#oh yeah i decided on a speech bubble style too and it fucks hard

[pluralthey]

was testing out a coloring style for idletry and honestly, it's growing on me

#idletry #sequential #art #oh yeah i decided on a speech bubble style too and it fucks hard #so much easier than imperfect circles yet so much more stylish #idletry strips

[ryncorrect]

university!au: day6 jae

following my uni!au with young k (idk how to link my own post asbajdnskmd im Dumb) so here another one with jae lol i think im gonna make one for each one of them buttttttt no promise bc my brain works in a very mysterious way LOL

anyway leggo

warning: this is lame lmaooooo

name: park jaehyung / jae

major: politic science

other activities: guitarist (and sometimes vocalist) of university band, member of music club, founder and leader of LOL SQUAD

everyone knows that tall skinny guitarist of the band i mean he’s hard to ignore tbh

he always wears loose T-shirt, ripped jeans, a cap that he puts backward, and round big specs to campus

professors hate his ripped jeans but can’t really say anything because oh well style doesn’t define someone’s grades and boy, does this kid actually get some braincells in him

well i mean at least he never fails his classes

he has this giant LOLSQUAD badge on his backpack because he’s proud af of his title as the club founder and leader

he actually started that club so he could to brag about his gaming skill to everyone who wanted to listen but he ends up getting his ass handed to him every single time they play together smh

if he’s not in class or hanging out with his game buddies, he can be seen following that Popular Student™ kang younghyun or as jae prefers to call him, “brian” or “brIBRI” because they both joined music club and are in the band

yes yes he’s well known and easy to spot

but…

“jae? park jaehyung?? who???”

everyone refers to him as “that foreigner student”, “the American guy” or “the gamer guy”, or my favorite: “chicken little”

i will never let that joke die im sorry but seriously he looks like chicken when he plays his guitar on the stage don’t @ me

there are only like 5 students in the whole university who know his actual name

anyways in this scenario you’ve always been interested in playing guitar but haven’t gotten a chance to learn and your friend kim wonpil invites you to join music club so you’ll have friends to practice with

“you know our jaehyungie, right? he’s really chill, you’ll get along well with him!!”

deep inside you’re like

who the heck is jaehyung

but wonpil is so excited to have you there so the next week you come to the club meeting

you introduce yourself to everyone and finally you meet him

“ohmygod the chicken little!!”

“whO THE HECK ARE YOU CALLING THAT”

“sorry- i mean the chicken guitarist- wait no-”

he glares at you, you laugh instead

scaring the new member challenge: failed

but yeah you’d seen him performing before and honestly you almost decided to become his fan

a l m o s t

at first he (jokingly) refuses to teach you guitar because you called him chicken little

and since then you keep calling him that just to mess with him

“hi chicken little”

“what’s poppin chicken little”

“why do you look so flustered, chicken little? do i make you nervous??”

he turns red chicken little is now an angry bird “gO AWAY NEWBIE YOU’RE SO ANNOYING”

jae’s a foreigner but he speaks fluent korean

he tells you that even though he was born and grew up in america he always speaks the language with his parents

but of course since he lives abroad there are lots of words or slang he doesn’t know, so you gotta be an ass and slip some difficult words when you speak to him

he gets his revenge by replying to you in english

whenever you two are having an argument (usually over stupid things) everyone in the club suddenly gets headache

wtf they’re not even making any sense

besides music, jae is the most excited when talking about LOL or social topics because well his major

honestly idk much about politic science so cmiimw

one time someone asks for his opinion about social welfare and he ends up starting a sudden debate session with the said person about social welfare programs in south korea and america and the difference between both countries

you mention human rights and he sNAPS

i mean he gives a full 15 mins speech about it

“yknow what im sayin?”

“dude… i honestly don’t get it at all”

because he be speaking in full english like wat

he’s just so passionate about everything it’s almost adorable

a l m o s t

and it’s not only his passion but also his small eyes, his laugh, his voice, or the way he occasionally lifts his head to look at you while playing guitar and you smile and he smiles because you smile first shnshsbshs soft

even the corners of his lips are so cute wow

oh fuck im emo i love him

but you adore him just as a good friend

he’s always been bubbly and friendly with everyone, not just you, so yeah it’s really easy to fall for him but you assure yourself that you’re nOT

are we having “in denial” shit again omg im so uncreative

anyway fast forward it’s ur birthday!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYY

you decide to throw a small party at your place and invite 5 or 6 of your closest friends but damn on the d-day it rains so hard

if ur bday falls on winter then change it to snowing hard, if it’s spring then maybe there’s strong wind or something, whatever suits you fam lol

so no one comes to your party lol you are Sad

BUT THEN!!!! JAE SHOWS UP!!!!!

