Wings and Dick Tattoos

Beneath the lowest alien craft in the city, Secret Service agents, Larry Wilhelm Davis, Darryl Davison and Darryl Davies were planning a rescue mission. In the ship above them were two girls, who potentially had the key to turning the tide in the battle for Earth. Strangers to them, Larry, Darryl and Darryl were about to risk their lives on a slither of hope, that whatever Katie and Rose had in their box, could be used to stop the Inkaku for good. Agent Davidson was still unsure if it was worth the risk, but Larry and Darryl number two were his brothers and where they went, he went.

“Okay, charges are set; last chance. You guys sure about this? It’s not like we can unplode the door shut later.” Darryl number one said.

“I don’t think unplode is a word, bro,” the other Darryl said.

“Do it,” Larry said.

“Just making sure you know what we’re giving up here. This door leads to safety, rest and over sixty flavors of chicken wings. Up there, that’s a suicide mission.”

“And probably no wings,” Darryl number two added.

“And probably no wings,” Darryl number one happily repeated.

Larry turns to make his way up the stairwell, pausing for a moment; he turns his head long enough to respond, “You think I don’t love wings?” Feeling the urge to continue, he faces the Darryl’s, “I know what I’m asking; I know I’m asking you to risk your lives for these girls and that mystery box. It may all be for nothing, but there’s a chance. I’m willing to risk it. I’m willing to risk my life for that chance, and as God as my witness; I’m willing to risk those fan-fucking-tastic wings. When the dust settles and the sun sets on this day, the world may not know of us or what we have done, but those alien bastards will know us, and if they should win this day, at least they’ll see us in their nightmares. They’ll toss and turn in their skin at night in fear, and every night, after I murder them horribly in their dreams; I’ll be eating wings and fucking their women.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Darryl number one said.

Darryl number two raised the nozzle on his flamethrower and ignited the pilot. “Tonight, we barbecue in Hell.”

***

In the theater room at the White House, everyone was relaxing, enjoying the final few scenes of The Day the Earth Stood Still on the big screen, while Guy was busy cleaning up the spent wing bones from around the room. Melvin wasn’t interested in the movie, but that was okay; he was enjoying himself as he used a black marker to carefully draw cartoonish dicks on Tad’s head, while he was passed out. Having hair tattooed on his head made them harder to see, but that’s what made it funnier to Melvin. Marlo found it hilarious as well; he supplied the marker. Being a part time amateur magician, Marlo Jenkins, always had one on him in case he needed to have someone sign a playing card for a trick. He and Melvin had a similar sense of humor when it came to practical jokes. Geoff and Tom the waiter, were beside Tad, also passed out, but not as much fun to draw dicks on, since they weren’t huge dicks like Tad was. Lorenzo was lounging in the back, enjoying both shows equally. He had just finished his fifth plate of smoked paprika wings with bacon sirloin queso, and washed it all down with a large Code Red Mountain Dew. He was beginning to feel as though he could float away. Peeling himself from the couch, he made his way over to the window, where Secret Service Agents, Anna Naranja and Langhorne Atherholt, were still studying the outside world from their windows.

“Excuse me. Where is the bathroom, hey?”

Anna jumped slightly. “Kanye Christ. You scared me; I thought you were that dick with the tattoos.”

“My bad, hey.”

Langhorne giggled. “Head right when you step into the hallway and it’s on the left.”

Lorenzo nodded, “Okay, right into the hallway, then left?”

“Right.” Lorenzo headed for the door.

“I don’t think he understood you,” Anna said shaking her head.

“He’ll figure it out.”

As Lorenzo stepped into the hallway, he turned right and started walking to the door on the left. As he reached for the doorknob, he remembered Agent Atherholt corrected him. He said, right. Opening the door on the right, Lorenzo immediately realized he made a mistake. There was no toilet in the room, just two people in a nude heap of sweaty flesh on the couch, directly in front of him. Lorenzo stood frozen. They hadn’t heard or seen him come in, and he wanted to watch for as long as he could; which wasn’t long. The woman on top, who looked an awful lot like Vice President, Honey Ryder, raised her hand and slapped the shit out of the poor bastard underneath her. His eyes grew large as he noticed Lorenzo enjoying the show. A loud, high-pitched scream rang out. The girl screamed too. She hopped off the couch in the blink of an eye, and used the nearby curtain to shield her naughty bits. The guy was even quicker off the couch, but more panicked and couldn’t decide what to use for cover.

“Damn it, Hook, grab a shoe or something,” Honey said.

“I don’t think your shoe is big enough to cover it,” he said slyly.

“I’m sorry, hey. I was looking for the restroom.”

“Who are you and how did you get into the White House?” Honey asked.

“My name is Lorenzo and I’m the owner of the Cherubim Cafe; I was with the First Husband and Secret Service. Have you been here this whole time, hey?”

“Yes, we’ve been…um, working on the current national crisis. I’m Hook… Hook Jericho and this is Honey Ryder; you probably know her already.”

“Nope,” Lorenzo answered sharply. He wasn’t caught up on The Walking Dead, much less politics.

“I think maybe it’s time we left on Air Force Two and joined the President at NORAD,” Honey said.

“I’m afraid it is not here; the First Husband took it to see his husband at NORAD, hey.”

“What! God damn it! I told you we should have left a long time ago,” Honey said.

Hook laughed. “The First Husband stole your ride.”

“You should join my group in the theater room; we were just enjoying some chicken wings, hey. Secret Service Agents Anna and Langhorne are out there as well, hey.”

Honey looked at Hook. “We might as well; it doesn’t look like we are going anywhere.”

Lorenzo left the couple and wondered into the bathroom; he had almost forgotten he needed to go.

“I hope the President is okay,” Honey said.

“I’m sure he is fine, hey,” Hook said mocking Lorenzo’s accent.

“You’re such an asshole Hook.”

“You love that I’m an asshole.”

“Seriously though, do you have a plan to get us out of this crisis?” Honey asked.

“Why would I have a plan?” Hook asked and grabbed his pants off the floor.

“You’re the director of FEMA.”

“I’ve only been the director for a short while, how should I know. I was brought on after Michael Brown was fired a second time and the only advice he gave me, was try not to fuck up.”

“He had to say that; it’s what everyone in government is told when they start. It’s more of a guideline than a rule.”

Honey put on her blouse and skirt; she pulled a compact with a mirror out of her purse. “Oh great, I have bed head.” She brushed out her hair and tied it up in a bun. Hook put back on his beige suit and was tying his tie.

Honey and Hook joined the others in the theater room. The introductions were made and they settled in on one of the couches. The pair helped themselves to a plate of chicken wings. Tad immediately forgot about Anna when he saw Honey. Honey, a former model, with long blonde hair and green eyes, was drop dead gorgeous. The other staffers called her the Honey Pot behind her back.

“Hey, I’m going to make a move on the blonde,” Tad whispered to his brother Geoff.

“Are you crazy? That’s the Vice President of the United States,” Geoff hissed.

“So, who cares, everyone is fair game in the apocalypse. I think I’m going to go with, Gurl did you just sit in a pile of sugar, cuz you gotta pretty sweet ass!”

“I think you’re going to be a virgin the rest of your life,” Geoff said.

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Cousins don’t count.”

Tad didn’t respond; he strutted over to where Honey and Hook were sitting. He was all set to say something smooth, but one look at her face and all he could think to say was, “Hey.”

The Vice President looked up at the pimply face boy with the dumb expression and said, “Hey.”

Tad just continued staring, without saying anything else, so Hook spoke up. “Is there something you need kid?”

Geoff, who was watching the scene unfold from across the room, took a picture with his phone of his brother and Honey. He posted the pic on Twitter, with the following caption: My brother trying to hit on the Vice President of the United States. #VeepCreep

Lorenzo finally came back from the bathroom. Guy Fieri’s spicy habenero chicken wings were not agreeing with his stomach; he went over to the couch where Hook and Honey were sitting.

“I’m very sorry I walked in on you when you were making the sex, hey.” Honey’s face went white, Tad opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so he shut it again and Hook laughed. The whole room went quiet, because Lorenzo spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. Tad walked away and rejoined his brother, who was now tweeting the latest development.

Anna and Langhorne looked at each other and smiled, as if to say, see we are not the only ones.

A loud, yet muffled sound of broken glass poured in from the hallway; sobering everyone up.

“What’s that?” Marlo asked breaking the silence in the room, as he pointed to the door of the theater room. Underneath the door, a green gas was seeping into the room.

Anna and Langhorne immediately jumped into action. They opened a cabinet that had gas masks and they grabbed enough for everyone.

“Holy shit! You have gas masks in the White House theater room?” Melvin asked.

“Former President Trump insisted that they be put in here, although he had a different use for them. Don’t ask,” Langhorne said.

Everyone put on their gas masks and Anna opened the windows to let the toxic fumes dissipate. Anna couldn’t help but feel like she was forgetting something. Not something, but someone.

“Shit, Guy Fieri is in the kitchen and he doesn’t have a mask.”

Anna grabbed a mask and ran into the kitchen along with the rest of the group, but it was too late. When she got into the kitchen, she could see his recognizable trademark of spiked hair and shades, but it was on a very bloated face. Anna hesitated, but Langhorne drew his gun and fired.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooo,” Marlo Jenkins shouted, and jumped in front of Guy taking the bullet. He fell to the floor; blood was seeping from his chest where Langhorne’s bullet hit.

Langhorne fired again and hit Guy in the forehead. The fat, spiky-haired alien dropped to the ground, as everyone rushed forward at the same time.

Melvin grabbed Guy’s hand. “Hang in there Guy.”

“Don’t you die on us god damn it,” Geoff yelled. No one seemed to notice Marlo on the floor, gasping for his last breath as blood filled his lungs.

“It’s no use; he’s dead,” Anna said.

“I’m hungry; who is going to make the chicken wings now, hey?” Lorenzo asked.

It was the question that was on all of their mines, as tears filled their eyes.

 

Poopgate

Secret Service agents, Larry Wilhelm Davis, Darryl Davison and Darryl Davies were enjoying a much needed break. Charged with guarding a secret tunnel entrance to the White House, the three men were diligently eradicating any aliens that passed by and had come to a decision to call it a day. They welded the door shut from the inside, due to their low levels of remaining ammo. Taking stock after the last barrage over half an hour ago, Darryl number two, counted four handgun clips, one assault rifle clip, two shells for Larry’s sniper rifle and two grenades. Darryl number one had a sack containing six sticks of dynamite that, for whatever reason, just happened to be in the small arms closet behind the tunnel door. Darryl number two claimed the flame thrower and was itching to use it, but the need had yet to surface.

They had enough to hold the fort a bit longer, but for how long, depended on how many Inkaku showed. A big enough battalion could prove too much for the three of them, so the decision was made.

“Collect the ammo; we’re done here. Let’s seal that door and go get some wings,” Larry said.

Darryl number one added, “Oh hell yeah. We’ve earned us some goddamn wings. Guy made these new chocolate covered wings Tuesday, that nearly made me shit myself in the best possible way. You guys gotta try’em.”

