Sunday, October 02, 2016

An Election's Carol

Barack Obama, Hussein to his friends, rolled over once more, trying to get comfortable. This late in his second and final term, he was sleeping as poorly as he had before he had found and returned to Hillary the damning evidence that would prove Foster's murder. Apparently, it had been just stuck under the mattress. He had asked her about that one.

"Seriously, Chill," he said (she liked to be called Chillary nowadays), "Why would you hide the blackmail letters and depression-inducing drugs right where anyone could find them?"

"Well what else was I-" She broke into a coughing fit. "Sorry, what-HCKK-what was I supposed to do with them. Leave them on the nightstand?"

"You could just destroy the evidence, like I did back when I immigrated from Kenya."

"Destroy the evidence?" She seemed to be overwhelmed by this new idea.

"Yeah, just delete it from the record."

"Delete?" She furrowed her brow in thought and then gasped, pulling out her Blackberry. "I gotta go! I have 30,000...meetings to go to. Heh."

"Wait! I also have this outline of how 9/11 was an inside job."

"Oh, that's not mine. Probably was put there after I left."


Those were the days. Now she was off on the campaign trail, and she'd recently invited the Obamas along. Barack had refused. He beat her to the Oval Office. He wasn't gonna back no loser. Michelle had accepted, though. Now he was alone at the White House, his daughters being off at their Aunt Ginsburg's seminar on how to destroy the Constitution when they grew up to be secret Muslim gay abortionist activist justices like herself. Hopefully they had enough at the seance to call up both Malcolm X and Margaret Sanger, but really all that mattered was that they had fun. 

He glanced at the clock. 11:59 PM. He sighed. He'd gone to bed immediately after evening prayers to Mecca, but he just couldn't sleep. He found his box of cigs in the darkness. With the girls out, he could at least do something to make the night go a little more smoothly. He lit a match and nearly screamed at the ghostly face he saw.

"Who are you?" he cried.

"Do you not recognize me, Hussein?" asked the apparition.

"Of course I don't. Why would I-- wait! Yes! Vince Foster?"

"It is I."

"But you were taken care of decades ago!"

"BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA!" thundered the apparition spookily. "I have come to show you the error of your ways. Three spirits will visit you tonight, and they shall reveal to you what will happen if you allow your illegal executive actions to be reversed by the next president. Only by stumping for Hillary will you prevent the rise of the righteous Christian nation the Founding Fathers intended."

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