PARK JAEHYUNG

OUT OF ALL PEOPLE

no you didn’t invite him because idk

are we really that close??? ehhhh he probably won’t come anyway haha why bother

BUT!!!! HE SHOWS UP!!! IN FRONT OF YOUR DOOR!!!

he’s carrying an umbrella but it didn’t really help apparently because he’s soaking wet

imagine that view i mean nvm

“i happened to be near here and i remember it’s your birthday today so i think i’m gonna drop by to say hi and suddenly it’s raining too hard on the way but anyway happy birthday can you let me in first i’m cold”

ofc you let jae in i mean we can’t let the chicken catch the flu amirite

but you warn him that he’ll have to leave before 11 or your RA will kick you both out the dorm lol

after a towel, two cups of hot tea, and one shared piece of chocolate cake, you told him you were supposed to have a small party tonight but no one could make it because of the rain and he’s like “hOW DARE YOU HAVING A PARTY BUT NOT INVITING ME I THOUGHT WHAT WE HAD WAS SPECIAL” and you’re just like “lol shut up chicken here eat more cake”

anyways you two spend time joking and talking about random stuff and it’s probably not the best birthday ever but at least you don’t have to spend it alone and to be honest you’re happy that he’s here

then jae pulls out his ultimate weapon

i mean his guitar

he was soaking wet but the guitar is clean and dry and all fine like hoW EVEN

“priorities” -park jaehyung

he said he gonna play a song of your choice because he came empty handed and he feels bad about it

you blush and pick whatever song comes to your mind because you can’t really think of any, and he starts strumming his guitar and sings

and while he keeps looking at you, you find yourself too can’t take your eyes off him

the song ends and you’re about to clap your hands when he suddenly starts another one

wait you’ve never heard this song before

it’s a slow song and the lyrics are all like, the sky turns dark on the birthday of the brightest star so that it’ll be the only light in his world, how he feels regretful that he has nothing to give but his small heart, and he hopes that this lovely person will hold his hand as they listen to this song together, that this lovely person will feel warm beside him

guys just imagine the song okay i can’t Romance

it’s dead silent until you whisper, “is that… a song for me?”

jae’s face turns red and he starts panicking™ like “i made up the lyrics just now okay i know it’s fricking sappy and cheesy as hell okay i just uhhh want to cheer you up!!!! because you seem kinda down!!!!! let’s not talk about this again uGh WhatEvER leT Me LIvE!!!!!”

but you chuckle and thank him, it was the best present you can get from anyone

you two stare at each other for a second that feels like years and he finally breaks the silence, “you know,,, maybe i came here on purpose,,, maybe actually i want to see you,,,”

“and why is it?”

“because i think,,, i miss you,,, kinda”

and you don’t say this out loud but maybe you do know that

even if you say you’ll never

in fact you’ve already fallen for him a bit

or perhaps a lot

like a lot

then he leans in to kiss your lips and you kiss back and it’s almost not awkward at all, it just feels right as if you’ve kissed him million times before

a l m o s t

you two still blush real hard after

but yeah that’s how you two start dating

none of you two tell anyone about it but it’s pretty obvious, i mean jae always picks you up at your dorm, he walks with you to your class or vice versa (if your classes don’t overlap tho), you two keep stealing glances at each others, also—

jae with you: “hey,,,, come here sit with me u3u,,,,, did you have lunch??? oh i wrote a song last night check this out,,,, what are you gonna do this saturday? oml you’re so cute”

jae with everyone else: “HAHAHAHA FUCKING FUCK SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING PRICK ALSO BRIAN FUCKING KANG IF YOU STEAL MY FUCKING FRIES AGAIN I WILL LITERALLY SNAP YOUR FUCKING NECK”

welp actually he’s not always sweet with you, sometimes you two still argue about silly things using mixed languages but now everyone in the club knows better to just run away once it begins

because it’ll end up with you two fighting or you two kissing

yes im nasty and a disappointment bye

btw wonpil is excited af it’s almost like he’s dating you both

“it’s really nice seeing you two finally together!!!!!!! especially because jaehyung really couldn’t shut up about you ever since the first day you joined our music club”

“wait wha-”

“YOU SNAKE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET FUCK OFF”

I’m so in love with park jaehyung y'all hsnshsbsh aNYWAYS!!! 100 blocks limit has lifted from tumblr app AYEEEEE

#day6 #jae #park jaehyung #day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #day6 fanfic #day6 reactions #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #this is embarassing smh #bye

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

You have to watch the video in the end.

Look everyone's story is different. And I understand his.

But I want to explain something. Carpenters and Construction workers rule the world.

They're as important as a McDonald's Happy Meal.

I want to explain something else. Sometimes people don't dream of going to Harvard, they're forced to. Sometimes people at Harvard -- I got into Harvard and I got into Yale Law. I chose not to go to either. -- sometimes people at Harvard just want to work with their hands.

I got Into Harvard. And I got into Yale Law.

I went to the University of New Mexico after a dabble at Oklahoma State, TVI - now CNM.

After a long time.. High school, being accepted into Ivey League schools, marriage, divorce, a 7 year old, 6 colleges/universities, trying to decide on something other than a Speech Pathologist because i believe you can learn a child's dialect and they don't speak wrong but different -- I gave myself a stern taking to.

I wanted to be an Architect.

