The Great Californian Civil War

“Will you tell me a story, Pop pop?” the young lad said, looking up at his grandfather. The old man looked down kindly on the child sitting on his lap.

“Sure, which story would you like this time Henry?”

“Tell me about California.” replied Henry.

“Oh, California. What would you like to hear about that land of old? Its golden beaches? Its immense cities? Or maybe Hollywood, the doomed mecca of the most obnoxious and pretentiousness people the world has ever known?.” asked Pop Pop.

“I want to hear about the Second Civil War.” said Henry, ignoring his grandfather’s suggestions.

“The War?” asked Pop pop, obviously startled, “How do you know about that?”

“I overheard my dad talking about it on the phone. It seemed to be very interesting to him.”

“I do not think that would be a good story to tell.” replied Henry’s grandfather, “I’m not comfortable telling such a terrible and gruesome tale to my young grandson.”

“Pleeeeeease Pop Pop, pleeeeease. I can handle it!” whined Henry.

Pop pop replied, “I do not think your parents would like me telling you about a war, especially about such a brutal one in of that.”

“Please Pop pop! I won’t tell mom and dad!.”

“Well…” said Pop pop, mulling it over in his mind, “I guess it can’t hurt, you are a brave little boy.”

“Yes I am!” Henry replied enthused.

“Ok,” said Pop pop, looking into the distance, “It started long ago. The golden-maned God-Emperor had just been elected. His election brought great joy, and great sorrow. It brought much unity, and much division. The most sorrowful, the most angry, the most alienated place was California. Its people could not come to terms with the election. It ate away at them. It infected them. It consumed them in fear, and that fear turned to hate, and that hate turned to anger. Dissent grew throughout the state of California. The Californians began to think: ‘Why should we be part of the United States. Why should we be part of a county that elects such a foul, cruel, orange beast? Why should anybody else have a say but us?’”

“So then what did they do Pop pop?” asked Henry.

Pop pop began again, “They broke away. California seceded from the Union. The stage had been set. The U.S. could not afford to let California leave. Though how much every other American felt relieved that California finally left, the golden state could not be allowed to leave. Insubordination would not be tolerated, it would set a bad precedent. Swift action had to be taken.”

“Oh boi, this is gunna be gud.”

“What?” chimed Pop Pop.

“Oh, nothing, just excited for this part.” replied Henry.

“I don’t know if its a part to be very excited about,” continued Henry’s grandfather with a quick glare, “The fighting was brutal. The drone strikes came first. Predator missiles were launched across California. The Californians weren’t prepared. Smoothie bars, tanning stations, and yoga studios were hit the hardest, for good reason. The Californians sustained heavy casualties and their way of life was shattered in mere moments. Panic swept through the land. But the U.S. forgot the most important place in California. The seat from which the rest of the state was controlled and its influence sent out into the world.

Hollywood.

“Where all the Indians are?” asked Henry.

“Wah, what? No. That’s Bollywood.” said Pop pop.

“Oh, ok.”

Pop pop continued with a huff,“Alright, of course, the U.S. had targeted the unholy enclave of crime and villainy in the initial bombardment, but they were lax in their assault. The pompous citizens of Hollywood had survived, cowering in the dark like cockroaches. And the cockroaches emerged. The elite of Hollywood were completely unscathed, hiding in their diamond-crusted fortress mansions. It was now time for California to strike back. The elite of Hollywood called their forces to them, from all across the state. They would create a mighty army to bring the war to the United States. And who better to do this than the old fake battle-hardened, fake war dog, and fake boxing champion, Sylvester Stallone.”

“Then what happened Pop pop?” said Henry

“Stallone gathered the strongest, smartest, and most tan Californians he could muster. All adept in the art of fake fighting, fake war. All important to the independence struggle of their great state. The Indispensables. Stallone knew he could not win an open war with the United States with his small yet elite force of fake warriors. They would have one opportunity to strike the United States, to hit them fast and hard. To win their independence with one fell swoop. Their target: the McDonald’s Headquarters in Oak Brook, Illinois.”

“Why was that Pop pop?” inquired Henry.

