liquor
bars serve Hair Of The Dog of Muhammad, but Qatar officials strongly deny it.
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