To be an Architect my most important people are Carpenters, Construction workers, electricians, plumbers. And more.

I would need carpenters for sure because I love Gothic, Roman, Greek, Colonial style homes/buildings.

Well I never made it as an Architect my local universities didn't offer it at a bachelor's level and I failed out via running out of money for Speech Pathology.

And it was fucking hard.

But I want to tell you something. Look at his post here you'll see him on scaffolding. In NYC there's scaffolding every where. One of my favorite things on a hot day was sit under there and listen to them work.

We did so much underground work, freeing slaves.

One day I just couldn't handle it anymore. And I sat under scaffolding and I leaned my back against the wall and I pulled my knees up to my face and began to very loudly cry. It was one of the loudest places in the city. I thought no one could hear me.

Then I felt someone touch me. And ask if I was Ok. I wondered how long I had been crying because it was silent and I thought all the workers went home.

So I wiped my face in my shirt and I nodded "mmm I'm ok. Sorry. It was just so loud I thought no one could hear"

"Well we all did"

And I looked up and half the construction crew was standing looking worried.

And it made me bust into tears again. And they asked if i had been beaten or raped or needed the police or any random thing.

And i said "no. I'm just a recent widow and my child died right after child birth and i return kidnapped victims and my job is just hard let me put it that way"

So he gave me a bottle of water and asked if i needed money and told me safe places to go where nice people worked that were nice to the homeless.

So one day the noise of the hammers... The rhythm... I just decided. Not going to work was better for me. I was just gonna do something nice for nice people ... May be for a day or two..

So i would go to Macy's and buy shirts and boots and extra personal supplies for the construction workers, the people they told me about that were kind to the homeless and giving.

After a week the CIA asked what i was doing and when i would return to work. I said they could do it and i didn't want to.

They told me i wasn't acting healthy. I needed yo be underground feeling desperate and worried that i couldn't get people home to their families when my family was killed in front of me.

I couldn't. "Well quit buying stuff"

"Fine I'll buy less"

"Quit going to Macy's. What's wrong with the Bodega?"

"Oh sure where i shopped with my dead husband? No people need quality and quality is what they deserve! They work and they can afford their own clothes but they don't because it's too expensive for rent!! They can't afford clothes that don't rip or get holes in them every two weeks!!" I was yelling but i was mad. I wasn't letting people suffer and i wasn't letting myself suffer. No one had the right to tell me i was wrong. "Lower their rent so they have more than a few hundred bucks!! Look at them# bologna sandwiches that was all! They had no money to even eat! What am i doing wrong?! Good quality! Leave me be!!"

We always had long talks about quality. Because sometimes we found good at Bargain Basement and sometimes we didn't. So i knew Blue would approve.

"Yeah well you'll get fired"

"You wanna fire me?! Go ahead! And then when i want to go back to work you're not going to stop me! You'll thank me! So shove it!"

"You're causing a scene"

"No you are!!"

"You sit here for hours under the scaffolding that could fall on you and kill yoh while playing solitare in cards by yourself! You're not even Tarot. You could be making money on the street helping us but you aren't"

"That lady is a bitch. That lady ain't. That lady is sweet as the devil and that man is married to a cunt!!!! There are you happy now? Leave me be?" I was already exhausted and all the construction workers were down waiting for an explanation and to protect me.

They weren't very happy to find out I worked for the CIA. I guess they felt betrayed. I said "i help victims that get trapped under ground"

And so they thought like They fell into a pit of mud or something and needed help. Which is understandable.

I couldn't explain how i could feel abandoning those girls was my right. How i needed to. How helping them was destroying me. It was not explainable.

I didn't want to be encouraged to go back. I didn't want to be told i was wrong because it hurt my heart. I So damaged.

And I didn't want to volcano in anger. Not at anyone that didn't deserve it.

So I explained then... "*if someone is kidnapped and stuck or put under ground for human trafficking then they can't get out -- not on their own. They need me or the CIA and the CIA can cover for me while I am recovering to a better emotional state"

And one said "but you'll be fired"

"Well i run the CIA so i doubt that and i do check in with them every day down the street at least twice. That is why i was later today there was an issue with ome of the clubs and i had to sort it out. I just can't see the girls and work Like i used to. Promise to take them home. Make sure they see their families when my own was murdered in front of my face. Its just not something i can do"

They asked me for $500 and went to Macy's and in my place where i always sat and did solitare was a white paper Macy's bag. And it said "for the CIA GIRL named Sabrina"

And inside was a leopard fur coat. Of which they had got $250 from the CIA guy attempting to chew out my ass. And luckily it had been marked down. $657.32.

"Don't worry it was half off. And we split the leftover remaining for food. I hope you don't mind" i heard behind me.

I was crying so much I had snot bubbles.

So carpenters... They're like Gods. I've always looked up yo construction workers since that day.

Janitors at the elementary schools i attended they were always my heroes. If i didn't clean. I got beat. I tried to clean the whole cafeteria. Until I was told not to. I didn't have to. And ever since then it's been hard to just let them do their jobs and not help them.

