Breakfast With Barack

Sleep.  Deep, dark and blissful, slumber soothing my soul until the breaking of glass and a flying front door awoke me from my slumber.  Men in black, carrying guns, shouting, “On the floor, now, get on the fucking floor now, hands out, don’t fucking move”.  Shots rang out, smell of cordite filled the air, three entry team members were down when the steel pierced my flesh and a flood of electricity made me flop around like an epileptic being electrocuted.  “Fuck” I thought to myself, “This shit hurts”.  Black bag thrust over my head as my hands were restrained, then came the leg irons, lifted, feet never hitting the ground as I was carried out of the house, stuffed into the trunk of some sort of vehicle.  Batons, flashlights or something, suddenly raining down on me, pain wrapping around my mind and choking out reality as I heard someone say, “Bastard hit all three just below the vest, right in crotch.” The beating continued as I blacked out hearing something about a containment team and the mess I made.  Fuck them.

Slowly waking I sense that we are moving.  Moving slowly I realize I’m not in the trunk any longer, I must be somewhere else.  Sensing movement I attempt to sit up and feel someone jerking me to a seating position, pulling the bag off of my head, the light blinding me briefly as I realize I’m in a plane, a private plane.  Silent I try to take it all in but the scene is surreal….armed men in ninja turtle gear, medical staff, swarthy men in dark suits, all of which look like Agent Smith and one guy with a giant moth head who keeps trying to talk to me with his moth breath.  “Dude, bust out a Tic Tac” to which the moth said, “Piss off”.  I hate moths.

“What do you ass clowns want?  Where are you taking me?” I snarl, just before a needle hits my neck and things become strange.  “Doc….the infamous Doc Liberty….you are on your way to Yemen”.  “Yemen, what the hell for moth man?”  To which the moth head replied, “Lucky you….you are going to have breakfast with Barack, I mean President Obama”.  Mind reeling, walls beginning to melt, the moth has now become a wing back chair and the medical staff are Ooompa Loompa’s.  I don’t know what they hit me with but I have to get some of this shit.  “No way in hell am I eating with that Marxist rat bastard”.  The chair stood on its stubby legs and ran towards me, grabbing my neck with a wing back and yelling with moth breath (that’s strange), “You will sit, eat, listen and be polite or else” the chair stated.  “Or else what?  You’ll break into my house, kidnap me, drag me to some shit hole and make me eat with some Marxist Kenyan?  Oh, you did that.  It gets worse?”  The chair morphed back into a moth and squeezing my throat said, “You will do what you are told or we will kill your mother” to which I replied, “She’s been dead for years bitch. You must be from the Obama administration”.

Slumping back I let the magnitude of the hallucinations sink in.  The moth/chair seems pretty serious about this.  What kind of plane is this?  It looks like a gravy boat or something.  Must be the drugs.  “Yo, Moth Man, I’m not breaking bread with that douche bag Obama, no offense to any actual bags of douche”  Suddenly the moth charges me but one of the ninja turtles hits him with the butt of his gun, knocking him to the floor.  “Look Doc, we admire your work, but you have to sit down with Comrade Barack.  If you don’t he or Michelle will consume our hearts and souls.  Barack beats us and Michelle sodomizes us”.  “Sodomize’s? How? You mean a strap on?”.  “No sir, she’s a he.  Well, a he/she, with a reptilian tail.  It is frightening and disgusting all at once sir”.  Shit.  “Well, I’ll sit down with him, but I’m not eating”.

Moth Man put the hood back on me and I could feel the plane spiral down towards what I hoped would be an actual runway.  Hard to tell in a country that lacks indoor plumbing.   I really despise people that eat with one hand and wipe with the other.  Before I realized what was happening, I was seated before Barry Hussein Milhous Obama.  Reaching with his right hand, to shake hands I asked, “Aren’t you wrong handed?” and he replied, “Uh…yea…um…I’m left handed” Waving him off, I refused to shake hands with him, he is after all, Muslim.

“Mr. Liberty, you are probably wondering why I had you brought here?” Barack said.

“Not really” I replied.  “Can I go home now?”

“Have some coffee, a scone or something?”

“Sorry, I don’t eat with people I neither like or respect.”

“Now Doc”

Interrupting, “Call me Mr. Liberty, Barry”.

“Mr. Liberty…why is it YOU keep exposing me and coming up with plans to undermine my authority?  Why don’t you like me?”

“Mr. President, it isn’t personal….well, no, it is…you are a filthy, no good, Marxist rat bastard, a Muslim or Muslim apologist and an ass sniffing, bath house frequenting pole smoker, but other than that you really suck ass”

“I’ll be blunt”

“You mean blount?”

“No, blunt.  I’ll be…”

“I thought you had another name…”

“I DON’T HAVE ANOTHER NAME ALLAH DAMNIT! I am Barry, uh….er….Barack Obama”

“Right and I’m Method Man”

“Really?”

“No. Dumb shit”

“Mr. Liberty, we shall reach an understanding or you’ll simply disappear”

“No Barry, I won’t disappear. If you were going to do that, I’d be locked up at Club GITMO with your extended family.  Me thinks I’ll do as I damn well please.   Do you know why Barry?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m me, bitch.  The best thing about being me is being me.  Oh, and watching you try to eat with a carp face.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You’re the President”

“No, I knew that.  What do you think one man can do against me and all the other evil in the world?”

“Barry, you aren’t evil. You aren’t even bad ass.  You are just a thug.  You are a chump, a puppet for evil, but you aren’t evil.  Evil wouldn’t let you lick the sweat off of its balls.  But, one man can make a difference, if he can get another person to stand with him, and they each get one and so on and so on.  I am not a man, I am an idea and that idea is a Constitutional America.  You can lock the man up, kill the man, but you will never kill the idea of freedom.  Doc Liberty is freedom”

“Fuck you Doc.  I am a God”

“No, you are a fraud.  You are a two legged carp.  The drugs have worn off and I can still see you what you are, a carp, a bottom feeder, a sucker.  What is the name of that hallucinogen?”

“Clarity”

“No shit?  Well, that makes perfect sense carp face”

“Now you’re just being mean”

“I’m sorry carp face, did I hurt your feelings.  This is me being sorry….carp face carp FACE CARP FACE”

“Take him back.  He’s right, I can kill him, but I can’t kill the idea.  I really hate America and these Tea Party types” moaned Barack.

“Piss be upon you” Doc snarked.

Waking up, face down in bed, wondering, “Was this real or a dream” I thought.  Sitting up, looking at my wrists, I saw cuff marks on my wrists and ankles.  Gun on the dresser, opening the cylinder I could see it had been fired three times.  The house had been cleansed, except a few drops on the love seat….I guess they were in a hurry.  Lost in thought I realized, “That filthy Marxist ass hat better remember freedom is an idea you cannot kill”

Doc Liberty – 2016 Presidential Candidate & Kidnap Victim

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