The three men collected their things and turned towards the door to the stairwell leading to the tunnel. Before either of them took their first step, a noise quickly grabbed their attention and they turned at breakneck speed with weapons drawn.

“Kanye Christ! You can’t sneak up on people like that; especially at a time like this, specifically armed like we are and unfortunately looking like you look,” Darryl number two yelled.

“Fuck… You,” Katie replied.

“I remember you girls from that Starbucks,” Larry said.

“You remember the both of them for entirely contrasting reasons,” Darryl number one said in a hushed tone meant only for Larry’s ears.

“Yeah, that’s us. I’m Rose. This is Katie.”

“Larry.”

“Darryl.”

“I’m also Darryl,” Darryl number one said, before thinking to himself, and this is my confused boner…

“Can you guys help us?” Rose asked as she turned on her puppy dog eyes. “Those things are after us.”

Peering over the girls shoulders, the guys couldn’t see anything following them.

“Are they invisible?” Darryl number one asks as assholish as possible. He looks at the other Darryl after hearing his own question said aloud and asked in complete seriousness, “They can’t do that, can they?”

Darryl shrugged and only offered an I don’t know grunt.

“Ohmygawd, Rose. Where’d they go? Wait, where’s your box?”

“Oh I tossed that thing back at Chipotle. I was not running with that in my hands. What if I fell on it? Eew.”

“Rose, what if that killed them back at Chipotle?”

“Wait,” Larry broke in. “What’s in the box?”

Katie started, “It’s cra–”

“–Katie thinks she may have stumbled upon the aliens weakness,” Rose interrupted before dying of embarrassment.

Darryl number two responded, “Bullets. Bullets are a pretty good weakness.”

Larry threw his hand up in a halting fashion, “Just a sec, Darryl. Katie, if we can get you to one of our military bases, do you think what you have there can be weaponized and used to wipe out a large number of them?”

“I do.”

Larry looked at his guys for a moment and then back at Katie and Rose. “Ladies, come with us. We’ll take you with us. You’ll be saf–”

Before Larry could finish his sentence, the orb tracking the girls sped around the corner. The guys fired upon it, but it just wobbled as it was hit.

“It’s shielded!” Larry yelled.

As they continued to fire, a fan of white light spewed out and encompassed the girls. As they turned to run, the orb rose up out of sight and the girls were pulled away in the blanket of light, like they had been snagged in some sort of net. The guys followed after them and could only watch as the girls, along with their mystery box, was lifted up into a ship above them.

Darryl number one was last outside and standing behind the others. As Darryl number two and Larry continued to gaze upward, Darryl number one looked at them and said, “What now? Back to the plan?”

Larry, continuing to look up at the ship that now contained the girls, tightened his grip on his rifle and said, “Change of plans.”

 

***

As the others waited for the okay, Eastwood stepped off Air Force Two to clear the area. No one was there to greet them upon their arrival. They were either really busy, or worse.

“Do you think the President is okay?” Kitty asked Mick.

“I do. He’s a tough sonovabitch. Tougher than anyone realizes. He’s a beauty in the sheets and a beast in the sheets.”

“I’m sure he’s quite capable, but these are aliens we’re talking about. We don’t know what they have in store for us,” Yukon said.

“Believe me, Evan has tricks up his sleeve. He won’t go down easily. Well…” Mick cracks a bit of a smirk as he holds back from finishing his thought.

 

***

President Evan Bacon and staff were enjoying a momentary reprieve from alien attacks. The NORAD hallways were filled with dead, bloated-looking Danny DeVitos. Dr. Fritz Rommel, also known as Dr. Strangelove among his colleagues at NASA, finally worked up the courage to come out from his hiding place. The group had completely forgotten about the Nazi doctor.

“Nice of you to join us,” Secretary of Defense Victor Kankoff said sarcastically.

Dr. Rommel ignored him. “I was watching in the control room when all the aliens died. It is clear what we must do. It’s so simple; I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“Well, tell us Herr Doctor,” General Usrodd said.

“We must somehow turn the feces into a vaccine to make us immune against the gas.”

“You mean a poop vaccine?” Cecilia “the Hammer” Hammerstein asked.

“Precisely! It will protect us against the Inkaku; it’s just like treating any other disease or infection.”

The group just stared at him in bewilderment.

“I must take a sample back with me to my lab at NASA. We must hurry though; I’m sure more aliens will be coming.”

The group followed Dr. Rommel into the bathroom, where the President took a dump earlier that clogged the toilet.

“Do we have any gloves; I don’t want to handle feces with my bare hands?” Dr. Rommel asked.

“I don’t think so and we don’t have time to look for them. You can scrub your hands in the sink afterwards with soap and hot water, which should be sufficient enough to kill any germs or bacteria,” The President said.

“I never thought I would be handling the President of the United States’ turds,” Dr Rommel said.

“My policies aren’t turds,” the President said indignantly.

“I meant actual turds Mr. President.”

“It must definitely be a first in our nation’s history,” CIA Director, Ted Striker said. Unbeknownst to Ted, it wasn’t the first time. There was an incident with President Nixon and his Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger, which was only known by a few people and referred to as Poopgate. The President was one of those people, he was told that information before taking office, along with who really shot J.F.K, the location where Jimmy Hoffa is buried and the location of the lost city of Atlantis, which Dick Cheney is currently drilling for oil.

Then there was the rumor surrounding the Trump administration. Though fresher, even less people knew about this one. Many disregarded it as hearsay. There was no proof that it actually happened, only rumors. Bacon and Eggs heard the tale from Trump’s VP, Early Whitehall. About a week before Evan was sworn in, Early mentioned Trump liked to veto bills with a stamp using his excrement in place of ink. As the story goes, Trump assigned the task of handling his poo to former Secretary of State, Randal Peuraker, who Trump referred to as, “The Poo Raker.”

Dr. Rommel turned the handle on the faucet, after carefully rapping the specimen in paper towels and placing it in his lab coat. He waited, but no water came out.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong doc?” The President asked.

“The water is not working.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me. No pun intended,” President Bacon said.

Dr. Rommel tried to wipe off his hands as best he could with a paper towel. “Please, you must help me get back to my lab at NASA, so I can start working on a cure immediately.”

“I don’t know; Air Force One might be damaged from the bombs the Air Force dropped on the alien spaceships,” Director of the CIA, Victor Kankoff said.

“I’m not leaving until my husband arrives,” The President said.

“I don’t know Mr. President; I mean, what about the rest of the world? We could be saving millions,” Eggs his Chief of Staff said.

“Let’s at least survey Air Force One and see if any damage was done,” Ted said.

The group didn’t get very far, before more Inkaku rounded the corner. Dr. Rommel hid his slim frame behind the portly Director of Homeland Security.

The President shot the first one in the face with his Sig Sauer p320. One of the Inkaku slipped past him and sprayed its noxious gas right on Victor Kankoff, who immediately turned into one of them. General Usrodd didn’t hesitate; he had been in too many military conflicts and wars to let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. He opened fire on Victor with his machine gun. Cecilia let out an ear piercing scream.

Cecilia had always had a crush on Victor. She was going to ask him out when all of this was over and now she would never get the chance.

Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson, charged one of the aliens and tackled it to the ground. They didn’t call him, “Lunchbox” for nothing.  He smashed its face in with his meaty fists. General Usrodd took out the rest with his machine gun. No one knew where he got the machine gun; it was a mystery, like how one of your socks always disappeared in the dryer.

The group stared down at what was left of the Secretary of Defense.

The President knew that Victor rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and he had a reputation as a hard ass. A lot of his staff called him names like Wankoff, Spankoff, Canker Sore…he was the best Secretary of Defense the country had ever had in his opinion, but more than that; he was a friend.

“I’m almost out of ammo,” The President said.

“Same here,” General Usrodd and Ted Striker said in unison.

The President was gloomy; He was sad about the death of his friend and he missed his husband terribly.

“Don’t look so sad Mr. President. Who knows; your poop just might save the world,” Dr. Rommel said as he reached out his hand, preparing to console the president with a pat on the shoulder.

“Touch me with that hand, doctor, and you’ll have to learn a new way to clap.”

Director Johnson walked up to President Bacon in an attempt to pull his focus away from Victor’s sudden death.

“Sir, we need to move; we either need to survey the condition of Air Force One, or find some soap and water for the doctor’s shitty hands.”

“You should probably fix that hole in the bunker we just came through too,” said a voice from just outside the room.

Evan knew that voice. Looking up, he saw Mick turn the corner; his long jacket flowing behind him like a cape. Three white doves launched into the room, followed by Kitty, Yukon and Eastwood.

“Yeah, it’s super windy down this hallway and it’s full of birds,” Kitty said.

Evan’s face gained new life.

“Baby!”

Evan and Mick came together like Bo Derek and Dudley Moore from 10.

The group smiled; it was nice to witness something good for a change. Cecilia felt bitter –sweet; she would never get the chance to see how Victor felt about her, but at least the President was reunited with his husband again. Who knows, if she survived this ordeal, there was someone named Lorenzo Abbatantuono on Match.com, who sounded promising.  His profile said he was the owner of a restaurant in D.C.

Thirty minutes later after the couple finished making out, the introductions were made. The President filled them in on Dr. Rommel’s theory and their plan to get to NASA.

Mick Cage-Bacon put a new clip into his Beretta. He looked really cool in his duster jacket, like he just came off the set of filming Sex and the City and Death III.

 

“Alright, let’s get the hell out of here,” Mick said.

A thought suddenly occurred to Evan; he had been too preoccupied with fighting off aliens and worrying about his husband to notice. “Where the fuck is the Vice President and more importantly, where the fuck is my personal secretary, Marietta Lewinsky?”

 

Clockwork Agent Orange

The theater room at the White House was quite impressive. During his time as President, Trump spared no expense to renovate the equipment and decor. President Trump hired a team from IMAX to design the room. The entire wall was a screen with the latest in sound and digital projection. When not in use, the wall displayed scenery from some of the most beautiful places on Earth, Trump Casinos and resorts as well as extremely high definition images of Trump’s wife in bikinis, that no one could figure out how to remove in the settings menu. The entire room, when not in theater mode, was full of arcade style games and pool tables; all of which were on the other side of the room and completely isolated with a hydraulic sound wall during movies with the touch of a button. All of this was “trumped,” for lack of a better word, by the full-sized kitchen in the adjoining room, where Guy Fieri was on hand twenty-four hours a day, to produce wings whenever they were requested. Trump paid him a billion dollars and thirty-five cents to be on hand at all times, for a total of forty years without fail, with an option to renew his contract in 2057. This was definitely where you wanted to be during the alien apocalypse.

Positioned around the room, were almost a dozen Secret Service Agents, most of whom resembled one another like carbon copies of Agent Smith from The Matrix. Two agents stood out, the lone female member of the team, Anna Naranja, who the other agents referred to as, Agent Orange and the dashingly handsome, Langhorne Atherholt; the highest ranking agent at the White House. Langhorne Atherholt, was a very big name for such a small man. In fact, Langhorne and Agent Orange were the shortest people in the room. A trait that probably helped mold them into the biggest bad asses in the Secret Service. Secretly, the two were dating; a fact well hidden from their coworkers, and easily missed by Tad, who was busy hitting on Anna as hard as he could. There were three windows in the room, all facing the north street in front of the White House and all three had Secret Servicemen in them, even though snipers were on the roof. You can never be too careful, after all.