They have been my heroes for s very long time. And not because I'm a germaphobe. Because they took pride in their work

Because like this man in this post always felt inferior. Bullied and picked on even.

Sometimes i would watch a janitor pick up trash next to the can a kid wouldn't pick up because he missed. And I would start crying and mess my make up up. And every one would ask me what was wrong. And i would bust into tears again "because the janitor had to clean!!".

I'm not talking just elementary school. I'm talking Jr high. I'm talking high school. Im talking i would skip school and smoke pot, smoke behind the principal's office or art building kinda old. And i would bust into tears because a janitors bad luck.

Ridiculous old. I would beat up bigger than me boys in school. Even beat the principal once for whipping my little brother. They still did paddling if there was a permission slip. My brothers wasn't signed. Mine and Nathaniel's had been and both said no paddling. So they called it even and let it go.

But i still cried cause the janitor who took pride in his work was bossed around like a bitch by the principal and the principal happened to be white and the janitor black.

So i stopped that shit by shoving the principal in his office and standing in front of it until he promised not to talk to the janitor. Every time he did with disrespect there i went. He took off running down the hall. Scared. Oh that pissed me off. Coward ass.

I used to work st Mazzios in Okmulgee. They used to go in after 8pm on Friday. I always waited on him and his wife cause Jamie always wanted a break to do dishes then. And we needed to. It was a mess by then. Dishes would be sliding off the counter And shit.

He never tipped. I asked his wife once why. She said "ask him" while laughing.

"Well? She's directed me to ask you. Seems your wife is in command here"

"Well I would tip if I had a waitress that didn't give me a black eye!"

"Well served, keep your dollar"

"Well next time I'm gonna pay $3!!"

So I told Jamie, "I don't mind doing dishes and it will save your nails I don't do mine. This guy here is the Principal at Preston and said he will pay to tip any waitress but me 3 whole dollars"

"Do the dishes"

She went over "I'm sorry was there a problem with your server?"

"She gave me a black eye!!!" What a dunce.

"Well I'll make sure she works extra hard on the dishes while I'll be the waitress to only you unless someone comes in since she's dangerous and can't come from behind the counter"

He looked over the back of his red booth and grinned. I grinned back.

Then he looked troubled "don't forget the tip" I sang back in a nasty I'll punch you in the face again tone. And kicked and threw all the chairs into the tables if they weren't pushed in on my walk back.

She got $5.

Oh it was definitely a joke around the restaurant. Friday nights after 8 weren't boring anymore.

His wife loved it. She was so tired of his shit. She knew we worked every Friday night and he was so dumb we could work him over on anything m

... ...

So in NYC. Scaffolding takes over the city sidewalks. Sometimes we have to walk in the street to pass. Or cross the street then cross back.because concrete barriers.

So in NYC the scaffolding is the rulers of the sidewalk. Put there by workers like the man who feels inferior to Harvard students.

They are in command.

.....

I loved sitting under the scaffolding and hearing the hammers. The men above. Working for money. The men above free. Free in the sky. Free from the streets. As far as they could safely be from the underground.

They were like the bird Phoneix to me.

I couldn't see them but i could hear them. Banging and whistling to a song on the radio or in their head.

Up there they were free. Free to build and create. What they were doing would last for years. Decades.

What they were doing would be seen by all of New York City. Its visitors. Its home personnel. Its bodegas. The kidnapped. Every one.

The CIA was afraid i would be lonlier when they moved on. But i knew they were working. I could hear it. And one day the scaffolding I found safe Haven under would be missing.

And i would see the Grand Prize. Their work completed.

I could never finish a bunker they would always refill. I needed a Happy Ending. I needed Green Grass Roots on the side of the building the whole street they touched the lives of could see.

When they finished i took the girls. "You see that up there? The blue and green? That wasn't there before. My friends did that. I want you to know every thing you touch and every thing you see leaves a definition. Some may be wrong and some may be right. But my friends did that and saved me from my misery. And right now want to hug that building"

And we did.

So to this man in this post and all people that work and feel inferior...

Specifically to this man -- each and every student st Harvard looked at you the same way you looked st them "i can be something one day. I can be someone as important as him. I can help build a wall to stay up for years to come so students like me can keep coming to Harvard. If he can do it. And work in Harvard. I can at least graduate"

So never belittle yourself. You are important. You are worth more than money. You change the world every day.

You remember that. People we don't always say it.

But we think it. We find inspiration every where.

A girl screaming in the driveway. A dude feeling lost because all the world was shut down in a joke like but meaningful song video. My worries about people working too hard and not being home or happy.

Regular people others would think as trash. Or overlook as a fun silly video of the times.

P Diddy tripping as well as many others.

You all changed the world.

And you did it better than the President of the United States of America.

We The People.

Need our "lower class" financed people and our "lower classed: educated.

My cousin only finished 5th grade. You never could tell by looking at her. I never remember. I never think about it. Until she mentions it. And it SHOCKS me. It shocks the shit out of me. Because I didn't think about it and i couldn't tell. I look up to her and admire her.

