Zombie Obama vs Congress

*Originally posted to the whowhouldwin subreddit

Congress settles down to hear the latest State of the Union address but is caught by surprise when a zombified President Obama staggers up to the podium. For some reason the doors are barred and security is nowhere to be seen. C-Span is broadcasting to the entire nation, whose fate now lies in the hands of our 535 democratically elected representatives. God help us all.

What happens next? Do the Republicans and Democrats make a decisive bipartisan effort to contain the situation and then calmly debate a long term solution that respectfully compromises pragmatic realities and Constitutional precedenthahaha nvm.

Assuming they are not too busy jizzing their pants, does the Tea Party live up to its big talk and Second Amend the zombie-COMMIE-muslimkenyan-in-Chief? Or do their overlords in the Republican establishment leadership maintain their tenuous control of the party and reign in the far-right wing?

Do the Democrats rush forward to suck Obama’s undead dick or do they stampede en masse to the right and insist that they never explicitly said they voted for Zombama and actually disagree with many parts of his platformtombstone that they conveniently haven’t mentioned until this exact moment?

Orrr does the whole thing get held up in committees and filibusters and everyone kinda forgets about it in a few months? Or does something else entirely happen? How does the media spin the incident?


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Let’s set the tone

I spent New Year’s Eve spewing from both ends.

There’s the hook, bold and arresting. Here comes the chain: long, twisted, and formed from boring repetitive components.

Observe: the first word and subject of that inaugural sentence. “I.” As in me, the writer, the auteur with hauteur, who is very clearly self-obsessed. If that first word is any indication, further posts on this blog will feature long staring matches with the shadowy mirror lodged in my belly button. Put more simply: I’m probably going to whine about my life here a lot. If you are among the vast wriggling writhing masses of humanity with lives worth living, you will find this very boring and will not be revisiting. Good riddance! Have a nice life! I mean that un-ironically! I-really-don’t-bear-you-any-ill-will-in-the-slightest-and-legitimately-think-that-you-are-exercising-good-judegement-by-ignoring-me!

Consider: the timing. “New Year’s Eve.” Clearly this post was meant to go up last week, when it would have been auspicious and appropriate to launch a new writing project. But just as clearly this writer is a procrastinating clod who probably showed up late to his own birth (at least in comparison to his siblings—a story for another day). Instead I am posting this on January 8, 2015. My 23rd birthday. Which is kinda like New Year’s except that fewer people give a damn. Since today is Thursday I’ll probably make another post on Thursday next week.

Examine: the diction. “Spewing from both ends.” Short yet evocative, but falling short of outright profanity. Uncouth in topic but only employing implicit imagery. I could have written a more illustrative and engrossing description along the lines of: “A wave of convulsions swept through my body, from my raw tingling anus to my distended trembling glottis. I shat a stream of intestinal run off, which met the toilet bowl with a wet echoing splash-splat-thud. At the same time a torrent of watery sour yellow effluent gushed out of my mouth to join the sloshing contents of the plastic bag I clutched with desperate shaking fingers. After everything had passed, I rested my sweat-drenched forehead on my numb shivering hands, the plastic bag flopped ignominiously atop my clammy thighs, its liquid warmth contrasting unsettlingly with the icy porcelain cold of the toilet seat rim. I pulled air in ragged gasps, feebly trying to ignore the bouquet of puke and shit filling the bathroom. This is rock bottom, I thought to myself, happy fucking New Year.” <—I could have written something like that, but I didn’t because my writing style is much too timid and abstract. Anyway, if you enjoy my writing style you can revisit this blog in the future for more content. I’ve never done anything like this before so I’m not entirely sure what I’ll be posting. I’m thinking about doing satirical news articles in the style of The Pittiful News, reviews/analyses of movies, books, and tv series, and describing ideas for novels that I will never write. If I’m in a particularly self-flagellating mood I might make diary entries and opine on current events, politics, and social issues. A project I’m fairly hopeful about is a chapter-by-chapter commentary of the book Promise of Blood, done in the style of Tor.com ‘s various serial blogs.