Agent Orange was the lookout in the middle window; so naturally, Tad was sitting with his back against the pane, obstructing her view. He was going through his sure fire pick up lines in his head.

Gurl, did you get those pants on sale, cuz at my house they would be a 100% off. Gurl, was your daddy a baker, cuz you got some nice buns… Tad was busy firing through everything in his arsenal and didn’t notice her occasional glances over to the far right window, where Agent Atherholt was standing. Knowing her intimately, her look was all she needed to give him; he knew exactly what she was saying.

 Can I please drop kick this asshat through the window?

Langhorne simply smiled ever so slightly, to signify he knew where her head was, but never gave her the go ahead.

He’s enjoying this, she thought.

“Do you think Guy Fieri can make us some chicken wings? I’m hungry, hey,” Lorenzo said.

“Don’t be silly Guy Fieri isn’t here now,” Tom the waiter said.

“No, actually he is here; he’s in the kitchen right now,” Anna said.

“Wow, you can get Guy Fieri to cook chicken wings for you during an alien apocalypse? I want to be President of the United States,” Tad said before returning his gaze of love back to Anna.

“You can’t be President; you’re not smart enough,” his brother Geoff said.

“What does being smart have to do with being President?”

“That’s definitely not a prerequisite in this day and age, and I mean no disrespect to the current President,” Tom the waiter said.

Tom, whose real first name isn’t Tom and whose last name isn’t Waiter, didn’t want to mention he had not voted for him in the last election. After all, he was being allowed in the White House, protected by Secret Service Agents and about to be served chicken wings by Guy Fieri, all while an alien apocalypse was happening; to complain would seem ungrateful.

“I’ll go alert Guy to cook up a big batch of chicken wings,” Agent Atherholt said and headed towards the kitchen, leaving Anna alone with the pathetic, horny twenty-something.

 

***

Not far from the White House, Katie and Rose were busy polishing off a few bottles of chardonnay from the wine cellar/sex dungeon. It was a far cry from watching an IMAX movie and eating chicken wings made by Guy Fieri, but considering it was the end of the world; they didn’t have it too bad off.

Katie looked at the gimp suit. “Do you think we can take it with us?”

“No, it won’t fit in our back packs and it certainly isn’t practical. What are we going to do with a gimp suit during the apocalypse?”

“I know; I guess I was just being optimistic and thinking it would be hilarious to take a pic of it, and post it on Instagram when all this is over. We might not even get out of this alive though.”

“Hey, you can’t think like that. We’ve come this far and I think that says a lot, considering we were unarmed. Now that we have weapons, are odds are much better.”

“We should probably get going before we get too drunk. I’ve got a nice buzz, but I need to be lucid enough to shoot aliens,” Katie said.

Katie picked up her back pack, along with her shot gun and Rose did the same only she had a Kalashnikov.

“This is the same weapon that First Husband, Mick Cage-Bacon used in Sex and the City and Death,” Rose said

“It’s a shame we might not get to see his new film, Sex and the City and Death III: More Death and Sex.” Katie said.

“Don’t worry Katie. We have weapons now and from here on out, it’s all kittens and dildos.”

Katie and Rose climbed back out of the cellar/sex dungeon and into the bar room of the Blue Oyster Bar where, “El Bimbo” was still playing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFifyV6vfBw

Rose cracked the door and peeked out. She didn’t see anyone on the streets.

“The coast is clear; let’s roll. It’s only about half a mile to the White House from here. ”

They made their way down several blocks unchallenged.

“It’s eerily quiet. Where are all the aliens?” Katie asked.

“Maybe they’ve already came through this way and passed on. They probably–” Rose stopped in front of a Chipotle. “Omg, Katie you have to see this.”

Rose looked in the Chipotle window, and on the floor were dozens and dozens of aliens laying motionless.

“Are they dead?” Rose asked.

“It appears that way.”

“Maybe we should go in and investigate. Something or someone has killed them all, and we should find out what it is. These aliens may have a weakness, and if we can discover it; we might just be able to survive this thing.”

“I don’t know; what if whatever or whoever killed them, is still in there and decides to kill us?” Katie asked.

“I think it’s worth the risk, besides; we have weapons now remember?”

Katie and Rose cautiously stepped inside the Chipotle with their guns drawn. As soon as they were both inside, a pungent stench assaulted their nostrils.

Katie bent over and almost hurled. Rose pulled up her shirt over her nose.

“It smells like the toilets have overflowed,” Katie said.

Rose opened one of the bathrooms and there was a pool of toilet water on the floor.

“That’s exactly what it is,” Rose confirmed.

“You don’t think…no it couldn’t be.”

“What?” Rose asked.

“You don’t think that’s what killed the aliens do you?”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I noticed on the way in, that none of the aliens were shot,” Katie said.

“So, your theory is that the aliens died, because someone took a massive dump in a Chipotle, which caused the toilet to overflow and the stench poisoned them?” Rose asked.

“Well, it is a Chipotle after all.”

“That seems a bit of a stretch, besides; how do we test out your theory?”

“We take some feces with us,” Katie said.

“You want to take some Chipotle food with us?” Rose asked.

“No, I mean we collect some feces out of the bathroom and put it into a to-go box.”

Rose was going to object, but Katie grabbed a to-go box and headed into the rest room.

She bent down and scooped up some poop with the box to avoid touching it with her hands.

“OMG, Katie, are we seriously going to take feces with us to the White House?”

“Well, it won’t be the first time there has been feces in the White House.”

“True.”

“Besides, if our theory is correct, this crap box might turn into a pretty nice grenade, should we run into a large group of aliens,” Katie said as she hands Rose her very own fresh box of funk.

“I guess it’s worth a try, but I doubt we’d run into a large group of aliens. We haven’t seen any since we left the dungeon” Rose said.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Rose and Katie casually walked out of the door of the Chipotle, with their boxes of fresh poo. They could see directly in front of them, across the street, were at least thirty aliens if not more. The aliens were all huddled together, peeking into a D.C Wieners restaurant window; trying to decipher what the tubes of cased meat were made up of. They would be there all day wondering, like the rest of the world, if not for the amazingly loud slam of the Chipotle door closing behind Katie and Rose.

All thirty or so aliens whipped their heads around and focused on the two girls. Rose and Katie looked at each other with their mouths opened wide in disbelief, then back to the Inkaku, just long enough to shatter their eardrums with their screams. The aliens roared back and started across the street. Katie and Rose almost became horizontal as they dashed down the road.

In what seemed like an eternity, even though it had only been a few minutes, they were at the White House, but they didn’t stop. In fact, they didn’t know what the White House looked like from the North face. With no Secret Service Agents or no one else about, it looked like any other entrance. They ran right by the front door and were none the wiser. They didn’t even notice that the aliens weren’t following them anymore.

Rose instinctively tossed her box high into the air as they fled. The box landed nearly in the middle of the trailing aliens, and as it impacted the ground; the splash from it took out most of them instantly. They melted a lot like Stripe in that scene from Gremlins. Out of the entire group, only three remained unscathed. The Inkaku jumped back just in the nick of time and as the girls ran away. One of them aimed a device from his arm at Katie and tagged her with a dot of red light. A silver orb shot up from his backpack and away it went; flying off after them. The three surviving aliens looked at one another and nodded. The orb would find them and they would have their revenge.

 

***

Turning his attention back to the street, Langhorne focused his gaze upon a couple of girls running by. A pretty redhead and what looked like the human inspiration for the Furby. The redhead was obviously fit and able to run faster and yet was holding back, so her plump pal could keep up. Her friend, on the other hand, was definitely reaching her top speed and resembled a person in flippers, running towards the ocean.

Anna and the other agent by a different window, also spotted them and watched in amusement. Tad was too busy flirting to be distracted by anything at the moment.

Melvin was still busy categorizing his dick pics on his phone and had not been listening to any of the exchanges. Everyone had their cell phones charging, thanks again to the excess of former President Trump, who had a stash of phone chargers for just about any phone out on the market. Melvin was the only one who didn’t need one, because he brought his with him wherever he went. He wasn’t going to let the end of the world, stop him from his immature pranks.

Geoff was busy tweeting. Can’t believe my brother can’t even score during the end of the world. #epicfailintheapocalypse

Lorenzo, who recently divorced, is on every dating website in existence. He checked his FarmersOnly.com account. He knew a lot about food, but nothing about farming. He was not above bullshitting though, if it meant getting a date.

In what seemed like no time at all, Guy appeared from the kitchen, pushing a cart filled with trays of buffalo wings. He was characteristically wearing his shades and enough hair gel, that he would never have to run a comb through it ever again. There were barbecue wings, mild wings, hot wings, mango habanero wings, and every other wing that you could conceive; along with an array of dipping sauces.

There was complete silence in the room, as everybody went to town on the wings. Lorenzo was in heaven. Tad had to use about twenty napkins, because he was eating the barbecue wings.

Outside the world was falling apart, except for Detroit, and people were turning into fleshy Danny DeVito’s right and left. There were people who were scavenging for food and water and fighting for their lives, while Tad, Geoff, Tom the waiter, Anna, Agent Atherholt, Lorenzo and Melvin ate chicken wings made by Guy Fieri.

There was only one thing that could make this moment even more perfect. “Can we watch Sex and the City and Death on the IMAX screen?” Geoff asked.

 

The Food Heavy Chapter

    As the entire world fights back swarms of fart zombies and labia-faced alien Danny DeVitos, the tunnel to the White House was a boring yet welcome place. Kitty and Yukon were noticeably upset, that the peacefulness was about to come to an end. Mick and Eastwood, both men of action, were itching for a fight and eager to exit the quiet of the below ground tubular walkway. Tad and his brother were bothered more by the lack of signal, than anything else. The lack of signal was no deterrent for Melvin, who was flipping through his phone, admiring his stockpile of dick pics he had on hand, for whenever the need for a good dick pic arose. As for Tom the waiter, he worried about everything, including how Lorenzo could eat at a time like this, and even more than that; where did he find that foot long Italian sub sandwich?

Thinking back, Tom the waiter was hard pressed to recall a time when he saw Lorenzo without food in his hands. Every time he went back into the kitchen, Lorenzo was tossing an olive in his mouth, or tilting his head back to drop in some feta cheese. Well, he could ponder that later. There were too many other things to worry about, in fact; he knew he had better concentrate on the present or run the risk of getting left behind by the others. They were quick to forget him. He stood in the back, as he watched Yukon and Eastwood turn the latch to the door and peek out to check that the coast was clear.

“We’re good,” Eastwood said as he motioned for the others to follow him into the lower level of the White House.

“It’s about time,” a voice rang out from the other side of the room. It was Mick’s manager and long time friend, Marlo Jenkins. “I waited so long and I finished all these crossword and Sudoku puzzles; I was about to go out of my mind.”

