The crowd roared at the Mississippi rally. The stadium was filled from top to bottom with rabid followers who behaved like their messiah had just arrived. A tall orange menace wearing a red diesel trucker cap with the acronym: MAGA embroidered in white letters on the front, approached the podium in the center and declared in his bombastic speaking style, “My new USMCA is a great triumph and an incredible victory for our farmers, factory workers, and our entire nation. We are finally putting America first. We are making America great again. Today!”
Meanwhile, two pigeons are sitting quietly on the opposite edge of the top of the stadium far above the toxic orange poison vomiting from below. One is blue-black and is slightly larger than the other one which is brown. They observe the spectacle below while conversing.
“Are you sure I can handle this George?” asked the brown pigeon.
“Absolutely, Thomas. We, the Brotherhood of Universal Karmic Retribution, otherwise known as BUKR, all talked last night about how well you did in the other trials and we have full faith in your success for this one. It will be your final trial to complete your initiation into our brotherhood. Once in, if you stay current with your yearly dues, you can enjoy and take advantage of all the benefits of a great fraternity and an even better community. To complete this final trial, all you have to do is swoop down, center yourself right above it, and then engage the monster.”
The deceptive creature slobbered, wiped filthy sweat from its brow, and continues, “I want to do what’s right for this country. It’s a very important time for our country. You must vote Republican on election day. You have to go out and vote.”
“Alright George, here goes nothin,” Thomas un-folds his brown wings, begins flapping and lifts off to the right and flies to the outer circular edge of the cement structure. Gradually he starts steering left in a spiral fashion to get closer to the center. From his angle he sees a flurry of vicious red monsters holding and waving signs on the ground spastically jumping up and down, laughing, yelling and applauding, then gulping Bud Light beer while spilling it on themselves and others. Most of the crowd are pale in color while scattered throughout the arena are strange light sprinklings of brown and darker skinned brainwashed creatures.
They all chant together, “U.S.A….U.S.A….U.S.A.”
The monster grasps the sides of the podium, cocks his head to the left side and back, and regurgitates, “The Democrats want Socialism. They want open borders. They want to outlaw private insurance. They want to let these criminal aliens go free.”
“Boooo,” the crowd blaringly reacts to the statements just made by the six foot three, two hundred and thirty-six-pound humanoid beast crammed into a dark blue suit, with a blue tie splattered with a repeated square pattern, and wearing a waving America flag pin on its left lapel. It stands there half smiling and frowning in its notoriously smug manner, then purses its lips which are attached to its old wrinkly orange face underneath it’s diseased and patchworked orangish goldish hair.
During the booing, close to the center of the stadium, a slender thirty something blonde girl, dressed in a conservative blue prairie dress accented with a lightly ruffled white collar, grasps her boyfriend’s hand and smiled ecstatically right before she kisses him. Intimately standing next to her in his blue sleeveless Pendleton, faded black jeans, and tan cowboy boots, his blue eyes smiled with surprise underneath his red MAGA trucker cap, as the dry cracked pink lips under his blonde Horseshoe moustache puckered up and returned the sign of intimacy. Their eyes closed, they both dropped to the ground one end of a “Finish the Wall” sign and sparks flew inside them both as if a nuclear reaction occurred from deep down within their being. Then, while still engaged in their reciprocal token of love, both of their eyes opened at the same time and they caught each other’s gaze receiving their nonverbal transmissions of affection.
Getting closer now to the center area of the stadium. Still flying high above the crowds, zeroing in, Thomas sees his mark.
“Orange Menace within range,” he thinks. He loads his chamber, then drops his payload.
“Eww……..aggghhhh,” the lovers garble out, then in unison they yelled, “Motherfucker!”
The white residue slides and drips from the tops of their foreheads, down their nose to their lips, then making its final resting place on to their clothing, staining it. They sporadically spit in furious disgust and recklessly wipe their mouths and faces then rub their hands on their backsides.
“Missed! Damn it! I need to regroup,” Thomas thought as he redirected his course back to George. He lands back where he started, shakes his head and folds in his wings.
