The Raven Has Come

From the upstairs window I could see them coming up the street, three black Suburbans, no plates and blacked-out windows.  What could they possibly want, I wondered.  My brain went into overdrive, nothing making sense.  Suddenly, a thought, and I sprang into action.  Hurtling myself down the stairs, I hit the button causing the gate to lurch into action, locking with a clang.  Apparently the entry team did not hear the buzz of 220 volts before they attempted to launch themselves over the gate.  The Guardian System worked.  I heard the screams, drowning out the sudden “ZAP” that filled the air.  “Great”, I thought, “Now they will charge me with assault, attempted murder, or cooking without a license…300 years minimum”.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I quickly made it to the weapons cache.  With a flourish I grabbed the remote for the old radio-controlled Jeep and placed it by my side.  The Jeep died a long time ago, but the control still fires the mechanism that emits the little blue spark.  Under the stairwell, inside the walk-in closet downstairs, is a thick film of homemade C4 with the receiver embedded in it.  Hit the button, blow the stairs, no one can get to me…hahaha.  Thinking, I realized this might have something to do with my insistence that Obama provide me with a company car, a GM, specifically a loaded ultra-fast Cadillac, or, it could be one of the unsavory articles I have written about the dark lord, Obama.  Silence.  Someone cut the power.  “Never more” the raven croaked.  I hate that bird.

Slipping some peyote between the cheek and gum, I worked my way downstairs.  Huddled on the porch, deflecting the snow and wind with their vests, I almost felt sorry for them, but the blasted raven spoke, “Nevermore”.  Opening the door caused them to jump and I found myself with six HK’s pointed at me by very alarmed men who were shocked to see me holding a tactical shotgun, an XDM on my hip, an AK over my shoulder, and a vest full of ammo.  The silence was broken by the sound of a sarcastic idiot saying, “Selling tickets to the policeman’s ball.”  There it was, hanging in the air like vile flatulence on a day with no wind.  Suddenly a wave of human beings crushed me as a wall of color and sound enveloped me.

Croaking “Nevermore” while they handcuffed me, I discovered the raven was me.  Three of the agents resembled lobsters.  Stunned, I shook my head and realized that I swallowed the entire button when they hit me.  The day was about to get strange.

As they secured me to the table, I looked up when I heard, “Mr. President” and saw a wraith enter the room.  How did a wraith get elected President? Sniffing and gurgling, the wraith leaned in close to me and said, “Nevermore”.  I muttered, “Hillary, is that you”.  It was a mortal blow.  B. Hussein Obama hissed loudly and fell back, staggering away from me, croaking as he stumbled out the door, “Let him go”.  With that, the wraith was gone.

One of the lobsters cut the flex cuffs off me.  As I stood, rubbing my wrists, the lobsters, a giant rabbit, and the raven left through the front door.  Reaching for a can of ether, I realized that they had taken the case with them.  Apparently the wraith was in the depths of an ether binge and needed it more than me.  Somewhere in the wind, the cry of “Nevermore” reverberated – and that is how I met Dear Leader, falling into the depths of a peyote binge.

@GenGSPatton – Rogue, Rapscallion, Master of the Universe


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