So while I am PROUD this man made his dreams come true in secret -- why? -- because they were his dreams and his dreams alone and he didn't want no one meddling in his dreams -- I want to tell all of you.

You are not inferior because of your race or employment. Your pay grade or gender.

Here if you can pass a test or quiz or do a quick something every one gets $5.

Because you're all equal.

Love yourselves

And this man in the post is amazing i want to say again. Idk how old he is. He looks young. But he applied himself and focused and he tried. And he succeeded.

We're gonna be ok world. Its just gonna take some time

[patrickalleneck]

A Trumpistan Carol

A True Story Based on Truly Alternative Facts ———————-/———————— A gold-crusted LED flickers on. The sound of cheetos crunching between sub-satisfactorily hygenic teeth is quickly overtaken by the murmuring ruminations of a Fox News pundit.

“Republican congressional investigators expect a potential “smoking gun” establishing that the Obama administration spied on the Trump transition team, and possibly the president-elect himself, will be produced to the House Intelligence Committee this week, a source told Fox News.”

“Ha! Now I’ve got him!”

Donald J. Trump slumps forward in his chair to cough out a cheeto that he began choking on somewhere between “Now” and “I’ve got him”.

“Fuck! Fucking cheetos. That hot-tittied maid laced them with concrete to make them impossible to swallow. These liberal whores are out to kill me!”

Trump fumbles sideways over himself to pick up a gilded phone.

“Yeah? Robert? Get me the head of the lady who brought in those fucking concrete cheetos. Yeah! The one with the hot tits! I want her head, and I want her dead!”

“Sir.”

“What is it Robert!?”

“Sir, are you certain you wish to kill her and decapitate her?”

“What? Not decaspimate! Just cut off her head!”

“Sir. Just to remind you, she is the granddaughter of Esperanza. Esperanza brought you up, sir. She practically raised you with her children. One of their children is Julia, the woman you wish to kill and have… her… head… displaced…”

“Huh? Julia, eh? Man, did she grow a set of tits! I always told you she would, didn’t I Robert?”

“Yes sir. You did. Ever since she was 5.”

“Well, ain’t I a modern day prophet, or what?”

“Sir, you paid for her breast enhancement surgery three months ago, after telling her you always imagined she would have great big tits, and when she told you she did not feel comfortable working for you anymore, so you told her she would never work anywhere else again and that you’d fire her grandma too unless she let you buy her tits. She very reluctantly succumbed to your command.”

“Serves her right. I guess I did. Well, they turned out great. Tell you what? Why don’t you send her back so she can give me head, then I’ll have her head later. And bring me her grandma’s head too. That’ll show them.”

“Sir. Are you completely sure you wish to have all of these commands fulfilled? Isn’t it quite enough to have intercourse with her and let it be at that?”

“What are you trying to say, Robert? That sex with me is a big enough punishment?”

“No, sir, it’s just that I thought it might not settle well with the rest of the family, who have long been, well, like family to you.”

“You know what, Robert? You’re right. You’re always right, right? I mean, nobody’s always right like me, but you’re pretty right, alright?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Ok, is Tommy around?”

“I believe so, yes, sir.”

“Ok, great, put that old dog Tommy on the phone right now.”

“Ok, thank you, sir.”

“Hey sir, Tommy here.”

“Hey Tommy. I have something I need you to do. Robert is getting all ethical-smethical on me. I want his head. And when you bring it, bring that maid with the hot tits. We’re going to celebrate a little tonight, you and me? Big stuff.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trump slams the phone down and slumps back over, with his hand falling back into his bag of cheetos.

He keeps eating.

“Fucking Obama. Fucking liberals and media making me look like a real jerk sometimes. What the fuck is wrong with them?”

He stands up and paces around the oval office. There are portraits of him all around. There are also many mirrors.

“Fuck! Where’s my goddamn cell phone. I’m going to tweet the shit out of this good news!”

Trump fumbles around his desk for his phone. He finds it under a TeenBop magazine.

“Stop. Right. There.” Steve Bannon’s tinny, scratchy, impotent voice reverberates throughout the room.

Trump drops the cell phone and cringes his nose.

A brownish cloud starts emanating from behind the desk.

In a puff and swirl of smoke, a massive, steaming pile of shit starts piling up from the floor up to about Trump’s shoulder height. A bubble boils up and bursts from the top of the pile, releasing a pack of flies. The flies move in unison towards a latch in the wall, using their collective force to pull it down.

A panel in the wall opens up, revealing a mold of some sort. The giant pile of shit oozes over to the mold and piles in. Trump is watching the entire spectacle with the same dumbfounded face you will find him wearing whenever he is asked anything serious.

The mold closes shuts, a siren buzzes, a flash pours out, temporarily blinding Trump, who winces and rubs his eyes to see the panel open again. A bald Steve Bannon walks out. He grabs a chunk of hair from Trump’s head and places it on his own.

