Michelle Obama pressed a button and her deluxe herringbone luxury chair with custom hydraulics spun around. The oversized portrait of Stokely Carmichael on the wall behind her fluttered in the soft air condition breeze.
"Impeachment support over 51!" she chortled.
"Impeachment support over 51!" she chortled.
Michelle arched her left eyebrow the same way she did when she was planning a fake hate crime to extract the money of hard-working blue collar white people in the midwest.
The plan was coming to fruition. All of these years, all the blood, sweat, and corruption. FINALLY.
The plan was coming to fruition. All of these years, all the blood, sweat, and corruption. FINALLY.
Barack Obama turned away from the footage of an American flag burning he loved to watch on his gigantic flat screen television and softly clapped his hands together, increasing the volume until each slap echoed off the walls of the Obama's subterranean lair.
"Let me be clear," Obama said, his upper lip arching toward the customized bust of Satan he kept on the shelf, "I am so happy."
Michelle tipped her head to him.
"You taught me well husband. The deception, the dirty tricks, fooling millions. Just like your election."
"Indeed."
Michelle tipped her head to him.
"You taught me well husband. The deception, the dirty tricks, fooling millions. Just like your election."
"Indeed."
"INCOMING MESSAGE FROM THE DEEP STATE," thundered the supercomputer.
"On screen," said Michelle.
A figure cloaked in a black hood appeared.
"Deep State Agent 44, at your service my liege."
"The first phase has been masterfully executed," said Michelle. "Well done."
"On screen," said Michelle.
A figure cloaked in a black hood appeared.
"Deep State Agent 44, at your service my liege."
"The first phase has been masterfully executed," said Michelle. "Well done."
"I am but a humble servant," replied the Agent. "It was your vision: The Ukraine phone call, the transcript, slipping the potion into Trump's food supply to make him tweet like a mad man. Your genius, m'lady."
Michelle basked in his praise. It was mandatory. Without it: Death.
Michelle basked in his praise. It was mandatory. Without it: Death.
Obama picked up his heavily-footnoted edition of Rules for Radicals, the edition he had personally received from Bill Ayers the night of the infamous South Side Blood Sacrifice.
"What next, my love?" He asked, his face growing dark with the evil coursing through his veins.
"What next, my love?" He asked, his face growing dark with the evil coursing through his veins.
Michelle placed a well-manicured finger on her bottom lip, a sign that she was scheming.
She was always scheming.
"Next? We trigger the Impeachment Option of course. Soon -- soon, our Pelosi will be President, and then THE LEFT SHALL REIGN SUPREME!"
They laughed blackishly.
She was always scheming.
"Next? We trigger the Impeachment Option of course. Soon -- soon, our Pelosi will be President, and then THE LEFT SHALL REIGN SUPREME!"
They laughed blackishly.
Michelle walked over to the wall, past the shackled white businessman she kept to amuse herself, and pulled the giant lever.
On the other side of Washington, a cross on a wall turned upside down.
Speaker Nancy Pelosi had her sign. She donned her helmet, and prepared for war.
On the other side of Washington, a cross on a wall turned upside down.
Speaker Nancy Pelosi had her sign. She donned her helmet, and prepared for war.
[join FANFIC THE NEWS its always weird like this owillis.substack.com]
