What the Clusterfuck?
President Evan Bacon was looking out the Oval Office window. He was waiting on Eggs, his Chief of Staff to arrive.
Turn around; every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by. Turn around; every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes. Turn around bright eyes. Every now and then I fall apart. Turn around bright eyes—
His singing was interrupted by a loud cough, and it was right as he was just about to reach his favorite part. He turned around to face a very embarrassed (but not bright-eyed) Eggs and a horrified Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson, CIA Director, Ted Striker, Director of the NSA, Strom Armstrong and a tall lanky fellow in a white lab coat that he didn’t recognize.
Eggs stepped forward. “Sir, let me to introduce to you Dr. Fritz Rommel, the head scientist at NASA.”
The lanky man stepped forward to shake the President’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you Mr. President.”
For a second, Evan thought he was going to give him a seig heil salute. “Same here Dr. Rommel.”
“Please, you can just call me Fritz or what the guys at the lab call me, Dr. Strangelove.”
The president just stood there in awkward silence, waiting for Eggs or someone to tell him what this Nazi nerd was doing in the Oval Office.
Eggs spoke up. “There has been a very important development with the clusterfuckus; I mean thingy. Dr. Rommel is here to tell you about his latest findings.”
“We think we know what the objects are that are now on a trajectory towards earth.”
About a minute went by and Fritz didn’t say anything. He looked slightly uncomfortable, as if he weren’t used to speaking in front of a group.
“Well, don’t be shy Dr. Rommel; let’s hear it.”
“It might sound highly absurd, so I will need you to keep an open mind.”
If he had any idea about the things I’ve done in the bed room, he wouldn’t have to ask me to keep an open mind, Evan thought.
“The objects we initially thought of as debris are in fact space ships.”
The President looked at the lanky man, waiting on the punch line to what was obviously a really bad joke. One look at the rest of the group’s faces, and he could tell it was not a joke.
“I know it seems incredible. I mean believe me; I’ve tested and retested my findings and have confirmed it with three of our other top scientists. The evidence is conclusive; they are indeed spaceships.”
“Are you sure they are not satellites that have gone astray or perhaps one of our rovers?”
“No, that was the first thing we considered, but we know the whereabouts of all of our satellites and none are missing. We don’t have any rovers out presently.”
“So, when you say spaceships, do you mean like the 1950’s spaceships that look like a flying saucepan, or the War of the Worlds spaceships?
Dr. Rommel looked a little confused. “Neither sir; they don’t appear to be made out of metal at all. We are not sure what they are made of, it’s some sort of element that doesn’t even appear on the periodic table.
“Awesome,” Evan said. “I haven’t so much as farted on Air Force One yet and now you’re telling me that we are about to be visited by space creatures?”
“Unfortunately,” Eggs said.
“So, it’s not random chance that they are in the Earth’s trajectory is it?”
“No sir,” said Dr Rommel. “I’m afraid not. We think they intentionally set out a course for Earth.”
“What the hell do they want?”
NSA Director, Ted Striker spoke up. “We don’t know sir; the scientists at NASA have tried numerous ways to contact them without success. It seems their systems of communication are way more advanced than ours.”
“You mean like the Japanese?”
“They are even more advanced than the Japanese,” Ted said.
“What do we do if their intentions aren’t friendly?” The President asked.
“We have all of our people reviewing science fiction movies from the past twenty five years. They are looking at everything from Independence Day to Prometheus. Hopefully one of those movies will provide a solution,” NSA Director, Strom Armstrong said.
“Stanley, what do you think?”
The bald portly man pushed his glasses up with a finger. “I am putting together a team to receive the aliens, but I think we should prepare for the worst.”
“Sir, this brings us to our next point. I know you want to wait for your husband, but we have to get you to NORAD. I hate to say this sir, but our priority is you and the American people expect you to lead them out of this crisis,” Strom said.
The president was about to protest, when there was a loud ruckus outside the office. One of the White House volunteers, Marietta Lewinsky, burst through the door.
“Sir!” She yelled out with an air of urgency. “The Japanese government is claiming that cluster thingie is an alien invasion.”
Everyone just stared at her for a moment before turning to the President, who was still looking at Marietta.
“God damn it,” said Evan. “Ms Lewinsky, please remove Prime Minister Misutārobotto from my friends list.”
“That’s not all. Putin called and said he will personally fuck the aliens in the ass & throw them all in a Gulag if they try to invade his country. He asked what our puny country was prepared to do. He also called you bitch tits.”
“He called me bitch tits?”
“Yes sir and he said we didn’t win the Cold War; it was a tie.”