“You see Henry, McDonald’s was the life-blood of the American way of life,” answered Pop pop, his glare becoming harder then relaxing as he spoke, “All Americans ate McDonald’s, growing fatter and fatter. Yet McDonald’s was more than just food. McDonald’s was America. And Stallone knew that. Stallone and 20 of his best fake soldiers from his crew commandeered a replica B-52 bomber and piled in. The United States government was not expecting retaliation after their storm of drone strikes; they thought they had subdued California from the get-go. But it was not so. Stallone’s aircraft, now dubbed the Roaring Vegan, was able to bypass the little defenses that the U.S. had placed around the golden state. After that, the Roaring Vegan had clear skies to Oak Brook, Illinois. It took a long time, but the Californians eventually reached their goal. Now, the rest of the story is only legend. But, legend has it that the headquarters of McDonald’s were two giant golden arches. And Stallone, being the fake daring leader that he was, landed that plane right on top of a golden arch. Stallone and his fake warriors rappelled down the side of the arch and found an entry point. Again, this is all legend. After fighting through dozens of the most obese McDonald’s security guards, one fatter than the last, they found the key to ending the conflict that they had been searching for.”

“What was it Pop pop?” asked Henry excitingly.

“The secret formula.” uttered Pop pop. “McDonald’s drew all their strength and power from this one tiny document, enclosed in a glass bottle. The secret to the unyielding deliciousness of their food, the food that had become the backbone of America. The foundation on which the United States stood. And the foundation that Stallone was about to break. Though his small force of Indispensables had sustained heavy losses, Stallone and his remaining five fake warriors broke into the secret vault, and stole the secret formula. The fight was brutal on their way out as well, but with their intense training of the fake warrior arts, Stallone escaped with two men, and the secret formula.”

“What happened the-”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH THE STORY YOU INTERRUPTING BRAT!” screamed Pop pop at Henry. Henry sat startled and waited for Pop pop to finish the story. “Now then, with the loss of their secret formula, McDonald’s collapsed. Figuratively and literally. Their golden arches came tumbling down. You know that scene in The Lord of the Rings when Sauron is finally defeated. Yeah, just like that. Anyway, now with McDonald’s gone, Stallone knew that the United States could no longer wage a war on California and their independence was assured.”

“So, the Californian’s won?” asked Henry. Pop pop gave Henry a death-stare for interrupting again. Henry knew what he had done.

“No. Stallone and the other Californians forgot one important thing. That there were other franchises eager to take the place of McDonald’s. The Land of McDonald’s became the Land of… Burger King. The Californians were bombed into submission, which is why the California Wastes are such a huge tourist spot to this day, with plenty of places to get a Whopper.”

“Wow. That’s stupid.” said Henry, who was promptly hit by his grandfather.

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Trump on the High Seas

It is sometime in February, 2017. Donald Trump is President of the United States. Though he has only had the job for a short time, he has made it his mission to sail the high seas in his newly refurbished, now presidential, yacht; The Floating Wall. Thus we begin on open ocean with Trump and his second-in-command, Mike Pence.

The wind howls. Gusts violently assault the sails of the Floating Wall. Rain smashes onto the yacht. The storm is on a mission to destroy anything in its path. Trump is undaunted. He stands erect at the bow of the Wall, golden mane flying boldly with every new gust of wind. The ocean churns and pounds against the star-spangled sides of the Wall. Too strong is the vessel against such pitiful affronts, just as the one on the American border will be.

“Sir, you must come inside! It is too dangerous out here in the storm!”

The President glances back at the cabin. It is Mike. Trump smirks and turns back towards the dark ocean. Pence has a strong demeanor, but is still soft inside like most other establishment Republicans. He has his uses.

“Donald, please come inside the cabin! Ever since you defeated that nasty women on November 9th, the water levels have risen exponentially!” cries the VP, “Liberal tears have flooded the waters and made the oceans angry and unsuitable for navigation!”

“Nothing will stop me from my quest!” Trump yells back, keeping he gaze fixed upon the churning waters. “I will be fulfilled” he mumbles under his breath.

*CRASH* A giant wave hits the side the yacht.

“We must turn back, sir!” Pence pleads, slowly making his way over the Trump, “We can not risk it, our reign has just begun!”