Regard: the platform. I set up this WordPress account semi-accidentally several years ago. I haven’t used it for anything since then, and I don’t know what all any of the buttons do. But I’ll probably fiddle around with them later if I get bored. In the meanwhile, feel free to insult me in the comments section. If you have your own blog, name it and I’ll subscribe.

Reveal: oh right, the actual story that you’re here for. I guess the least I can do is sate your curiosity after making you wade through all the junk above this paragraph. Anyway, on New Year’s Eve 2014 my athlete sister—bless her oblivious cholesterol-unburdened heart—decided that I am too fat. To rectify this affront to her sense of filial aesthetics she hauled me out of my nice warm bad and cajoled me into joining her morning exercise routine of jogging, push-ups, sit-ups, and other activities so torturous that I do not wish to traumatize you with their description. Unfortunately, the strain proved too much and made me throw up last night’s chicken dinner. Coincidentally, at the same time I needed to visit the little boy’s room to dispose of last night’s pastry desert. The experience was unpleasant. On the other hand, it gave me an amusing and wholesome (if anticlimactic) story to share with all of you, so I guess I can’t complain.

Reflect: on yourself. If you are reading this, you are either myself from the future or a well-wishing acquaintance that I ambushed on Facebook. More likely the former, as I doubt even a tithe of my friends have the irrational fortitude to read the insensate screed above this paragraph (800 words! that’s longer than my college admission essay. Which probably says a lot about my personal priorities). If you are me from the future: fuck you. If you are one of my long-suffering friends and haven’t unfriended me already: thanks. I don’t show it enough, but I’m grateful for your companionship and especially for your reading all this.

Depart: without obligation. This blog is a personal project to try and make myself commit to writing on a regular basis. If you want to come along for the bumpy, angst-filled ride, you’re more than welcome. But I can barely tolerate my own bullshit, and I’ve no interest in foisting it on others. So go in peace, and have a happy New Year.

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test post; do not read

once upon a time a dog shit in the woods. as is the habit of dogs she sniffed her leavings and found them satisfactory, then continued on her long journey. in time she would reach the high mountain pass at imtrejel and with great guile evade the watchful gaze of the its terrible guardian, crossing the mountains into the valley below, dutifully seeking to redeem her long dead master and correct his terrible mistake.

but this is not the story of the dog.

some hours after the dog’s departure a bear came upon the leavings, and a great fury fell upon him. thus possessed he rushed from the woods and ferociously attacked a nearby human village. he devoured their chickens and roared at their milkmaids, sending the villagers fleeing from their homes in fright. old farmer willis tried poke the bear with a stick and was eaten for his troubles, but no one was particularly concerned because wills was kind of racist and made everyone else in the village uncomfortable during meetings of the village book club.

jenny the brunette was the most cowardly of all the village milkmaids, and she ran from her house without even stopping to grab a towel. she would rue this decision as without a towel she was unable to hitchhike with the other villagers to the neighboring town of nilpirt.

once safely behind the walls of nilpirt the other milkmaids–none of whom were brunettes and all of whom were braver than jenny–formed a committee to discuss the threat posed by the bear.

“point of order!” shouted yolanda the redhead. the other milkmaids ignored her. yolanda loved shouting that and no one was quiet sure what it meant. in ascending order of fingernail length the milkmaids presented their preferred solutions.

“kill it with fire”

“kill it with cold steel”

“maim it with warm steel”

“call forth the elder god yogzoroth of the baleful fang from his exile beyond the furthest gate, let his call echo in the deep places of the earth  so that all mankind may praise him and remember their mortality”

this last proposal was vetoed immediately by chairmaid gretta the blonde, who had had her fill of elder gods during the disastrous junior prom incident last month thank you very much. the milkmaids debated consulting a traveling scholar for advice, as he was rumored to possess a keen mind and most puissant beard. however, they eventually set aside this idea as his mustache was deemed “too mendacious” and this dumb story is already waaay out of hand anyway and would only be made worse (shocking i know) by going through with the hoity toity pseudo intellectual dialogue i had been thinking about doing–besides this is the 21st century and dammit female protagonists are all the rage at the moment.

woops i just got called to dinner so i guess i won’t be writing that kickass bear vs zweihander-wielding milkmaids fight scene which is really all for the best because if the above paragraphs are any indication im a crappy writer who has no business posting stuff on the internet.

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