Marlo pointed to the small stack of completed puzzles so everyone was sure to be impressed. He was a bit of a know it all, but more than that, he was a huge dick. Although, if anyone were to take a closer look, they’d realize he just filled in the boxes with nonsense words such as, cliterally and weinus, to seem smarter than he really was. Again, he was a huge, massive dick.

“It’s good to see you. Have you had much trouble here?” Mick asked.

“There was one long attack after the President left, but then nothing. It’s like they know he’s gone. All the Secret Service guys are upstairs, taking shifts between going on watch and playing Halo in the theater room.”

“Have you heard from President Bacon since he arrived at NORAD?” Eastwood asked.

“No, Air Force One touched down an hour ago and there’s been no further contact.”

“No news is good news, am I right?” Tad asked not really expecting an answer.

Kitty followed up, “I’m not sure that’s true during invasions, Tad.”

Eastwood turned to the group, “Alright, here’s what’s next. The First Gentleman, Mr. Jenkins & I, will head to Air Force Two, and we will need to be quick about it. Kitty and Yukon will need to come with us. The rest of you will be safe here. Follow us up to the theater room; it will be on our way. We’ll leave you in the capable hands of the Secret Service. The only place safer than here is NORAD.”

 

***

     President Bacon and his staff are just collecting themselves from a second attack, as the third wave arrived. Luckily, they had only suffered a few casualties, all of which were basically low level red shirts, some of whom were slaughtered by alien hands, but most were gunned down by his staff after being zombified. Evan couldn’t get over how amazing his cabinet was, especially Stanley Johnson. The Director of Homeland Security was almost as round as he was tall. His nickname around the Homeland Security office was, Lunchbox because he could really pack in the food. He was a fairly unassuming man under normal conditions, save for his size. Stanley was often seen adorned in the trappings of a wealthier man, but at his core; he was simply a country boy out of his element. He played the game well though, using a large chunk of his money to buy nice clothing and fancy things, in an attempt to blend in with the Washington elite. That façade went by the wayside, once the first wave was upon them. Now, he was like an albino Hulk, tossing the Inkaku around like napkins at a pig picking. Evan tried to remain by his side; he was clearly the partner you wanted in a fight. As the new batch of aliens poured in, Evan and Stanley were back to back, beating the shit out of any Inkaku stupid enough to test them. Evan was out of ammo, much like the rest of his team, so every object in the room became their arsenal. The Inkaku were fast, but not exceptionally strong. They were just as vulnerable as us, so the trick was getting past their armor. The down side was that without the added weight, they moved much faster.

In the break room, down the hall from Evan and his staff, is the President’s Secretary, Marietta Lewinsky. She followed The President everywhere and especially this time, thinking she would avoid danger. Unfortunately, danger followed them to NORAD. She is alone and barricaded in a poorly lit break room, with no way to defend herself, should the aliens find their way in. During the initial attack, she heard the calamity down the hall in the operations room and when she peeked out, she saw two Inkaku step into the hallway. She ducked back out of site and gasped, just as one of the butt-ugly aliens, turned to look in her direction. It missed her, but it could certainly head her way at any moment.

Marietta gently pressed the door closed and turned the locking mechanism as quietly as possible. The room was solid on three of its four walls, but the hallway wall was entirely glass. Perhaps it was sturdy enough to keep them out, but why risk it?

Better to stay out of sight, she thought, as she receded behind one of the couches in the room. She lowered her head to peer under the red velour couch, and watched as the alien slowly passed. She could tell by its stride, that it was surveying the room for potential targets as it approached. It stopped at the door and shook the handle. To her dismay, she peed a little at the fright of seeing the ugly creature. Thankfully, the alien didn’t see the need to continue and carried on down the hall.

She was safe, but for how long? Maybe someone would come to collect her after the battle? That was of course unless they all died. Maybe they fled, leaving her behind? She resolved to remain hidden, until someone, be it human or alien; came for her.

Marietta remained on the floor. Her long golden hair spilled around her head, hiding her face. Her pant suit was beginning to smell of urine. She got behind the couch, remaining out of sight, but now she could slip off her wet pants. Unfortunately, she wore no underwear, but she had just recently had her junk waxed. So, if anyone caught her, literally with her pants down, she would be more proud than embarrassed. Marietta removed her belt from her urine-stained slacks, and fastened it back around her waist. In the front, she wrapped a kitchen towel around herself, which she removed from the counter with her toes.

All that yoga finally paid off, she thought.

Her makeshift loincloth would do little to preserve her modesty, but it was better than nothing. As she relaxed on the floor, she looked straight up at the ceiling. A noise was coming from the air vent above her, and it was getting louder. She knew it was that alien from before; it must have smelled her leaky faucet.

Marietta leaped to her feet and jumped for the door, a fraction of a second before the alien bastard hunting her, broke through the ceiling and landed just where she had been before. She took a long look at the repugnant beast, as they squared off to face one another. The scene was reminiscent of a Wild West gun duel, but instead of it being between two leather-faced old cowboys, it was between a woman in a rough cotton loincloth and a monster with a shitty hairstylist.

Ever so slightly, Marietta’s eyes cut to the door. The alien glanced at it as well, but tilted its head and then returned its gaze, as if to say, are you feeling lucky, bitch?

Marietta did feel lucky. She was also feeling pretty sexy, seeing that she was half-naked and the alien before her, sort of looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito’s baby. She had lost her cherry to the movie, Twins a few years ago, when it aired on TBS, to a guy named Fernando. He worked in the kitchen department at Home Depot. They had been in a break room, much like this one and on a couch, much like the one that separated her and her attacker.

Marietta lunged for the exit, but the Inkaku was too fast and thwarted her escape. It grabbed her right arm, just as she grabbed the door with her left. The alien jerked her away with such force, that she flew across the room and into the refrigerator. The freezer door swung open from the force, and a TV dinner fell into her lap. As the Inkaku started again for her, she grabbed the frozen dinner and hurled it like a Frisbee, slapping the beast in the head. The Inkaku stopped dead in its tracks. It was just as frozen as the Salisbury steak that hit its head. Marietta reached into the freezer for more ammo, and hurled them one by one like ninja stars. Several of the boxes, cut the alien with their sharp, rock-solid edges. The Inkaku began its charge, just as she emptied the freezer. Marietta waited until the alien was almost upon her and then slammed the freezer door on its head. The alien let out a scream, to signal it was getting fed up with this little game and slammed its fist into the refrigerator. It then grabbed the refrigerator and flipped it over, but in its rage, didn’t notice the pot of old coffee headed for its face. The glass shattered into a thousand shards, as the stale coffee enveloped its entire face. The Inkaku dropped like a sack of horny puppies.

Marietta slowly approached the Danny DeVito look alike, as it lay motionless on the floor. Her hand wrapped tightly around the cord of a toaster, that she was ready to whip at it, should it move. The alien remained still, but opened its eyes slowly to look upon its opponent. She raised her arms, preparing to deal the deathblow. The Inkaku opened its mouth slightly, to reveal a shit-eating grin, as if the roles were reversed, and he wasn’t the one bested.

Why was this fucker smiling? Then she smelled it; the alien bastard had farted. With no time to lose, she brought down the cord with the toaster, and it came crashing down to find its new home, lodged in the alien’s skull.

The President’s Secretary stood above her kill, but she wouldn’t find victory today. The match would end in a tie…

 

***

Katie and Rose ran down a back alleyway behind a Pizza Hut, to avoid some aliens that were just around the corner. The aliens were everywhere it seemed; there was no safe place left.

“I’m so hungry; I think I could actually eat a Pizza Hut pizza,” Katie said.

“Do we have any more hot dogs from DC Wieners?” Rose asked.

“I used the last one to beat up that alien at that gas station.”

“We have to get to a safe place; we are not going to make it much longer, without any weapons,” Katie said.

“I think we should go to the White House.”

“How would be able to get into the White House and what makes you think we would be safer there?”

“I don’t know; that’s where Yukon and that other man, the one who sent us dick pics were going. Maybe someone would let us in,” Rose said.

“I guess we could, since I can’t think of a better idea. We need to get our hands on a gun somehow.”

“I’m sure all the gun stores, Walmart and every other place that sells guns, have all been looted,” Rose said.

“You know there’s a bar a block away from here, called The Blue Oyster Bar. It’s right across the street from the Cherubim Café. Most bartenders keep a shotgun behind the bar. It’s a long shot, but we should at least look and see.”

“God, what I wouldn’t give for a sandwich from the Cherubim Café The owner is a bit weird though.

Katie peeked around the corner. “The aliens are gone now.”

The girls made a run down the street, taking cover beside abandoned cars, just in case any aliens popped up. When they got to The Blue Oyster Bar, Katie looked inside the window. She didn’t see the usual men with assless leather chaps and sailor hats dancing. She pushed open the door and immediately the song, “El Bimbo” by Bimbo Jet started playing. (Once again, please enjoy the song, “El Bimbo” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFifyV6vfBw

“How the hell is that music still playing, when there’s no one even here?” Rose asked.

Katie went behind the bar to see if she could find any weapons. “The liquor has all been looted. The only thing left are wine coolers.”

Rose made a face and shook her head. She started taping her toes. “You have to admit, this song really makes you want to dance.”

“Um…okay?” Katie said, and stuck her hand underneath the shelf on the register. “Damn, I can’t find anything.” She was just about to give up, when she noticed the floor mat. She lifted it up to reveal a door, to what she assumed must be a cellar. Katie pulled the cellar door open and thankfully it was unlocked.

“I found a cellar; let’s go down there together. I don’t think it’s a good idea to separate.”

Katie and Rose went down into the cellar. There was a poster of the Village People hanging on the wall and a bunch of wine racks filled with wine bottles.

“Holy shit, we’ve hit the mother lode,” Rose said.

If that wasn’t enough, right behind the wine rack, was a gun rack with a shotgun and a Kalashnikov. There was also a box of shells and bullets. Katie put the box of bullets in her back pack. The Kalashnikov had a strap, so she put that around her shoulder and handed Rose the shotgun and shells.

“Do you know how to shoot?” Katie asked.

“A little bit, I went to target shooting once with this guy I used to date.”

“Just be careful, a shotgun has a lot of kick to it. You know, maybe we should just hold up here. We have guns, ammo and plenty of alcohol. Why don’t we just get wasted and stay in here until this whole alien thing blows over.”

“It might not ever blow over and besides, we have plenty of alcohol, but very little water left and no food. Also, I think eventually the aliens would find us,” Rose said.

“What the hell is that?” Katie asked and pointed to a leather suit in the corner.

“It’s a gimp suit. I think this might be a sex dungeon.”

Katie’s phone vibrated; she had about 5% battery left.

“I got a text message from Melvin. It’s a picture of a kitten and a dildo in a tree with the caption, ‘hang in there.’

