i now pronounce you drunk and high

Good evening, and welcome to Newsline. Tonight we bring you a story from inside the ultrasecretive police state once known as the United States of America, whose run as a world superpower came to an ignomious end last year, when Barack Obama took office and, within a few months, turned everything irrevocably, unrecognizeably super-queer. Here in 2010, America is a complete socialist wasteland. Her once-mighty citizenry is today reduced to running for cover at nightfall to avoid the roving bands of Nazi Brownshirts driving around on motorcycles and beheading random citizens in the street as a means of maintaining order through intimidation for their black Muslim overlords.

My crew and I were graciously invited to visit the home of a family that wished to remain anonymous, for fear of swift, cruel government retribution.  After hiding us in their laundry baskets during the Big Brother-mandated evening bunk checks, they were kind enough to treat us to a home-cooked meal. One of our cameramen was understandably shaken from a seizure brought on by the rapid movement of the dozens of intrusive flashlights searching for illegal contraband, such as Bibles. “You haven’t even touched your potatoes,” the mother said, trying to calm his nerves, to no avail. “Here, try the sour cream and onion kind.”

The children retired to study their only three textbooks: Mein Kampf , Dreams From My Father, and the Necronomicon. Each book was printed in Mandarin, the official language of the new school system. President Obama, teaching the class via video feed like he does every day, was scheduled to administer a test, and the white students who received unacceptable grades were to be placed into re-education camps. We later learned that little Jimmy didn’t make it, and he is now doing hard labor in one of the Administration’s shovel-ready projects, as one of the shovels.

At last, the father returned home from a grueling day, tending to a sickle- or possibly hammer-related injury sustained in the workplace at his mandatory second “green job”. Once inside and safe from government eyes looking to deem his injury too severe, (subsequently declaring him Unfit to Live), he went looking for the home’s Public Health Care Kit. On the mantle under the framed picture of Dear Leader was a tackle box with a roll of electrical tape, a flask of corn whiskey, and, in case of emergency, a phone to call the clinic. The couple was loath to go to the clinic because no one ever seems to return from there, especially since the government’s mysterious new food rations began arriving in mailboxes. Upon further investigation, however, our field producer determined that the phone was actually just a plastic toy phone filled with hard candy.

A single tear streamed down the mother’s dirt-smeared face as she lamented America’s rapid and totally unforeseeable decline. “Our kids don’t even knowed how to talk English no more.” Upon hearing this, William Shakespeare, watching from heaven, pulled a knife from the belt of his angelic robe and slashed his wrists, then locusts poured forth from his opened veins and created pestilence all over the land.

Truly a remarkable tale of woe. From Park Slope, I’m Christiane Amanpour.


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