“Anyone else call?”
“The French Prime Minister, Manuel Valls, said that France is already drafting up its terms for surrender. Also, your broker called. The stock market is in the shitter, because people think the world might be ending and gold is at a historic low. He said you need to buy as much gold as you can and if things don’t go tits up, you can sell and make a fortune.”
“Well, at least there is some good news,” the president said sarcastically.
“Mr. President we really must be getting you to NORAD. When your husband makes it to the Whitehouse, he can always ride in Air Force Two to meet you,” Ted said.
The President sighed. He hoped that the Secret Service Agents with Mick would get him back to the White House safely.
“Alright, but I need to take a leak first; I’m not Jack Bauer.”
In a totally looted GameStop, a mere block and a half from the Starbucks they left an hour ago, Mick Cage and his Secret Service detail, along with Kitty Catan, Tad and Geoff Hall, Lorenzo Abbatantuono, the owner of the Cherubim Café, and his employee, Tom the waiter, all gather around the sole TV left untouched in the store. It was located on the counter in clear view. Seeing that it was a small, 19″ box TV, the GameStop employees used to test systems, nobody was interested in grabbing it. The group wasn’t surprised to find it there; it was a piece of shit.
Geoff hooked the satellite cable to the back, and was just now turning on the set, in hopes that his party could get some updates on their pending doom.
Dick Richards, Anchor for CBS, was the voice they heard before the tubes in the tiny set fired up, revealing the butt-chinned, white-haired newscaster. He was just finishing up a thought when they tuned in.
…sources say they expect the worst. Once again, for those just joining us, we are sad to report that the Clusterfuckus, is estimated to reach us in a little over half an hour and is expected to be a near-extinction level event. It’s probably a waste of time, but we ask that you seek shelter immediately or do whatever drugs you have at your disposal. Maybe have some sex if you’re able.
“Kanye Christ!” Tad exclaimed. “What a fucking nightmare and right on my cat’s birthday.”
Tom the waiter began sobbing, “I’ll never finish my bucket list now. I knew I should’ve stuck Canoeing with Orcas at the top of the list!”
Before anyone else could chime in, Dick was handed a paper, which he skimmed and then touched his ear, listening carefully to the new information he was receiving. He turned white, as he looked off screen to someone unseen by the viewer, and questioned the update’s validity.
Is this right? Um, Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we have an update… The debris has slowed down… considerably. We are unaware if this is good or bad, but Russian officials have released statements claiming… I can’t believe I’m saying this… the clusters look to be some kind of… Vessels.
“Did he just tell us we’re about to be visited by aliens?” Geoff asked.
Dick looks down slightly, and then returns his finger to his ear. After a brief pause, he looks back into the camera, as if talking directly to the people watching.
Yes, we’re getting reports in from all across the globe and the general consensus is that this is alien in nature. It is unknown at this time if they are friendly or assholes. Let us now go to our reporter on the streets, Juniper Snow, for more.
“Thanks, Dick. I’m standing outside DC Wieners with two locals, Katie and Rose. Ladies, what is your reaction to the recent reports that we’re not alone in the universe?”
Tad suddenly perked up after seeing his crush on TV.
“I’m pretty excited, you know,” said Rose. “What if they’re all like, ‘we’re here to solve the world’s problems, like…you know, fatness and what not.’”
“Damn. She’s so hot,” Tad said.
Katie leaned in and opened her mouth to voice her opinion, but not before Juniper Snow pulled the microphone away to say, “Looks like things are pretty positive around here, Dick. Back to you.”
Mick turned to Larry, “Evan just sent me a text. They’re preparing to take him to NORAD. We’ve got to hurry. No more pussyfooting around.”
Tad the waiter went pale, “This is bad; this is so bad. I had a dream this would happen, but I had ice cream in that dream. This is significantly worse than my dream. There’s no ice cream. I know… I’ve looked!”
Kitty slapped Tom the waiter, “Calm your tits! We don’t know what they want yet.”
“Kitty’s right,” Geoff said, trying to help.
Not trying to help, Tad said, “Maybe they’re a race of Amazonian women, here to propagate their species?”
“Geoff,” Kitty said, “How did you spring from the same womb as this daft prick?”
Darryl number two stepped in, “Let’s move, guys; you can argue on the way. If we don’t get the First Husband to The White House in the next hour, I lose the bet I made with Larry.”
“If we don’t eat soon, I’m going to starve, hey,” said Lorenzo as he wipes the mustard from his lower lip.
“It’s amazing how similar all this is to my movie, Penetration of the Booty Snatchers,” Mick said.”