“What happened? You were so close Thomas,” George disappointingly asked.
“I know. I think I mis judged the trajectory. I’ll try again. I think it will be a definite improvement, now that I’ve tried once before.”
“Alright. Try again and closer this time, maybe that will help.”
Just as Thomas nodded yes in agreement to George’s advice, another pigeon, taller, slender, and ash-red in color landed to the right of George.
“Well, well, well…if it isn’t old George Washington training our newest brother in arms. How’ve you been, you old dog?”
“Abe? What are you doing here? I thought you were in Michigan administering justice to that rat bastard of a governor,” George cordially responded.
“Yeah, Rick Snyder sure is a son of a bitch. I have been doing my best to expedite the karmic retribution that he so deserves, but I can only do so much in a day. I really need more help. Maybe this new guy could be the one I’m looking for. You want to introduce me?”
Then George unfolded his left wing, pointed to Thomas and said, “Thomas Jefferson,” then he gestured to the other pigeon and finished with, “this is Abraham Lincoln.” Both birds looked at each other across George and synchronously said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Abe, Thomas needs to keep trying to hit his target. If he succeeds, he will have passed initiation. Then he could go with you and help with the Snyder monster.”
“No problem. Hey…Rick Snyder is such a dirt bag. I still can’t believe how he could intentionally poison the water in Flint, Michigan and get away with it. What an asshole!”
“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t even realize how bad Flint was until that night I was working at the drive in and they were showing the new Michael Moore film: “Fahrenheit 11/9”
There are baby’s now being born with heavy levels of lead. They will never be normal. They will have to live with that forever. The people there can’t drink the water. They can’t shower in the water. They can’t really water their plants or even wash their cars with that water. And even though the people brought this to his attention, he did nothing about it for two years until the auto manufacturers complained that it was destroying their newly manufactured car components and parts. Then and only then did Governor Rick Snyder take action, but by then it was already too late. Now the people of Flint have a permanent dose of lead in their bodies and lives. The orange monster down there loves Rick Snyder. He kind of see’s him as a pioneer.”
“On a lighter side, I found Reince Priebus there at the drive in. You know, the former Whitehouse chief of staff for the orange monster down below. He was parked in his old black Buick, crying and drinking heavy slurps of Southern Comfort with an oversized green straw. He was shoving peanut M&Ms and popcorn in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for a week. Some scattered around him and fell in his car. His windows were down and he was sobbing and babbling something about how they won the presidency. When he wasn’t looking, I managed to fly into his car. I munched on some of the popcorn that fell on the floor and left little nasties every step of the way. I had a great time tearing up his dirty interior by pecking at it too.”
“Ha, ha,..It was so funny. He was scrambling, cursing, and alcoholically drooling and spiting trying to catch me. Then I leapt onto his right shoulder, released, and flew out quickly. It was awesome.”
“Ha, ha, ha,….way to go Abe. You’re like a one-man army!” George delightfully complemented him.
“Ok, should I try again,” Thomas interjected.
“Go ahead sport,” George replied.
Abe and George continued conversing then Thomas takes flight and this time circles from the opposite direction of the previous one. His right eye scans the crowd below. The red flurry of hats seemed to be waving and fluctuating like a flexed muscle. Jostling and jolting from the top to the bottom of the stadium, freely giving up its energy and enthusiasm to a vacuous force residing in the middle.
Two ladies holding “Women for Drump” signs were talking about the new alert system. Both were wearing the same pink “Women for Drump” t-shirt. One lady’s swollen brown fingers reached into her shirt, dislodged from between two large brown breasts a Samsung smart phone, and with a deep southern drawl askes, “Jenny, did you hear about the new alert system that the president implemented?”
“No Betty. Is it like the other alert that always makes funny sounds?” replied a slightly deeper raspy voice equally as southern in accent. The kind of voice that’s had its vocal cords slammed with too much tabaco smoke and Wild Turkey bourbon for twenty years.
“It comes through on your smartphone. They’re going to test it out later today. Isn’t that fantastic?”