Before sitting behind the desk, Bannon pulls his pants down and takes a massive shit. That massive shit moves over to the panel, the same sort of show ensues, only this time Steven Miller comes out. Bannon puts his feet on the desk. “Donald. We’ve been over this a thousand and a half times.”

“Bannon, you smell like shit. You too, Miller. But I love you guys. You guys are great. What’s up Banny?”

Bannon does not look amused. “Donald, if you want to accomplish the agenda we have been working so hard on, you have to reign in your Twitter use. You have to also stop being such a stupid fuck up.”

Trump frowns. “You know, if you weren’t such a piece of shit, I’d have your head for talking to me that way.”

Miller decided to chime in, “Isn’t it convenient that we’re both giant piles of shit? For us, that is.”

“I never liked you Miller. I only tolerate your shit because you’re basically the same shit as Bannon, and neither of you are me. So let’s just leave it at that. What the hell are we having a meeting for anyway? I have a plane to catch. Got a hot date with the Turkish whatever the hell Turkistan has - president, premiere… nobody even knows these things. Anyways, last time the Turkey people came to Mar a Lago they had a hot interpreter. Set of legs you wouldn’t believe. Fantastic. Amazing. Out of this world.”

“That’s exactly why we’re here. Well, to discuss what you’ll discuss with Erdogan. We also came to stop you from being a fucking Twitter troll.” Bannon was consistently unamused with everything in his life.

“Fuck you, Banjo. I do what I want.” Trump grabbed his crotch and stuck his tongue out at Bannnon.

“That’s fine, sir. But make sure you read this to Erdogan before going to play golf or chasing his interpreter’s legs. Just make the point clear, then you can go do whatever your deviant ego wants you to do.” Miller was similarly disenfranchised with anything that didn’t make him look like the absolute pile of shit that he is.

Bannon and Miller simultaneously started emitting shit fumes. They spoke in unison: “We will now retreat to our lair to plot further domination of the world. White power, motherfuckers. Oh yeah, and Trump - sign those executive orders we left on your desk. Deus Vult!”

Steve Miller melted into a giant pile of shit again, while Bannon pulled his pants down. The Miller shit pile proceeded to inject itself back into Bannon, which was the only effective trigger in cracking anything close to a smile across Bannon’s ashy face. After Miller reinserted, Bannon melted into a pile of shit, then the shit pile dissolved.

“Those guys are really big pieces of shit. My kinds of people!”

Trump picked up his phone and began writing a tweet.

‘Obumer is such a coward. He wire tapp my phone…’

Before he could finish typing his incoherent excuse for a thought, smoke began filling the room again.

“Dammit! What do you and Miller want this time, Bannon? I thought you guys were done making me think and stuff?” Trump turned his attention away from his phone expecting to see the shit pile developing.

To his shock, the shit pile was far from there.

Instead, Trump was face to face with the ghost of none other than Martin Luther King, Jr.

In a very oratory style, Martin let it out: “Donald J. Trump! I had a dream, and you made it my nightmare. I had a plan for equality, and you are helping to extinguish it for good! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Wow! I never thought you’d have the opportunity to meet me! I mean, you did a lot of things, for my African Americans, and all that, but you didn’t ever crack a billion buddy. And, you died. Come on, man? Really? Sad! How are you doing, though? Bet you’re excited to meet me? Did you know I am president now?”

King’s facial features went flat. So did his voice. In very plain speech, he commented, “You know, if it wasn’t for the fact that I realize you have the mind of a spoiled 5 year old bouncing around in your cranium, I might have taken layers of offense to just about everything you said. But I don’t think you even understand what I just said, so we’ll just make this easy.”

“I like easy. Tell me more, my new famous black friend. Man, the people are going to love this!”

“I am Martin Luther King, Jr. I am your ghost of the past. You are a modern day Scrooge, and you are destroying civility and society because of your unchecked, rotten, greedy ego. I am going to show you the damage that was done in the past, that you are now not only repeating, but making worse.”

“Hey, hey, hey, take it easy. I’ve only been here a couple days. You sound like fake news to me, buddy.”

“So, I’m just going to ignore pretty much everything you say, which I’m sure you do to everyone, anyway, and just show you what I’m talking about. Come with me.”

King raised his arms up, shot them downward, and in a flash, him and Trump were on the frontlines of a civil rights march taking place in King’s era.

Tears filled King’s eyes as he re-witnessed police brutality; German shepherds biting protesters; batons cracking against the skull of peaceful marchers; and firehoses knocking women and the elderly off of their feet.

Weeping, King turned to give Trump a lecture on the traumatic legacy these acts left on generations of Americans who had to reconcile with the fact that this was actually a part of their recent history - a part that was currently not very different.

When he looked over, he saw Trump cheering alongside the police officers and trying to take a turn spraying the hose.

“I should have taken him to the part where I got shot and let him stand in my place…” King lamented, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What? I’ve been working hard these days. I deserve to have a turn playing soak the spooks.”

“You know, I have a million things I’d like to explain to you, but I’d rather we cut this nonsense about you realizing some sort of lesson out of this and I’ll toss you to the ghost of the present.”