Everyone turns to focus on Mick. “What? It’s like… eerily similar.”
Darryl, numbers one and two, step to the door and pull out their guns.
“Yippee ki yay, mother fuckers!” They both yell in unison, and kick the door to GameStop open, as if they rehearsed it several times.
Everyone is caught off guard as Daryl one and two, dart outside with guns at the ready; like they were cowboys in a spaghetti western.
“Aaaah… Did we say we were doing that?” Tad asked.
“No,” said Larry, as he turns to motion for the First Gentleman. “I guess we’re doing this, Sir.”
“We’re coming out.” Mick yells to Darryl and Darryl. That’s not the first time I’ve yelled that…
A full year has passed since Mick Cage, star of Sex and the City and Death, met Governor Evan Bacon in southern Virginia. It was immediately after filming, what would be his breakout roll as John Rolfe in Pokahotass; a porn parody praised critically for its historical accuracy. The two just finished their celebratory dinner, during which, they discussed the future and their plans to come out publicly as a couple.
“So we’re doing this?” Mick asks. “We’re coming out?”
“Definitely; I’m tired of keeping it a secret. I know you’re worried about my political career, but let me worry about that. You of all people know, this isn’t the worst thing that could come out about me,” Evan laughs.
“I haven’t even said it aloud to Marlo. I’m sure he knows, but still…”
“Listen, you and I; we are at the top of our game right now. Sex and the City and Death II releases next month and I’m meeting with President Trump tomorrow, to oversee the final bit of construction on the Trump Border Wall. The ribbon cutting ceremony in three weeks will be the perfect time to come out. Just imagine what that will do for your opening night?”
“You’re right,” Mick said with a smile. “You’re always right.”
“You’re damn right. Now enough talking, the debate is over. We’re doing it, but first, I’m doing you.”
The following day, Evan arrives at the border wall construction site by Playas de Tijuana. The Mexican construction workers are working day and night, to have it finished, before the ribbon cutting ceremony in 19 short days.
Evan notices they’re all singing a song unfamiliar to him. After Trump banned the Spanish language for all non-Hispanics during the end of his second term in office five years ago, many Americans have forgotten any Spanish not associated with the Taco Bell menu; food being the only exception to the law. All he can make out is, “no queremos para quedarse. Ha arruinado el país para todos.”
In the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of a limo off in the distance.
Trump is early; I guess I’ll grab that taco later rather than sooner.
He makes his way to the cul-de-sac, where Trump’s limo pulls around and comes to a halt. The Secret Service Agents, who are all foreign blonde models, gather around and survey the landscape. Not much preparation was needed, according to President Trump, because “the only way a bullet could stop Trump, is if Trump wants a bullet to stop Trump.”
The driver, also a Swedish goddess, runs around the limo in tall, clear heels, to open the President’s door.
“Mr. President, welcome to Playas de Tijuana,” Evan said.
Trump rises from the vehicle, “The pleasure is all yours; I’m sure. Are we on schedule?”
“Yes sir. They’ll be all set in a little over two weeks.”
“It’s great. It’s gonna be really, really great.”
“Right this way, Sir,” Evan motions.
The two begin their tour of the construction. “It’s been a long time in the making, but we’re finally on the home stretch. The war with Mexico set us back a bit and the repairs were expensive, but somehow you got them to pay for it all. It’s really quite impressive.”
“Yes,” Trump said as he smiled, quite impressed with himself. “When I threatened to send Gary Busey to Mexico permanently, they couldn’t pay fast enough.”
As the two continued their discussion along the wall’s edge, the workers above them leaned over to get a better look at the man they referred to as “El Enorme Polla.” One such worker, held his iPhone 12s out, in an attempt to snap a few shots of the American President. The worker loses his grip on the phone and the device falls, slamming into the ground, immediately in front of Trump.
“How dare you!” Trump yells in anger and grabbing the phone from the ground, hurls it back at the worker.
As if in slow motion, the phone spirals toward the construction worker, as he stares at it frozen from shock. The device strikes him right between the eyes, knocking him out and he somersaults over the scaffolding and onto the President.
“Mr President!” Evan cries out, as he drops by the fallen Trump’s side.
“Bacon… You finish this wall. These Mexicans have been falling on us for too long.”
“Um… I’m pretty sure this is the first time this has ever happened.”
“Yes sir,” Evan says with a nod. “I will finish what you have started.”
“Then deport all the gays.”
“Wait, what?” Evan asked. But he was too late. Deport all the gays would be Trump’s final words.