“He really is our greatest modern president…” Jenny looks into the air with green eyes glazed like a dear staring at headlights. Then she forces her oversized pale fingers, which resemble the yellowish cheese dogs you might foolishly eat from a gas station, into her right back pocket, where the too small Wrangler jeans are at the same time trying to contain the excesses of Jenny’s being and strangle to death her iPhone. With hard effort she manages to dig her phone out, and while searching it she asks, “Is that an app I have to download?”
“No, here let me show you honey,” Betty says than stands against Jenny’s left side. She brings her phone close to Jenny’s and begins searching through her text messages then says, “Hey, did you hear that he also wants to create a Space Force? He’s going to protect us from those evil alien invaders that might show up one day soon when the Rapture happens.”
“No,…wow. That’s Awesome too! Praise Jesus that Drump is here.”
“I think I’m much closer now,” Thomas thinks as he zeros in again on the reddish orange monster in the middle. It keeps moving though, like an overgrown child with an overactive imagination. It raises it’s arms up and down. Makes frowning agreement face gestures. Purses its lips frequently, then authoritatively points its finger in the air and at times outward, at the crowd.
Through the tightly wound cresses trapped on its lips it proclaims, “I’ve done more in the first two years of my administration than any other president before me!”
The crowd roars with claps, whistles, and an overwhelming, “Yay!” drenches the stadium.
The sudden loud burst of excitement caught Thomas off guard and he dropped his load early. Slamming down on the two women supporters’ smartphones, which they both dropped resulting in both screens cracking at the same time the payload was abruptly received. They dually gasped. Then when they synchronously went to pick them up, they hit each other’s head, collectively yelled, “Owww!” then rubbed their heads before falling to the ground on their butts.
Thomas returned back to his starting place again.
“What happened this time?” George sadly asked.
“I thought he was doing great. It looked like he was really going to get him,” Abe complimented him.
“Everybody started yelling and screaming and it spooked me,” Thomas explained.
“Well, you get one last chance. Then if it’s not successful, we’ll have to wait until next month to try again.”
“Ok…ummm…alright…..I need to refocus,” Thomas thought quietly for a few seconds then said, “Ok, I’m doing it this time. I mean it.” He looked at Abe and Abe returned a nod of approval. George did the same.
Thomas takes flight and this time right out into the middle of the arena. He thought to himself that he better make this one count so he’s going to make it a double just in case. He begins a circular spiral downward with a focus directly on top of the red hat of the orange monster.
The abomination chortles then says, “She claims that she had only one beer,…but she can’t remember which house it was. She claims that she had only one beer,…but she can’t remember what day it was. She claims that she had only one beer,…but she can’t remember what time it happened,” then the orange menace cocks his head back, opens his mouth even wider than normal, props his arms up and with his small orange fingers, makes the OK symbol, and continues on, “She claims that she had only one beer,…but she can’t remember….”
Thomas gets closer, zeros in…..
Bullseye right in the mouth of the vicious beast. The crowd gasped and screams of terror flooded the stadium. As the monster tilted his head down to begin vomiting and spitting out the white slimy pulp onto the podium in front of him, Thomas circled around again and droped the second load. It happened to land on the monsters red cap. Directly to the right of the A and settled itself miraculously in the form of the capital letter T. An elderly pale and thin grey-haired woman in a beige dress directly opposite of the monster’s position, screamed loudly and then fainted. In the audience to the right of the podium, a red headed eight-year-old boy dirtied the knee sections of his blue jeans and stained the red long sleeve white collared shirt he was wearing when he fell to the ground and started vomiting all over his father’s black steel toed mining boots. Other sounds of disgust echoed in the arena and the enchantment of the moment and maybe even the whole night rapidly started to fade.
Ecstatically overflowing with pride and joy, George and Abe leapt into the air chanting, “Thomas, Thomas, Thomas….”
“Thanks guys. So, am I in?” Thomas asked while landing back in his spot on the edge.
“Absolutely!” George replied. He then high fived each BUKR brother with his left wing and then settled into his spot basking in the glow of fulfillment and achievement of a job well done.