Chapter 1: Laying The Trap
The winds of change howled across the blasted island of Mackinac, sending a chill across Finley’s skinny, hunched shoulders. He cuddled against Stefan for support. Stefan fidgeted nervously with his man purse, anxious at the upcoming task. Carlos stood to one side, staring directly at his shoes.
“It ends today.” Paige swore darkly from beneath her horribly unflattering bangs. She clenched her teeth and adjusted her penis, still unused to female undergarments. “Today, we banish the last remaining Bush from the realm. Are you wearing the proper gear?”
The three frail companions nodded in agreement. Paige stared at Carlos, the smallest of the group. “Carlos, are you ready?”
Carlos tittered nervously. “Si Paige. I have a fully-charged iPhone 6™, ready for the picture. But Paige, what if the garb of Bernie Sanders can’t protect us?”
Paige backhanded Carlos across the mouth, causing a small trickle of blood to leak from Carlos’ lip. “Don’t you ever talk back to me again, you fucking shitlord. You’re only here to meet diversity quotas. I’m in charge. You three little bitches shut your pansy fucking mouths. Here comes the cuckold.”
Chapter 2: Jeb’s Adventure
Jeb Bush strolled down the breezeway, whistling the theme from My Little Pony. He stopped to admire a finely-wrought, extra jumbo crystal butt plug in the window of a nearby shop.
Jeb pressed his face up against the glass. “Boy howdy,” Jeb mused to himself. “I sure would love to put that fancy paperweight right in the middle of my new desk at the Oval Office! My brother said paper goes places if you don’t put something on it.” The shopkeeper threw open the door.
“Hey you fucking cuck! Quit fogging up the glass! I just polished these butt plugs today and I don’t need you getting your grubby fingerprints all over everything!”
Jeb looked sheepishly at the ground, kicking a nearby pebble. “Shucks mister, I didn’t mean no harm!”
The shopkeeper brandished a filthy mop in Jeb’s direction. “You keep movin’ now! We don’t need no trouble here on Mackinac Island!” Jeb scooted away before the shopkeeper could hit him. Jeb knew all too well what getting repeatedly beaten with a mop handle felt like. His wife was a rough woman, but she meant well.
Jeb stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Waitaminute, wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?” He pondered for several moments before snapping his fingers with sudden recognition. “Oh yeah! I was doin’ some campaigning!” Suddenly, three lanky young men and female burst out of a nearby closet.
Paige ran towards Jeb, the three frail hipsters in tow. “Mister Bush! Mister Bush!” Jeb smiled, delighted at the recognition.
“What can I do for you fine young people?” Jeb inquired.
Paige edged closer, trembling with anticipation. “Could we take a picture? We’re big fans.”
Jeb’s smile spread across his face. “Why, of course! Gather ’round!” Paige punched Carlos in the crotch. Doubling over with pain, Carlos limped towards a nearby tourist and handed her the phone. Finley cuddled against Jeb while the rest of the group gathered around, putting on their biggest smiles.
The woman took Carlos’ shiny iPhone 6™, pointing it toward the group. “OK, I’ll count to three. Everyone smile! 1… 2…”
“NOW!” Paige screamed, as the four tore open their jackets, unveiling the hidden message beneath. “By our powers combined, we are Republicans for Bernie Sanders!!!”
“…3! Say Cheese!”
Left to right: Stefan, Paige, Jeb, Finley and Carlos
Chapter 3: The Banishing
As soon as the picture was taken, the universe contracted like a ball sack hitting cold water. The ground shook. Paige shouted with glee. They’d done it. The humiliation was simply too much. They had created the Cuckservative Singularity. Paige and her minions backed away from Jeb like cockroaches scurrying from a sudden kitchen light. Reality groaned in protest, bending and warping the air around Jeb. A butthole wormhole opened, nearby objects hurtling towards the entrance. Jeb struggled against the might of the vortex, but he hadn’t lifted or done cardio in like 20 years. He was simply too much of a pussy. After seconds of resistance, Jeb gave up and allowed the wormhole to suck him into numbing oblivion.
Days, maybe weeks, passed in a purgatorial state of non-being. Jeb spent his time sitting in a corner, sadly masturbating to the picture of Ricky Martin that he used as his phone background. “What am I gonna do Ricky? I’m gettin’ all chafed!” He sighed in resignation.
After what seemed like an eternity, the wormhole spit Jeb into a cuckternate dimension. Time passed faster in this strange land. Years passed for Jeb, while mere seconds ticked by in the real world. Jeb wandered the realm until he found the wreckage of a once-mighty civilization. Jeb did what he could to survive, campaigning for food, water and butt plugs. Eventually Jeb campaigned hard enough to attract the attention of the obese Governor of Cuck Jersey, Chris Christie.
Christie arranged a meeting with Jeb. “We need someone like you, Jeb,” Christie blubbered between mouthfuls of M&Ms. “Lead us.”
Jeb grudgingly accepted. A kingdom-wide coronation was held. Jeb was was fitted with a ceremonial ball gag and crowned Assistant Manager of the Cucknited States of Amexico. Tears streaming down his face, Jeb ruled over the CS of A for approximately 2.5 hours until it was conquered by migrant refugees.
Epilogue: The Awakening
Paige entered the crypt. She walked through the gloom, coughing from the centuries of dust and cobwebs stirred by her footsteps. Her work was nearly done. Paige approached the altar and removed the jeweled dagger from its ornate sheath. Murmuring the words of power, Paige drew the dagger across her palm, letting the blood trickle into the coffin lid as instructed. She leaned close and whispered, “Master, thy will is done.”
A drop of blood touched the lips of Bernie Sanders’ desiccated husk. Eyes lifeless for centuries cracked open, beholding the dank twilight of the crypt. “Oy gevalt!” rasped Bernie Sanders’ newly-revived corpse.
Paige cowered in terror. What had she done? She had sold her soul and condemned an innocent man to the lower planes, all to revive this horror. Wispy hair flying outwards in all directions, the ancient master descended upon Paige.
“Feel the Bern!” Sanders shrieked as his hands closed around Paige’s neck, tightening with a sick hunger.
With a strength belied by his frail appearance, Sanders snapped the neck, consuming her life fluids with horrifying speed. Licking a stray bit of marrow from his index claw, Bernie Sanders stepped into the moonlight to walk the earth once again.
High above the clouds, the golden spires of Trump Tower sparkled in the sunlight. A lone raven alighted on the balcony of the rooftop penthouse. Its blood-red eye searched the room. Slowly arising from a throne carved from a block of the purest marble, Donald Trump took a single step. A dozen beautiful women hurried towards either side, moving out of his way.
A single spoken command rang throughout the penthouse. “My crossbow.”
Trump raised the armament to his shoulder, sending an unerring bolt straight through the heart of the raven. It immediately dissolved into a cloud of black ash.
“What is it, father?” inquired Trump’s golden-haired daughter.
Trump strode to the balcony, surveying the landscape. A dark omen had descended upon the kingdom.
Trump retrieved a thousand dollar bill from a stack of nearby cash, rolling it into a cylinder. He plugged a nostril and tilted his head, snorting a rail of the finest Colombian cocaine from atop the ass of the nearest Norwegian supermodel. Trump turned to face his daughter. “It begins, Ivanka. It begins.”
The End?
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