Trump spins around to face his frightened VP, his stern gaze locking onto Pence’s face. “Our reign has begun, which is exactly why we must be out here… Now.” says Trump, becoming irritated at Pence’s barrage of pitiful pleas. “I finally have the jurisdiction and fire power to achieve the greatest goal of all.” Trump turns back around to face the cold, bleak ocean. An ocean trying so hard to stop the Donald. Trying, but utterly failing.

“I am sorry for any annoyance I may have caused, I am only concerned for your well-being, that is all Mr. President.” Pence manages to reply meekly, thrusting forward on shaking legs to grab the hand-railing next to Trump. Pence waits a minute before asking his next question that sits on the edge of his tongue. He gazes longingly at the face of his President, mouth pursed like a puckered butthole expecting its first penetration. “Donald?”

Trump looks over at his VP who is giving him the usual puppy-dog face. He can never stay angry at that face. “Yes Pence?”

“What is this grand quest we, err, you are on right now?”

Trump stares at Pence for a few seconds, mulling if his timid VP is ready for the truth. A coy smile slowly appears on the President’s face. “You will know soon enough Mike.” Trump says as cooly as one can in a battering storm, “Have faith, my loyal VP. You will know soon enough, and I will need your help when the time comes.” Trump turns once again back to the black ocean. The angry ocean that should be afraid as its waves break violently but harmlessly on the sides of the Floating Wall. Pence looks at his stoic President for a brief moment, taken by his strong, stubborn demeanor and golden locks of hair that seem to be attempting to escape their horrible captivity with each gust of wind. Mike turns to face the ocean himself, cheeks warm and red from a sense of excitement.

*CRASH* Another giant wave smashes into the side of the yacht.

“Donald, look!” Pence points to a spot in the ocean a little ways off from the bow of the Floating Wall. The water is beginning to break at the spot that Pence has pointed out. A dark object is underneath the water, growing with each passing second.

“Wha- what is that? Could it be a, uh, a Russian submarine?” Pence hurriedly yells out.

“That is no submarine.” Trump joyfully replies, “And even if it was the Russians, Putin and I have joint jurisdiction over the world, you know that Pence. We are best friends.”

“Oh yes, of, of course…” squeaks from Pence. If only Donald thought of him as his best friend. Or more…

“No, that is no submarine!” exclaims Trump, slapping Pence on the back, almost sending the VP hurdling into the ocean depths. “That, is the quest, the goal I have been seeking for so long. Donald Trump, now President Trump, will have her!”

At that moment, the water burst open as if giving birth to a primordial demon. Trump lets out a mighty roar. Pence stares at the gargantuan being that has emerged from the angry ocean, soaring into the air before crashing back down onto the black waters.

“Rosie O’Donnell…I can’t believe it.” Pence stutters.

“Yes! After all this time, the long years planning and preparing, winning the United States presidency, I will have my ultimate revenge!” yells Trump, his tiny hands grasping the hand-railing as if a pussy were in front of them. “She will be mine!”

“I see now,” Pence says, realizing the truth, “This whole time, this has been your ultimate quest, finding this… this beast!”

Killing this beast,” Trump replies quickly, spinning to lock eyes with Pence, “And not just a beast. A whale. Such a nasty whale. After her!”

The pair stand together, locked in their statures.

“Who’s piloting the ship?” Trump says, still looking intently forward at his soon-to-be prize.

“I believe we have Ricardo piloting the ship Mr. President.”

“Well, go tell him ‘after her!’ We must follow her!” yells Trump. Pence scurries away to tell Ricardo the orders.

“These illegals, they have their uses too. Too bad for Ricardo, he’ll have to go back too once this is finished. And he’s one of the good hombres.” Trump says to himself, still staring at O’Donnell, submerged just beneath the water and gaining distance from the Floating Wall. Suddenly, the yacht jerked forward, Ricardo has put the ship into full steam ahead. Indeed, the arrow on the dial in the navigation room pointed to “full steam ahead.” The race was on.

“Yes!” roared Trump, chest thrust into the air, pointing at the whale in front of him, “You will soon be mine!” Trump let out a mighty laugh, a laugh that rivaled the storm’s fury. O’Donnell had gained a distance between herself and the presidential yacht, but that soon would change. The Floating Wall was gaining speed. O’Donnell was a fast beast, her fins occasionally breaking through and glistening above the dark water. But she would never be able to escape the Floating Wall. Not only was it an excellent and incredibly fast sea-faring vehicle, Trump had imbued it with his own willpower, confidence, and doucheiness. It was unbeatable. Within a few moments, the Trump-bearing yacht had caught up to its prey.