In a burst of smoke, they were back in the Oval Office.

“Well, that works for me, because I love presents. You are quite a guy. I am going to be happy to share with my people that I have a new black guy on my team, and his name is Martin King, Junior.”

“Don’t use my name, mother fucker. I am not your guy. Any person who thinks they can take advantage of the phenomenon that has become your repugnant, racist populism by showing support for you, like that urban cowboy Uncle Tom David Clarke, can shove a rake up their asses. If they can’t figure out that they are disgracing their people’s legacy by making nice with your clear idiocy and your team’s abject bigotry and hatred of all things off-white and non-wealthy, then not even I feel sorry for them. They can all file themselves into the halls of shame, right alongside you. I’m out of here.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. then left the oval office, unceremoniously, through the garden door. “Who the hell is David Clarke? What the hell was that guy’s problem anyway? I wonder when I get my present?”

The door to the Oval Office opened up on it’s own, slamming against the wall.

Bernie Sanders walked right in and up to Donald Trump.

“I’m the ghost of the present. Yeah, I’m alive and all that, but here’s your present, you moron.”

Bernie bitch slapped Trump across the face, knocking his stupid toupee off of his head.

“Stop robbing poor people and killing the planet. Bitch.”

Bernie slapped Trump across the other side of his face.

Trump fell to the floor, sobbing like the bitch that Bernie accurately described him to be.

“That was not nice!”

Bernie left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Trump continued crying like a giant man baby, which is what he is.

The door opened again, causing Trump to sit up and hide behind his desk.

Bernie popped his head back in, “Get ready to meet the ghost of the future, you affluent fuck.”

He slammed the door behind him again.

“Whew. That hombre is nasty.”

Smoke began filling the Oval Office. It got so smoky, Trump couldn’t breathe.

“Is this the shit circus again or another ghost? I’m getting tired of this and ready for some golfing in the shadow of the Orange House - Mar a Lago.”

Plumes of smoke continued to engulf the room, to the point where visibility was completely masked.

“Donald J. Trump does NOT like it when he cannot see what’s going on? Do you hear me? I do NOT like it!”

At once, the smoke cleared, revealing that Trump had transported to the speaker’s podium in an extremely large stadium. He was surrounded by Trump regalia, and every single person in the audience had a MAGA hat on. They were all silent.

“Well, hey now, Donald J. Trump wasn’t planning on blessing his people with a rally, but who am I to turn down the opportunity?”

“Well, Donald, that’s a great question.” The voice of Barack Obama startled Trump to the point where he dribbled a little bit of shit out of his loose rectum.

Donald spun around, holding his anus, angry. The ghost of Barack Obama was standing there, cheerfully nodding his head from side to side.

“What brought you to my rally, you Kenyan Muslim Antichrist?” Donald grabbed the mic and brought it to the crowd’s attention. “Can you folks believe the nerve of this guy? I could literally shoot Obama in front of all of you, and I wouldn’t lose a single voter!”

The crowd did not react.

“Geez… tough crowd tonight. I thought you guys’ woulda loved that one. How about this: I am going to put this Barry guy into jail for a long time. He messed up, bigly, with my tapping my wires, and other things that I have read, because I like to read and my brain is so powerful it doesn’t really need reading, but I read anyway because I watched it on Fox News about Obama put the wires in my walls and microwaves himself. Let’s say it together: Lock him up! Come on, everyone! Like the good old days on the election trail! Come on folks! Show me the love!”

Trump started to notice the sheer size of the crowd.

“Jesus, how big is this place. Barry, get a load of all of those people. They all love me! They’re all here for me!”

“Donald, Donald, Donald. They are here because of you, but they are not here to love you.”

“What do you mean? Check out all of those hats they got on! I must have had a billion made in Pakistan for pennies each while I was asleep. I’m really good at business and stuff like that, even when I’m not awake, you know?”

“Well, Donald, if, uh, you didn’t get the picture from Mr. King, Jr., or from Bernie, then I guess I will be the one to put it to you bluntly.”

“Alternative fact alert!”

“Donald. I was the president.”

“Lie! I have always been the president.”

“Ok, I, uh,I can see, uh, where this is going. Let’s break it down. You see, Donald, those people out there, those fans, they did love you.”

“Whaddya mean ‘did’?! They do love me. Look at them! They’re here, ain’t they? This must be the biggest rally ever held!”

“You’re right, Donald. It is.”

“What?”

“You are right. It’s me, Barry Obama, saying you, Donald J. Trump, are correct about something.”

Donald grabbed the mic, “You hear that, folks? We got him! He admitted I’ve been right all along!”

“Let me give you a quick history lesson and a quick future history lesson. You see, every president, Donald, is very different from many of those people out there in the crowd.” “Well no shit! None of those losers is me!”

“And, you see, uh, well, most of those people… most people, really, don’t have to build the ghost rallies that we, as presidents, construct for ourselves.”

“I know all about construction. Nobody knows construction like me. The wall, people, the wall!”