 

Shit First and Ask Questions Later

On the streets of D.C., much like other cities around the world, chaos is the flavor of the day. Across the globe, fires and looting have altered the landscape and rendered most of the cities and towns unrecognizable from their state at the start of the day. The only areas with any semblance of calm and civility are farms, rural communities and Detroit. To add insult to injury, at the height of our self-realized demolition, another worldly enemy has arrived on our doorstep with ill intentions and poor manners.

Few have seen the actual beings that are sending instruments of destruction, that turn us into their weapons. The small spheres release a noxious gas, which convert those unlucky souls close by into avatars of annihilation; turning brother against brother, similar to a soccer match.

Spectators in buildings a few floors up, have been able to lay eyes on the invaders. They appear almost magically in a flash of light, shortly after the spheres release their payload. Those close enough to describe them say, they look like a seven foot tall Danny DeVito; completely hairless, except for a wreath of long, greasy hair around their fatty heads. Their faces have folds of skin, beginning under their ear holes that sloped up and around the bridge of their pig-like noses, resting under thin, solid blue eyes. Their bodies are mostly hidden away, behind armored suits of purple and gold, leaving only their heads and hands exposed. When looking at them from behind, you would think they were just tall humans with poor genes and bad hygiene. Only their face and arms give them away. The visitors have two arms that branch out from the elbows, essentially giving them four arms. Each hand is elongated with two fingers and a thumb, probably making it a bitch to wipe their ass. The aliens failed to kill all the radio and video broadcasts. Scientists believed they communicated telepathically, or through pheromones and were either unable to recognize the waves that carried satellite and radio signals, or they just didn’t give a shit. Due mostly to their facial appearance, the Japanese were calling them, Inkaku and reporters quickly followed suit, before fully researching what the word meant. Before long, the name became permanent and the Japanese were quite pleased with themselves, having pulled a practical joke on the entire world.

The tunnel leading to the White House was a long one. The walk would normally be exhausting, but Mick and his entourage considered it a relaxing stroll, compared to what they had just gone through. Kitty, ever the interviewer, used her time in the tunnel to get to know their new chaperone, Eastwood. Yukon and Melvin were listening in, providing their own questions when they could find an opening. Tad, Geoff, Lorenzo and Tom the waiter, were walking in a tight group, silently, as if they were leaning on each other to remain awake. Mick was off in his own little world, coming down from his high. He hasn’t been this excited, since his first night with Evan. Thinking back to that night, he now missed Evan more than ever…

 

***

     In a tiny town located near the Virginia coast, Mick Cage, the adult film actor from such movies as, Edward Penishands and Wet Dreams May Cum, is waking up to the sunrise, that is just peeking through the blinds. His hair is a mess and his clothes are scattered about the floor.

“Good morning, how did you sleep?” The warm body spooned behind him said.

“Sleep? What sleep?” Mick said with a smile. “I’m too excited. I can’t believe that just happened.”

“I hope I wasn’t too rough with you.”

“No, I’m use to that sort of thing,” Mick turned to his lover, “But, I’ll never get use to this.”

“I’m glad; I’ve really enjoyed having you around this week. I’m a little sad it’s coming to an end. Are you sure you have to go? Evan asked as he mirrored Mick’s smile.

“Unfortunately, but I hope we can see each other soon. My new flick begins production tomorrow and I need to prepare. My manager, Marlo, wants to pick me up later this morning.”

“You don’t get much breathing room between films, do you?”

“If I’m lucky; in this business, it’s good to stay busy. Before Pokahotass, I was almost flat broke; I hadn’t worked in months. It’s sad to admit this, but I was surviving week to week, by charging strangers I’d meet on the internet a hundred dollars apiece for CBT’s.”

“CBT’s?” Evan asked.

“Oh, sorry. Cock and Ball Torture,” Mick explained.

“Ah. Good to know.”

“Yeah, they’d find me on Craigslist, pay me through PayPal and I would meet them at Denny’s.”

“Then what?” Evan asked completely captivated.

“I’d let them punch me in the dick or karate chop my balls, stuff like that.”

Evan turned away and reached for his wallet on the nightstand. Mick’s hand grasped his shoulder just before he collected it.

“For you,” he said in a hushed, sexy tone, “No charge.”

A half hour later in the rainforest themed shower, Evan calls out to Mick, who is drying off near the bed. “I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“I hope my past isn’t too much for you.”

“No, I was talking about Denny’s. Let’s go. Tell Marlo to meet us there.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen with a known porn actor, Governor? What if you want to run for President one day?”

Evan chuckled. “As if.”

“Don’t brush it off. Remember, there was a time when everyone said there was no way Donald Trump would win a third term and yet here we are… the Twenty-Second Amendment is toast and President Trump is well on his way to winning his fourth term in office.”

“That’s true; I still can’t believe Hillary Clinton keeps running against him. She’s a glutton for punishment, I suppose.”

Mick pops his head into the bathroom to make sure Evan can hear him, “She must love the cock and ball torture.”

 

***

President Bacon was sitting on the toilet in NORAD, trying to drop a deuce. He was reading the

infamous 1938 issue of Time Magazine that named Hitler, “Man of the Year.” It was the only thing available to read. Time had gotten it wrong that year, and the years 1939 and 1942, when Stalin got the honors, and in 1979, it was the Ayatollah Khomeini’s turn, and finally in 2007, it was Vladimir Putin. So, if you are a future ruthless dictator, you have a pretty good shot of getting the honor.

He was just about to pinch a loaf, when he heard shouting outside the door, followed by gunfire.

The President could hear Eggs, his Chief of Staff. “How the hell did they get inside NORAD? This place is impregnable.”

“That’s what she said,” CIA Director Ted Striker said.

“They’ve breached the hold,” General Usrodd said.

“That’s what she said,” Ted Striker said.

“God damn it Ted, this is no time for your immature jokes,” Secretary of State Cecilia, “The Hammer” said.

“My God, they got one of the engineers,” Secretary of Defense Victor Kankoff said.

The President quickly wiped. He must have put too much toilet paper in, because it wouldn’t flush when he pulled the handle.

“Shit, the toilet is clogged. I’ll have to fix that later,” he said aloud.

The President turned on the faucet to wash his hands, because an alien attack was no excuse for bad hygiene. He pulled out a Sig Sauer p320, along with a clip that was inside his jacket. He didn’t normally carry anything, because it was the Secret Service’s job to protect him, but they had remained behind to defend the Whitehouse. He didn’t see the need for them to come along, since he was going to be in NORAD, the one place he should have been safe. Luckily, he had grabbed the gun on his way out, just in case.

With his gun brandished, the President kicked the bathroom door and it came off the hinges. He could have just opened it, but that would have looked lame.

“Get some you bastards,” he yelled and fired his gun at the first alien he saw. He was a good shot, thanks to his husband, who taught him how to shoot, and took him to target practice. He hit the alien right between the eyes and it went down.

Evan surveyed the room; it was pure pandemonium. He couldn’t believe his eyes, his meek and mild Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson, held an alien straight up in the air and then suplexed it, and if that wasn’t astonishing enough, Victor Kankoff, who was standing on top of the W.O.P.R., jumped through the air and did a flying elbow drop on it. The alien seemed to be unconscious. The Hammer actually pulled a hammer from her purse and bashed an alien in the forehead. General Usrodd was mounting a machine gun on a tripod and Ted Striker was lying on his stomach, underneath one of the desks in a sniper position, strategically taking out aliens with a rifle.

God damn, do I know how to pick a cabinet or what, he thought.

The only one not engaged in action, was Dr. Rommel, who was cowering behind some broadcasting equipment. Most of the engineers had already turned. More aliens kept flooding in the room and despite their weaponry, it looked like he and his staff would ultimately be killed, because they were severely outnumbered.

Well, if we are going down, then at least we are going down fighting, he thought.

The President took aim at an alien and he was just about to fire, when he smelled a pungent odor. It seemed like everyone else in the room smelled it simultaneously, because they all covered their nose and made a face. It had a different effect on the aliens though. The first thing he noticed, was that their armor melted off and then they made this high pitched screech, as it melted their skin to the point, where nothing was left of them, but a slimy green puddle.

“What the hell is that smell?” Ted asked.

The smell was coming from the bathroom. The President had inadvertently stumbled on the alien’s vulnerability. It seems, by clogging the shitter, he had saved everyone in the room.

 

Employees Only

As the attack was taking place in DC, Mick and his group took up shelter just two blocks away from the White House in a Walgreen’s pharmacy.

“Almost there, everyone. We can do this; just a bit further,” Larry boasted.

“How the hell are we gonna get past those zombies? They’re farting all over the place! If they hit us with that butt mist, we’re done for,” Tad said.

“Tad,” Kitty called out, “You go draw them away from us. We’ll run for the gates.”

“Hardy-fuckin-har-har,” Tad said.

Larry turned to the group, “We all break out the side door and haul ass down that way as fast as we can. We shoot down any fart monsters that get in our way.”

“Are you insane? That’s away from the Whitehouse,” Tom the waiter said.

“It’s a secret tunnel. We won’t make the gates, but we might make the tunnel entrance.”

“Might?”

“It’s okay; in situations like this, the virgins always live,” Tad said.

“I’M NOT A VIRGIN!”

“Tad is right, anyone fucking in a horror film gets killed; everyone knows that,” Larry said.

“Masturbation doesn’t count, hey,” Lorenzo said.

“Well then, I feel a bit better. Thanks, Tad.”

“Don’t mention it, pervert.”

***

A few streets over, Yukon and Melvin have fought their way through the crowds of frightened people trying to flee the city on foot, and a handful of zombified attackers.

“It’s just a blocks away; we probably won’t have anywhere to hold up when we get there,” Yukon said.

You can stay here; you don’t need to come any further, Melvin.”

“I go where you go. Besides, there’s no booze here.”

“I can’t ask you to keep risking your life for me.”

“Have you seen this?” Melvin asked as he jiggles his belly. “I risk my life every time I eat a fried chicken sandwich, and I eat the hell out of some fried chicken sandwiches. I could go for a chicken sandwich from Chick-fil-A right now; those homophobes make a tasty sandwich.”

Yukon smiles at him and places his hand on Melvin’s shoulder. “You are a true friend, Melvin.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just remember this when Christmas comes. I want a Panini press.”

A gun is fired; the sound came from around the corner of the building. They tighten their grip on their weapons. Melvin, with his club that he fashioned out of the parking meter, that they ran over in the crash with Katie and Rose earlier, and Yukon with the umbrella he found along the way. Thankfully, Yukon had taken up fencing a few months ago, and an umbrella was as dangerous as a lightsaber in his hands.

As they made their way towards the corner of the building, the gun fire was getting louder. They could hear someone, possibly one of the shooters, yelling out, “There’s another one, hey!”

“That’s the dude from the sandwich shop. I’d recognize that accent anywhere,” Melvin said.

They peek around the corner and to Yukon’s surprise; his wife was running toward them.

“Kitty!” Yukon yelled.

“Yukon!”

The secret service and Mick fight off a few zombified attackers, while Yukon and Kitty come together in an epic embrace.

“I can’t believe this; what are the chances of us meeting up like this?  We were headed to the basement in this very building. There’s a tunnel to the White House here.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Yukon said as he pulled her back into his chest.

