The Revolution Has been Sponsored by
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Military Industrial complex
President Barak Obama sat in a chair under a shade umbrella sipping a mint julep.
“I love these things.” Obama said, “Tasty. Damn tasty.”
A telescope was placed in front of the president and he peered into it. The president leaned back from the telescope and looked into the distance across the flat plane where a man sat teathered to a chair.
Obama sucked on his straw. He looked again through the telescope.
“What’s with the Hannibal Lector mask, General?” The president asked.
“He bites,” the General said, “Sucks shit too, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t, actually, General.”
“No offense Mr. President.”
“None taken,” the president said, “On with the show.”
The general motioned to the ten soldiers to run towards the man in the distance.
“What’s his name?”
“Frank Talk,” The General said.
“Why only ten men?”
“We had an unfortunate incident when we sent eleven?”
“And what unfortunate incident was that?”
“Their weapons exploded in their hands when they attempted to discharge.”
“Interesting,” Obama said and held out his empty glass. It was instantly replaced with another mint julep.
The president sipped on his drink and watched as one of the soldiers walked up to the man put his gun to his head and pulled the trigger. He pulled it four more times. Stepped away stood at attention and then ran towards them.
“Why only five times?”
“Eleven pulls from the same weapon aimed at the target also causes the weapon to explode.”
“Interesting,” the president said, “Any idea why?”
“No sir, its not consistent,” the general said.
“That wasn’t entirely my question general.”
“Under stood, sir,” the general said. Then to his radio man, “Have them reform to twenty feet then shoot at will.”
The President looked through the telescope as the soldiers ran to a distance of twenty feet. The grenade launcher and the tracer bullets and general rounds all went wide and missed.
“And your men aren’t just lousy shots?”
“Not as far as we can tell. And may I remind you, you are the Commander in Chief.”
They soldiers turned and ran back towards the president.
“One more thing before we call in the artillery and air strike,” the general said.
He motioned to a soldier holding a 50 calliber sniper rifle.
“We call it god,” the general said.
The sniper set the shot and then stepped away from the weapon.
“Mr. President?” the general said motioning towards the scope.
The president looked through the scope and sure enough the man in the chair was in the crosshairs.
The sniper retook the position and pulled the trigger. The gun fired and missed the target.
“I really hate that guy,” the sniper said.
“Fuck you, G.I. Joe,” the man in chair howled.
“Quite a set of lungs on him,” the president said.
The missiles launched, went wide and crashed into the ground behind Frank. The surface to air came up short deatonating a hundred yards in front of the president and the general’s staff.
A plume of dust drifted towards them and the president covered his drink with his hand.
“I think you’ve made your point general.”
The president stood up and walked forward into the dust.
“Mr. President.”
“I want to see this cocksucker up close.”
Once he was past the dust he jogged around the crater towards Frank.
Frank watched as the president of the united states calmly jogged towards him.
The President stopped in front of Frank and stared at him.
“Any idea what is doing this?”
“I’m superman, asshole,” Frank said.
“My, you do have a mouth, “ president said.
“He claims the medallion around his neck protects him.”
“Isn’t that just crazy superstition talk, General,” the president said.
“Has anyone tried taking the medallion off him and then shooting him? That might work.”
“The thought did occur, but no.”
“How many of these medallion things do you think there are, assuming this is what is causing this ant- FUBAR crisis.”
“As far as we can tell, this is the only.”
The president nodded and slipped the medallion off Frank’s neck and put it around his own.
“There can be only one,” the president said, “otherwise…well, lets just hope this is it.”
“Uh,” the general said, “about that medallion, Mr. President,”
“Call me superman,” Obama said, “Hell of an insurance policy, don’t you think general. Hate to put my Secret Service fellows out of a job, so lets this be our little secret. I want this man brought to the White House. There is a prison cell in the basement we can use.”
“May I ask why, Mr. President?”
“Of course you can ask, General, go right ahead. You wouldn’t happen to know a General Horn, would you?”
“No sir,” the general said.
“That’s good,” the president said, “I guess I won’t have to kill all these fine men after all.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