“Now is the time! Finally!” Donald yelled, leaning over the side of the yacht to better see his prey, “Pence! Get the harpoon gun ready!”

“Pence!”

“Be right there, Mr. Presi…” Pence quickly cupped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide open. He rushed over the edge of the boat to barf. The extra speed of the Floating Wall had gotten to the VP. Donald would remember this.

“Are you ready now Pence? Can we get on to my greatest glory now, please?” Trump said, overtly sarcastic.

“Ugh, uhh, Yes! Right away, sir” stammered Pence, moving quickly as he could to the large object in the middle of the boat. When he reached it, he pulled off the tarp, revealing the harpoon gun. The gun that would bring the Donald ultimate justice. Golden plated with diamond-tipped harpoons, it was a magnificent tool. And it was the gun to bring down O’ Donnell.

“Hurry now Pence, let’s go, get that thing over here!” shouted Trump. “This is it. With this yuge gun, against this yuge whale, on this yuge yacht, with my yuge ego, I will be victorious! It will be YUGEEEEEEEEEEE!” Trump shoved his small fists into the air, seeming to bait the storm itself. Pence wheeled the harpoon gun to the edge of the yacht, next to Trump, the diamond-tipped spear ready to pierce the hide of its target. Trump looked over the great machine, sweeping his gaze across its surface with a grand smile on his face. He gave the golden machine a few good slaps on its side.

“Yes, yes, a good weapon, is it not Pence?” Trump asked.

“Yes sir, a goo-”

“WRONG!” Trump interrupted, “It is a great weapon. Now, let us finish this!”

Trump jumped behind the harpoon gun, pushing Pence out of the way. The VP fell back, landing straight on his ass. He was shocked at first, but as Pence looked up at Trump, strong and confident, he felt a warm feeling grow inside of himself.

The storm stopped. The rain stopped. The waves stopped. The perfect opportunity, Trump aimed the weapon towards his prey. O’Donnell still remained just below the surface, her scaly flesh now visible from the President’s viewpoint. Trump’s breathing became slow and heavy. The moment was so close at hand. Time seemed to stop itself.

Then, suddenly, the beast emerged. Rosie O’ Donnell soared into the air, water spurting from her blowhole.

“Yes! You are mine, foul whale. My DESTINY!” Trump screamed into sky. Just as Rosie reached the peak of her jump, Trump fired.

*

“A splendid job Mr President,” Pence says excitingly, his eyes still wide with awe, “What a glorious day for you, and for America.”

“Yes, but especially glorious for me.” replies Trump, standing stoic on the deck before the Floating Wall. The corpse of the skewered whale floated behind the yacht, harpoon jutting from its side. She was no match for Donald Trump.

“With your ultimate quest complete, what will we do now?” Pence asks.

“Well, we can also bomb the shit out of-” Trump says, cutting himself short. Before he finishes his statement, he catches Pence’s face in his gaze. That cute face. The silver hair. The doll-like figure and glassy eyes. Trump did not know how he never noticed it before. Maybe it was the obsession he had over taking down O’ Donnell. Maybe. But now he say Pence in a new light. And a new feeling welled itself inside of Trump.

“Pence…”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Come here.” Trump reached forward and pulled Pence in. Their bodies embraced together, they pressed their mouths together, seemingly trying to suck whatever they could out of their prune-ish bodies. Though there was no pussy to grab, Pence’s solid butt would do. And anyway, Pence was enough of a pussy himself to suffice. After enough time had passed to satisfy Donald, their kiss ended.

“Oh, Donald,” Pence mused, laying his head on Trump’s chest, “Finally, my ultimate quest has been fulfilled. But look!”

A group of black vans approaches.

“That must be ICE.” Donald said, turning to look back at the yacht, giving a thumbs up to Ricardo who is still on the Floating Wall, “Time to go back to Taco-land buddy!”

“Fucking dick.” Ricardo murmurs.

Fin.