“Sup, Yuke?” Tad said, interrupting their scene that was right out of a Lifetime movie.

Yukon looks at Tad, and then takes a quick glance around at the others in his wife’s party.

“Looks like you have a pretty good story to tell me later.”

“I do; I’ve had a full day.”

Mick fires his gun at a zombie directly in front of him, then spins around into a squatting stance, where he fires up at one running up on his right. The bullet passes up through its chin and out the top of its head, creating a red fountain effect. He rolls backwards and rises up just in front of Yukon.

“Nice to meet you,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m Mick.”

Then without waiting for a response, Mick springs forward and leaps into a kick, both feet connecting with a zombie’s face, snapping its neck. As he lands, nimble as a cat, he frees a knife from his ankle holster and plunges it into the fallen zombie’s skull.

“He’ll feel that one in the morning,” Mick said calmly, as he rises up, staring into the distance.

“Kanye Christ. He’s as badass, as he is in, Sex and the City and Death,” Yukon said.

“Yeah, he’s really enjoying himself,” Larry said and made a waving motion to follow him. “Come on everyone, let’s get to the tunnels.”

The group runs inside the building from the shattered glass doors. All the looting and damage suffered make the place unrecognizable. The group hurdles over clutter, following closely behind Larry. They make their way down the stairwell and at the bottom, Larry gives a knock and said, “shave and a hair cut” on the door marked Employees Only.

“Really, that’s the secret knock?” Tom the waiter asked.

A heavy safe-style lock spins behind the thick door and it opens to reveal a brute of a man. He was as solid as he was tall; the man looked as sturdy as the door to the tunnel.

“Good to see you, Eastwood,” Larry said.

“Glad you could make it to the party. The President sent me here to wait for you. Who are your friends?” Eastwood asked.

“This is Kitty Catan and her husband, Yukon. She was interviewing the First Gentleman when the looting happened. These are her friends Tad and Geoff, and the Cherubim Cafe owner, Lorenzo.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Tom the waiter said.

“Oh, right; I did forget about you. This is Tom… the waiter,” Larry said.

“Everyone forgets about him,” Tad said.

“Nice to meet you all, but we’re a little short on room. I hate to be a Yoko, but I’m afraid I have to break up the group,” Eastwood said.

“Kitty and her husband are with me,” Mick said.

“I can’t just abandon Melvin,” Yukon said.

“Go, I’ll be alright. I’ll stick with Lorenzo and these other guys.”

“He’ll be okay. The Darryl’s and I are staying behind. You guys take the tunnel and we’ll be along as soon as we secure this entry way. Get to the White House, and Melvin, you and the others wait for us. You guys will remain with us at the White House. You’ll be safe,” Larry said.

Darryl and Darryl make their way back up the steps, as Larry watches the door to the tunnel close, like a sad puppy in a pet store, watching a kid leave. A puppy… with a gun.

***

President Evan Bacon arrived at the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), along with Eggs, his Chief of Staff, Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson, General Usrodd, CIA Director, Ted Striker, Secretary of State, Cecilia Hammerstein, a.k.a. “the Hammer,” and Secretary of Defense, Victor Kankoff. It was a veritable whose, who of names, that sounded like they were from some action movie. Evan noticed the head of NASA, Dr. Fritz Rommel, was already there.

“What the hell is that?” Evan asked pointing to the W.O.P.R. “Does that actually work?

“No sir, it’s just a bit of nostalgia. We stole it off the set of War Games. You can play Global Thermonuclear War on it though. Also, it has Ally Sheedy’s number on it, if you’d like to call her,” one of the NORAD engineers said.

“Okay, I’m going to need a briefing. I will have to address the nation again soon and I need to know everything,” the President said.

“Well sir, the zombies—“

The President interrupted General Usrodd. “What do you mean zombies? I thought they were supposed to be aliens.”

“Based upon their behavior, it would be more accurate to characterize them as zombies. Although, if you want to be technical, you can call them alien zombies,” the General said.

“The zombie aliens are spraying some sort of mist from their butts, a noxious gas, if inhaled, can turn you into one of them. Once you become one of them, you fart on others around you and they become one; it all multiplies very quickly,” Ted Striker said.

“Farting? You’re telling me the end of the world might happen, because zombie aliens are farting on people?”

The group looked at one another. They were hesitant to answer, because it sounded as ridiculous as it did implausible.

Finally, it was Dr. Rommel who answered. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“How many casualties so far?”

“We’ve had some reports from major cities. There are over 5,000 in San Francisco. I think New York has lost upwards of 8,000 people and I was told we lost Gary Busey,” the Hammer said.

“Those god damn bastards,” the President said.

“We have sent out ground troops; we are hoping that we don’t have to send any planes. We are reluctant to bomb at this point, because there would be a lot of civilian casualties. Also, the South has sent out all their rednecks with AR-15 rifles, shotguns & beef jerky,” General Usrodd said.

“Are we sure that they are dead? I mean, can the process be reversed? Can they be unzombified?”

“That is a good question and it’s one NASA has been working on. We have not come up with a solution yet though,” Dr. Rommel said.

“The problem isn’t that the zombie aliens are hard to kill, a shot to the head will take care of them; it is just that there are so many of them and they are turning others into zombies at an alarming rate. If we don’t nip this in the bud soon, there will be too many of them and not enough people left to fight them off,” Stanley Johnson said.

“So, what in the hell are we going to do, and what am I supposed to tell the American people?”

“You will have to pull a Bill Clinton,” Victor Kankoff said.

“I’m not suave enough to pull off a Bill Clinton.”

“Don’t lie; just finesse the truth a little bit. Tell people to get to a safe place, like in a basement, or bunker, or Ted Nugent’s house.”

“Are all the other leaders of the world telling people a similar message? I mean, are we all on the same page?” The President asked.

“Kim Jong-un told the people of North Korea, that the aliens are just American propaganda. China is already making alien zombie action figures with spaceships, that should be out in time for Christmas. Putin has gone rogue; he’s single-handedly taking out the zombie aliens with his bare hands. There is a picture of him shirtless on the cover of Time Magazine, strangling an alien. He was voted Time Magazine’s Person of the Year. Most other countries are on the same page as us though,” the Hammer said.

“Are networks still broadcasting? How many people do you think I’ll reach?”

“CNN and MSNBC are no longer broadcasting. They didn’t have anyone left to do Wolf Blitzer’s makeup and Chris Matthews got so drunk, he was slurring his words even more than usual. I’m afraid Fox News is the only station still broadcasting. Bill O’Reilly is hoping to get one of the aliens to come on the O’Reilly Factor. He’s already working on his next book, Killing Alien Zombies,” Ted Striker said.

“We are all set up ready for you to broadcast Mr. President,” a young camera man said, waving from behind a camera.

“Are you ready Mr. President?” The cameraman asked.

The President waited for his cue. “Good evening my fellow Americans. I’m speaking today during America’s darkest hour, next to Pearl Harbor, 9/11 and that Bay of Pigs thing. As you know, hostile zombie aliens have arrived on our planet and are attacking with impunity. They are admitting a noxious gas, which when inhaled, turns you into one of them. I have been advised to tell you to gather your food, water, weapons and if you have them, gas masks, and get to a safe place. If you have a basement, go down there, if not, stay inside with the doors and windows locked. Don’t worry about me; I’m in a nuclear bunker in the Cheyenne Mountains, surrounded by an Air Force base. If you come upon one of these aliens, a shot to the head will kill them. If you are unarmed, you need to flee from them as quickly as possible. Our military has been deployed and are hunting down and killing these alien terrorists. We are not planning on using bombs or the nuclear option at this time, but we are keeping all options on the table. I will be broadcasting again when I’ve learned more, but until then, stay safe America and God speed.”

The light went out and the camera man said, “We’re out.”

“How did that sound? Do you think I should have been more upfront?”

“I think that was perfect; you don’t want to alarm the public anymore than they already are. They needed to see their President calm and in control,” Stanley Johnson said.

“Alright, let me charge my phone and see if I have anymore texts from my husband.” The President saw that there were two texts. One was from his husband.

My phone is about to die, so this will be my last text to you for a while. We are making our way to the Whitehouse and hopefully we’ll be there soon. I love you pumpkin!

 The second text, was a dick pic from someone named Melvin Morgan.

 

Butt Mist

The first husband and party were out on the D.C. streets and like the movie, The Warriors, who were determined to make it back to Coney Island, they were equally determined to make it to the White House. Mick Cage-Bacon had his Glock drawn, along with the Secret Service Agents, ready to pop a cap in a looters ass if the need arose. Some of the buildings across the street were burning, and they could see a man throwing a garbage can through an Eddie Bauer window.

“Why spend what could be your last hours on Earth, looting an Eddie Bauer? What a douche,” Tad said.

“I can’t afford Eddie Bauer,” Tom the waiter said with a sigh, but no one gave a shit.

“There’s no accounting for taste in the apocalypse I guess,” his brother Geoff said.

“Don’t say apocalypse; we don’t know that for sure,” Kitty said.

“If there are aliens, I doubt they wish us peace on Earth and good will towards men. They will probably want to annihilate us, or at the very least, probe our asses,” Tad said.

“That’s such a stereotype; I’m sure not all aliens want to probe human asses, except maybe Kim Kardashians.

“Ew,” said Mick, Larry, Darryl and Darryl, and Lorenzo contemporaneously.

“Has the president texted you with any updates? My phone battery is dead now. I don’t even know if my husband Yukon is okay,” Kitty said.

“The only thing he said was that he has to leave on Air Force One to get to NORAD. When we make it to the White House, we are to leave on Air Force Two to join him there. He will address the nation again once he arrives.”

“Look at those assholes,” Tom the waiter said, pointing to a group of people protesting.

“Why are they protesting, hey?” Lorenzo asked eating a sandwich, which had fallen out of the trashcan that the looter had thrown through the Eddie Bauer window.

It appeared as though the protesters wanted to make peace with the aliens, according to some of the signs.

 Safe haven for illegal aliens. War is not the answer. Welcome aliens. Aliens are people too. Make alien/human hybrids, not war.  Let’s probe each other!

“I think that last guy has the right idea,” Tad said, thinking of Rose and wondering where she might be.

“What a complete and utter waste–” Daryl number one was interrupted by a whizzing bullet, that hit the windshield of a nearby car and shattered it. Their group along with the protesters, hit the pavement. The Secret Service Agents shielded the First Husband, scanning to see where the bullet had come from.

“There’s a sniper on the roof. It looks like he is trying to take out the protesters,” Larry said

The next bullet fired out and hit one of the protesters in the leg and before the Secret Service Agents knew what was happening; Mick was on his feet with his gun aimed at the sniper. The First Husband fired and got the sniper right in the forehead. The sniper toppled over and hit the pavement with a splat, right in front of Kitty who screamed.

Tom the waiter yelled out, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit!”

“That was totally bad ass sir,” Darryl number two said.

“I had to learn how to fire and load a gun for Sex and the City and Death. I have been practicing at the gun range ever since.”

The protester, who got shot in the leg, got up and was carried away by two of her friends. The group pressed on down the street stopping in front of a convenient store.