“When I say ghost rallies, I mean the rallies we attend at night, when we are supposed to be all alone and away from the toils of the planet.”

“Whaddya mean? I’m alone most of the time, except for when shit Bannon or shit Miller want me, when the press is bothering me, when I’m making deals with the captains of whatever industry, or when I’m molesting a girl of really any age group.”

“You see, Donald, you are getting off the topic, and I really think that, uh, now is a good time to, uh, pay attention.”

“Ok, fine, Barry. Hurry up, I’ve got a load of small minds to stimulate out there!”

“I made decisions, as president, that cost people their lives. It might have been a bomb I dropped, a drone strike I authorized, an increase in private prison spending, a failure to produce a single-payer health care option, or simply the inability to disconnect the government from the invasive lobbying arm of the defense industry. Whatever the case may be, I, uh, made choices, and, uh, people, good, bad, and downright nasty, died because of them.”

“People, we have the smoking gun! You hearing this guy? He’s confessing to murder!”

“Donald, as president, your choices, your words, they can affect society in a way where people actually die. They die by your action or inaction. Their blood is inescapably on your hands. And you still have to go to sleep at night. When you sleep, you attend your ghost rallies. I attended mine diligently until the day I died, you see.”

“Wait a minute, you’re dead?”

“I am the ghost of your future, so yes, I’m dead. And the reason I’m at this rally, as well as all of those billions of people you see out there, is because of choices you made. You chose to remove people’s health care. You chose to plunge the minorities and disenfranchised classes (your main base of support) into the fire of economic inequality. Poverty and lack of healthcare caused a wave of plagues that wiped out huge chunks of society. Rolling back the EPA and regulations allowed tycoons to destroy the planet for a buck or two, exacerbating the problem of the plagues, causing displacement, famine, hurricanes, and other wild temperature patterns. Food shortages turned into global starvation epidemics. Things got, uh, pretty nasty. You chose to go to war. With everyone.”

“Barry, honestly, I didn’t ever really think you were that bad an hombre. What happened to you? Why are you dead?”

“Well, you tweeted about how the smoking gun about your wire tapping claims should be the one that’s pointing at my dead body, and, well, uh, one of your fans listened to you. Imagine that. They got my family, too.”

Obama pointed out his family, sitting in the front row.

“So all of these people are dead, because of me?”

“Like I said, you did hold the biggest rally ever. You killed more human beings than any other human being in history. And they’re all here, and none of them love you. In fact, the point of ghost rallies is for them to demonstrate how much they hate you.”

“What?”

“This is a dream, so ghosts can’t kill you. But we, uh, can sure as fuck fuck with your head. So I’ll get started.”

Obama grew to be 20 feet tall, then he stepped on Trump, flattening him into a tiny disc. He reached down, grabbed him by the mop, and pulled him back up into his proper, sloppy form.

“Ok, who’s next? Everyone line up for their turn!”

Every ghost in the crowd stood up and began to file into line.

“I hoped you packed your golf balls, Donald. It’s going to be a long night.”

The next person in line was Arnold Swarcheneggar.

“Arnold? What? What did I do to you?”

“Dah-nold! It’s me! Ah-nold! Did you really think that you, the compilation of every cheesy 80s action movie villain I ever had to slay, would get away with destroying the planet, without hearing a perfectly placed one-liner before I kill you?”

“Well, I don’t really ever think. And besides, Barry said you can’t really kill me, so do your worst, Robocop!”

Arnold tossed Trump a book. Trump picked it up.

It had a picture of Donald on the cover, with a Hitler mustache. The title of the book was Mein Drumpf.

Donald opened it up, only to see the same words sprawled across every page:

Open your eyes.

Donald flipped through the pages and saw that every page had the same words.

He looked up.

“What is this?”

Arnold smiled.

“I’ll be back.”

Just then, Donald was startled awake by his television set. Fox News was still on.

“In a massive disappointment, Donald Trump has pulled the plug on the GOP effort to repeal and replace Obamacare. To say this is a failure does not do justice to the immensity of this defeat. Donald Trump made a promise to the people who voted for them, and he failed in every sense.”

“No!”

The door to the Oval Office burst open with the kick of a muddy commando boot.

Arnold, smoking a fat cigar, came into the office through the open doorway, holding a giant gatling gun.

“Hey Dah-nold.”

They made eye contact. A tear formed in Donald’s eye. Arnold blew out a giant puff of smoke, into Donald’s face.

“You’re fired.”

The gatling gun ripped Trump to shreds, as well as the massive pile of shit that tried to escape through the back door.

Donald Trump then woke up on the floor of a hot cave. He was now a ghost.

Martin Luther King, Jr. helped him off his back.

“One man’s hell, is heaven for many others.”

Martin waved his hand forward and showed Donald the line of ghosts waiting to take their turns enacting revenge, from then until eternity, on the man who made their realities miserable, for as long as he was allowed to leave his stain on the planet.

“You have a dream to fulfill, and it is not at all like mine.”

The End

#donald trump #trump #murica #america