“Let’s go in and see if they have any water or food,” Larry said.

Tad pushed on the door, and surprisingly it was unlocked. A bullet rang out and they heard someone shout, “get the fuck out of my store you hooligans.”

“Don’t shoot; we are Secret Service Agents and we have the First Husband here,” Larry said and held up his Secret Service ID.

“I don’t give a good god damn who you are. Get out of my store before I kill all of you.”

Larry was about to protest further, but Mick said, “let’s just keep going, I want to get to the White House as soon as possible.

The Secret Service Agents took the lead and peered around the corner, to make sure the coast was clear. The sun went down and Geoff checked his phone.

“That’s weird the sun is down and it’s only 3 o’clock.”

Everyone looked up, and hovering in the sky were probably thousands of spaceships; it was impossible to tell how many or how far away they were.

“Oh my God,” Kitty said.

Geoff tapped his brother Tad on the shoulder. “I just thought of the funniest tweet.”

 

***

Yukon and Melvin were headed toward the White House in Melvin’s jeep. The top was down and he was blasting Black Flag.

“Ah shit,” Melvin said.

“What’s the matter?” Yukon asked.

“I’m out of the maraschino cherries that I stole from the airport.”

“Is that all? Melvin, you amaze me; it might be the end of the world and you’re worried about snacks.”

The sun went down suddenly and when Yukon looked up, he was so startled that he swerved into the next lane. Their jeep crashed head on with a Smart Car.

“Sir… Sir… Are you okay?” A jolly round lady asks Yukon, shaking his shoulder to wake him.

“Wha… What happened?”

“I think we were all looking up at those UFOs. We weren’t paying attention and we ran into each other.”

Yukon looked up and saw the jeep folded up like an accordion.

“Melvin!” Yukon cried out.

“Oh, your friend is fine;” she said pointing to the other side of the street, where Melvin was sitting on the curb with a red-headed woman.

“We thought he was bleeding from the chest, but apparently it was just cherry juice. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m Yukon,” he held his hand out. “That’s Melvin.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, taking his massive hand. “I’m Katie. That’s Rose.”

“Sorry about your car.”

“Oh, it’s not our car; we stole it. Our car was carjacked by some asshole in a wheelchair.”

Yukon got up, with a little help from Katie, and walked over to join Rose and Melvin.

“Yuke, do you believe this shit?” Melvin asked. “What do we do now? Walk back to the apartment?”

Yukon pointed down the street, “The White House is closer. We can hoof it from here.”

“I’m not exactly, High School skinny anymore.”

“You never were, High School skinny,” Yukon said.

“Why are you guys going to the White House?” Rose asked.

“My wife is headed there.”

“Aw… that’s so sweet,” Katie says, as she fights back tears, because she will never know love.

Looking up, Yukon adds, “From the look of things, we’re running out of time.”

***

All morning, the sky was clear and bright and the Earth looked peaceful and calm, as if it was a typical day. Now, the atmosphere across the globe was littered with alien vessels. They were in every major city; except for Detroit.

The UFOs were hardly poetic; they were unpolished and a bit lackluster, like the child of a sphere and a pyramid, if the sphere and the pyramid were close relatives. Each one was rocky and unsmooth in appearance, like a barnacle ridden ship, with a belt of tiny orbs circling the hemisphere. They hovered slightly below cloud level, motionless, except for the orb belt spinning tirelessly.

Below, on the surface, the population varied in emotions. Most of the people were afraid, a few were excited, and some were too drunk by this time to care. Mainly, everyone was anxious. Who are they? What do they look like? Are they here to destroy us? Are they here to mate with us?

After for what seemed like an eternity, the orbs started breaking formation. They dropped slowly, but with purpose, like acorns from a tree. The UFOs didn’t slow as they approached the ground, but simply stopped a few meters above their city and there they waited. Once again, the sky was calm and scores of people below were staring intently upward now, waiting to see what would happen next. The orbs slowly started to drop straight down; almost as slow as feathers. Time seemed to stand still; crowds began forming circles around where they believed the orbs were landing. They were careful though not to get to close. The fear level was high, but this was monumental. Aliens are here on Earth; this is real. This is happening and in a matter of seconds, the orbs will open up to reveal something extraordinary.

The orbs descended, stopped eight feet from the ground, and came to a halt. They were easy to make out now; they were barely the size of a Smart Car. The orbs split in unison across their hemisphere, leaking bright light and smoke in all directions. A fart sound rang out, making everyone giggle. The laughter started dying out, beginning from the inner circle and moving outward away from the orb. The people closest to the orb turned around, then the next closest, and so on, until a half dozen rows were staring out at the onlookers.

“The smoke,” one onlooker yelled. “It’s a gas!”

Panic set in and everyone began to lose their shit. The people who were exposed to the gas started to run, but not away…they were running towards the people who had not been exposed to the gas. Their eyes were dull and they never blinked; their faces drooped, while their mouths remained open as they moved. Those that were affected began tackling people, scratching and gnawing on them. Every so often, one of the affected would fart and a tiny puff of smoke would roll out, which turned anyone nearby into predators as well. The light from the orbs began pulsing quickly, and then stopped. One final blast of blinding light flashed outwards, and as it subsided, the outline of a humanoid could be made out.

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.”

“Promise me!”

“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.

Yukon Do It!

Stuck at Reagan National Airport, Yukon Catan, has been steadily texting his beloved wife. He is absorbing all the information he can from the news reports on the TV at the bar, amongst all the crowd noise. The airport security has successfully locked down the building, with a little help from the police and no one can get in or out. His best friend and manager, Melvin Morgan, is behind the bar. Melvin wasn’t the first to hop the bar when things started going south, but when he got behind it; the originators quickly abandoned their posts. Even bigger than Yukon, Melvin was a sight to behold. As a large imposing African American man, he didn’t say much; he didn’t have to. People usually knew if they needed to move out of his way.

“I miss Zima,” Melvin said. “Remember Zima? That was my shit. Where’s Kitty now?”

“She’s at the Starbucks near our place,” Yukon said.

“Why is so hard to find olives? Kanye Christ, is it so hard to stock up on olives? Oh, never mind; here they are. This bar has horrible feng shui,” Melvin said before asking, “is she going home to wait this out?”

“No, she’s better off sticking with the First Gentleman. Even if they don’t make it to The White House, she’ll have the Secret Service detail to protect her from the rioters.”

“At least they have plenty of ice. I’m here to tell you, Yuke, if they were out of ice, I was gonna bring the fuckin’ roof down in this place. I still think you shouldn’t leave; they’ll never let you into the building.”

“I have to try Melvin. I belong with Kitty and even if I just get close, at least I’ll be closer to her. I think I may have an idea on how to get out of here.”

Yukon looks up at the TV, where people are on the street being interviewed.

“We did this,” one man said. “We put a homosexual in the Oval Office and now God is punishing us.”

“This is all just a ploy to sell generators,” another man claimed.

Yukon looks back at Melvin, who is flipping through the drink menu.

“Are you coming with me or staying?”

“Have you ever had one of these Dead Japanese Aviators? It looks like a Kamikaze, but with grenadine and a splash of milk. Interesting,” Melvin said before responding, “no, I’m staying; I’ll only slow you down.”

Yukon tries to call Kitty one last time, but the lines are still overloaded. He opens his messenger and types: I think I have an out. I know you want me to stay, but you know how stubborn I can be. I’m headed to The White House. I can’t take my phone, so this is it until I see you. I love you. Be safe.

Yukon slides his phone across the bar. “I’ll be back for this and I better not find any dick pics in my gallery again.”

Melvin just smiles and continues mixing his drink.

“Melvin… No dick pics. That shit was only funny the first three times and stop hiding them throughout my social media like Elf on the Shelf.”

Yukon gets up and heads towards the ground level of the airport, stepping over stranded and exhausted travelers peppered along the floor. He makes his way down the stairs, despite having to hurdle bored children playing on them. The doors are all blocked by police, security and screaming travelers, but the back of the building, which faces the tarmac, is relatively empty. Yukon took his time making his way to the back, scanning the landscape for something… heavy. He spots an unmanned baggage cart near the crowd with plenty of runway. He eases his way over to it, careful not draw attention to himself, and navigates around to the handles. Just like a gunshot, he blasts into full speed, pushing the cart into action. Instantly, the group nearest him hears his heavy steps, coupled with the cart’s squeaky wheel, inherent of all carts in the universe. A security guard also notices the cart.

“Hey asshole! Stop!”

Yukon introduces the baggage cart to the window and the glass is reduced to shards. The cart dives onto the tarmac and Yukon follows suit. Just a few seconds later, another cart being manned by an inspired witness, crashes into the adjacent window, but with a different effect. Yukon, hearing the noise, turns his head to see some poor soul smashed up against the glass.

A mob of people rush out of the new exit, and a few security personnel too. Yukon reaches the end of the property and without a thought or loss of time, dives into the Potomac.

The security team and spectators reach the water’s edge…

“Holy shit,” one of the onlookers uttered. “Did he just jump into the Potomac River in January?”

An older gentleman, who looked a lot like the principle from, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off said, “that water must be freezing.”

Finally, a lady in the crowd peaked over into the drink and added, “a moment of silence for that dude’s balls. Am I right?”

Melvin only smiled when he saw his buddy Yukon dive into the Potomac.

It’s not like that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that mad man jump into a river, he thought.

Melvin takes Yukon’s phone out of his pocket and heads to the bathroom.

“Everyone loves a good dick pic,” he said out loud. An elderly lady passing by looked at him a little frightened.

“Er…sorry mam.”

Yukon laughed as he dove into the Potomac. I would have loved to seen the look on their faces; they probably think I’m going to freeze to death, he thought.

Seconds after Yukon hit the water; he lost his boots and wiggled out of his designer suit, revealing his wet suit underneath.

He always wore a wet suit underneath his clothes, to him it was like a bullet proof vest; you never knew would it might save your life. It had come in handy a few other times as well, but it was a little bit annoying when he was trying to have sex with his wife, because it was a bitch to take off.

The Potomac River is about 300 miles in length and he had swum the entire length before. He knew the shortest distance to land was at Hains Point; a piece of cake for him. Once there, perhaps he could hot-wire a golf cart and drive the rest of the way. Maybe he would stop for a few kielbasas at DC Wieners.

Nothing like some sausage after a swim to refuel, he thought.

Yukon made slow and steady strokes. The key in long distance swimming was pacing yourself; you didn’t want to tire out too soon. The other important thing was maintaining control of your breathing. The only thing he concentrated on was reaching Kitty.

After what seemed like no time at all, he reached Hains Point. It is just like a scene out of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, where a hulking frame rises out of the waters of the Potomac. The creature crawling up out of the river would shock the average person, but today the area is all but abandoned. The only witness to Yukon’s emergence is Stinky Joe, a Hains Point staple. Stinky Joe looks up from the trash bin, just long enough to glance at Yukon in recognition of his movement, and then returns to his hunt for treasures to add to his rusty cart. As Yukon passes him, he pauses again, only long enough to explain how aliens are influencing our actions through fluoride in the drinking water.

“I’ll alert the President right away,” he said to the delight of Stinky Joe.

Only slightly tired from his dip in the icy river, thanks to his Olympic training, Yukon was still worried he may not make it all the way up Ohio Drive along the East Potomac Golf Course, much less over the bridge and then the long stretch of 14th Street to his place. He would need to stop at home first, before back tracking slightly to reach the White House.

He needed shoes, since he had to lose his Uggs back at the airport after his dive into the drink. He could use some dry clothes too. He couldn’t show up at The White House in his wetsuit. Not again.

As luck would have it, a car was making its way toward Yukon.

Maybe I can hitch a ride, he thought to himself as he cast his thumb into the air.

As the car approached, it slowed down and Yukon was surprised to see his friend Melvin at the controls.

“I found a shitload of maraschino cherries at the bar. You need a lift?”

Yukon smiled, “How did you escape the airport?”

“I brought the cherries along for snacks. You left the door wide open back at Reagan and everyone rushed out that big ass hole in the window. Well, everyone but me. Once everyone was gone, I just walked right out the front door. What we’re they gonna do, keep a lone black man prisoner? Bitch, please. Plus, I’m piss drunk, playa. They ain’t tryin to tame the beast!”

“Well I’m glad to see you. You okay to drive?”

“Nope.” Melvin said.

Yukon took the driver’s seat and waited for Melvin to hop back in the Ford Fusion.

“Here take this, if I sit on it any longer; it may hatch,” Melvin said before reaching into his back pocket to produce Yukon’s phone.

Yukon unlocked his phone and before changing his wallpaper back from the pic of Melvin’s dick, he looked to see if Kitty had text him back. She sent three.

Text number one: I agree. U R stubborn. I know I can’t stop u. Just pls be safe.

Text number two: OMG! Pls stop sending pics of Melvin’s dick.

Text number three: More? Really?

Yukon looked over at Melvin, who is all teeth by this point, and couldn’t help but smile back at his friend.

“We need to get you a hobby, Melvin.”

Loot and Save

At the tiny mom and pop store, Loot and Save, all is calm. The same thing could not be said about its neighbors, Kohl’s and DC Wieners. In any other town in America, the little convenience store would have been relieved of its supplies in a similar situation. The store’s food, water and toilet paper remains untouched. The same can be said a block away at the capital’s newest supermarket superstore, Piggly Wiggly. Kohl’s however, is almost wiped clean of its merchandise and DC Wieners is out of everything but hot dogs; the worst items on their menu. The restaurant’s owner, Carlos Danger, is busy trying to give his wiener to looters passing by, possibly on their way to Kohl’s.

In the back of Kohls, near the toilets, Rose and her best friend Katie are stuffing various articles of clothing and shoes into duffel bags, which Katie keeps in her trunk for moments such as these.

“I think I’ve reached the limit,” Rose says with a grunt, as she tries to stuff all the items down in the bag.

“Sorry I only had seven duffels.”

“It’s okay, Katie; there’s always next time. Let’s get this crap to the car and see if Starbucks is still standing; I’m about to die for a pumpkin spice latte.”

“OMG,” Katie spells out. “That sounds so fetch!”

Just next door at the Loot and Save, the Secret Service is charged with keeping the first husband safe and sound.

“Sir, we can make it over to that Starbucks, but we need to go now.” says Darryl number two.

“Very well, come on everyone. We are one store closer to the White House and maybe we can snag some Oprah Chai lattes to boot!”

The group gathers closer together and prepares to dart to the coffee house. Finally, an opening in the crowd is revealed and they make a break for it.

“Wait!” Tad yells out; stopping everyone mid-stride. The group stumbles, trying to stop themselves and each member in the group falls over like a bowling pin. Kitty picks her head up, looking around to see what the fuss was about.

“What the hell, Tad?”

“I gotta pee.”

“Are you shitting me, hey?” Lorenzo asks.

“Hold it,” Larry said.

“I can’t. I’ve been holding it,” Tad said.

“Christ on a cracker, Tad; great fucking timing,” Kitty says as she plants her face in her palm.

Geoff tells the group, “I’ll stay with him; you guys go on ahead and we’ll catch up.”

“Great, now I gotta go too,” Tom the waiter adds.

“Okay,” says Kitty, “Who’s staying behind to pee?

Tad, Geoff, and Tom the waiter raise their hands. Lorenzo puts down another sandwich he found somewhere during the discussion, and slowly raises his hand like he was in trouble.

Kitty rolls her eyes. “We’ll be waiting; hurry up.”

Kitty turns and joins Mick, Larry, Darryl and Darryl. “Let’s go for it.”

The group waits for Larry to give the hand signal and they jet into the street. As the group begins to run, Kitty looks back over her shoulder just long enough to give Tad a hand signal of her own.

The boys are gathered at the urinal and Lorenzo turns slightly to glance at Tad’s shoulder.

“Tell me what this is all about hey.”

“You mean my shoulder tattoo? Every time I date someone, I get her name added to the list.”

“Why is there a line tattooed through all of them hey?”

His brother Geoff answers him behind the privacy of the toilet’s wall divider. “He does that when they break up.”

“That’s weird and I thought your head tattoo was crazy,” Tom the waiter said as he relieves himself in the sink.

“I like it hey.”

“It’s low maintenance,” Tad says, as he runs his free hand over the tattoo of fake hair he got to replace what he shaved away.

***

Kitty and her splintered group are at the Starbucks searching for enough ingredients to create an Oprah Chai Latte for the first gentleman, who is in the restroom. He is looking at himself in the mirror, apparently rehearsing a famous Buffalo Bill scene from Silence of the Lambs.

The Secret Service Agents are at the front of the store, telling a beautiful redheaded girl and her friend, who have obviously just come from a Charlton Heston convention, to scram.

“Sorry ladies, this is our Starbucks; maybe you’ll have better luck with one of the three others a block over,” Larry said.

“Whatever, dude,” the cute redhead said as she waves him away.

“Let’s go, Rose. If they want to be assholes about it, let them have their shitty Starbucks,” her butch friend said angrily.

Larry stops them. “Wait, you’re right; I am being an asshole. You can stay.”

“Really?” the cute one asks.

“Nope.” Larry says with a smile, as he closes the door slower than anyone has ever done it before.

“Damn playa! That was the shit; I wish we could see that again in slow motion. The look on their faces was priceless,” Daryl number two said.

Kitty walks over to them holding the first gentleman’s Oprah Chai Latte. “What do we do now? We can’t stay here all day?”

“I’ve tried to reach the Whitehouse, but I can’t seem to reach anyone. Has the president tried to contact the first husband?” Larry asked.

The first husband walks out of the bathroom zipping his pants. He takes the cup out of Kitty’s hand and examines it. She wrote on the side with a sharpie, First Gentleman.

“Has the president tried to contact you sir?” Larry asked.

The first husband takes his cell phone out and realizes it’s been turned off the whole time. He had turned it off for his interview, so he wouldn’t be interrupted and forgot to turn it back on. He powers it on and sees that he has 10 miscalls and there are four texts from Evan.

“Shit, I had my phone off.” He scrolls through the texts.

Text 1: You need to stop whatever you are doing right now and get back to the Whitehouse.

Text 2: I’ve been trying to call you. Do you have your phone turned off?

Text 3: Did you watch me on the news? Did I look sweaty to you? There is a clusterfuckus that could be headed toward Earth. I’m starting to get reports of looting and unrest throughout D.C and other cities. If you can’t get back to the Whitehouse, have the Secret Service take you some place safe and it better not be Starbucks.

Text 4: I love you pumpkin!

Kitty was reading them over his shoulder. “He called you pumpkin; that’s so sweet.”

There is a pounding on the door. Larry sees the other members of the group with their faces pressed against the glass. He unlocks the door to let them in and closes quickly behind them.

“It’s getting worse out there; it’s total chaos. We have to leave immediately,” Tad said.

Mick pulls a Glock 19 out of his jacket.

“Where did you get that? Do you know how to use it?” Daryl number one asked.

“It’s mine and of course; I’m a trained action film star.”

The Secret Service Agents look at each other unsure.

“This is just like a scene from Sex and the City and Death II. I was trapped in a Starbucks and riots were going on outside.”

“What do we need to do then?” Kitty asked.

“We all need to dress up as nuns,” Mick said.

“Sir, with all due respect, how are we going to do that? We don’t have any habits with us,” Larry said.

“I don’t like your pessimism Larry, but perhaps you’re right. We still need some kind of diversion. Why don’t you or Daryl number one lay down some cover fire and give the rest of us a chance to escape.”

“I can’t just fire a gun at innocent civilians,” Larry said.

“Larry, this is D.C.; you can shoot someone in the face as long as you say it was an accident.”

Larry took out his gold plated pistol, which was clearly not an authorized weapon. “Alright, lets move.”

***

            President Evan Bacon was in the situation room, along with Vice President, Honey Ryder, Hank, his Chief of Staff, a.k.a Eggs, Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson, General Usrodd, Secretary of State, Cecilia Hammerstein, a.k.a the Hammer, Secretary of Defense, Victor Kankoff, C.I.A Director, Ted Striker, Director of the NSA, Strom Armstrong and the new Director of FEMA, Hook Jericho. The president fired Mike Brown earlier. They were all dressed in suits and with the exception of Cecilia, they looked like agents from, The Matrix.

“I need an update on this clusterfuckus; Americans are frightened and want to know what’s happening,” the President said.

“Sir, scientists honestly don’t know what to call it anymore. They were voting on doohickey or thingamajobber,” NSA director Strom Armstrong said.

“I’m sick of these place holder names. I want to know what the hell, it is.”

“There is some more bad news sir; the scientists say that it his definitely headed towards earth,” Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson said.

“Do we know how big it is?”

“It’s about six inches…oh, you mean the matter headed toward Earth. They are about the size of small insignificant states, that don’t count for shit in a general election,” C.I.A Ted Striker said.

“How many are there?”

“Scientists say at least seven,” Strom said.

“This is not good. Are the clusterfuckus or whatever in range of our missiles?”

“Not yet, but we will have them at the ready as soon as they are. We really need to get you to NORAD; the DEFCON has dropped to 4,” Secretary of State Cecilia Hammerstein said.

“I can’t leave without my husband and I haven’t heard from him yet.” His phone starts to vibrate and he takes it out of his pocket and looks at it. There is a text from Mick.

On my way honey-butt.

“He says he’s on his way, but he doesn’t say where he is. I need Press Secretary Helen Yardley to write a speech, so I can give the public an update.”

“Sir, I would advise against that until we have more definitive evidence. It may cause more unnecessary panic,” Stanley said.

“He’s right; DC Wieners has been completely looted,” Strom said.

“DC Wieners? You mean they looted Congress?”

 “It’s a new eatery; very popular. It is beside Loot and Save; the poor man’s Walmart,” Helen said.

“Should I have them ready Air Force One?” Ted asked.

“No, I want to wait a little longer for my husband. He’s not just your average gay guy with a pink ascot; he’s a bad ass action film star.”