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Speaking of my past work being more political, here’s a Saturday morning cartoon battle between me and my robot Fritz against Trump and the dark cabinet. I wrote this thing in one sitting in about 5 hours, which is pretty impressive for writing and editing 2000 words, and it’s not exactly garbage. At least with me, I don’t know what cyber-keyboard Shakespearean monkey you have. It’s not junk, that’s certainly my opinion, but check it out. I had a lot of fun writing it, but it certainly didn’t blow up the traffic counters when it went out. This despite the fact that there are many more of you these days. If you liked it, tell Hollywood, baby! And if not, don’t worry, I’ve never done it again – writing a coherent story is much harder than one of my rattling reviews. О ! This is also a general review of the Terpenstein shard, but it’s really just a link to another review I wrote about this wonderful sticky treat. How many days has it been? Weeks? Time was a meaningless concept, locked in a cold cell at the back of the fabulous Mar-A-Lago Club at Trump National Golf Course. Luckily for me, I got into the habit of talking to myself a long time ago. In fact, the hallucinations I had in isolation made it a little less unpleasant. GT and I thought again about the fateful plan that brought us here, trying to send mental distress signals to my best robot friend Fritz, much like Scott Summers and Jean Grey did in their love affair, but so far without success. Honestly, it didn’t seem that hard to get in. In retrospect, my suit was impeccable. Oh, that unruly vaga of mine! If only I had a big, strong president to catch him…. …. Heavy footsteps interrupted my musings. I looked up as the latch was pushed back and the door opened, but I was blinded by the light reflecting off the guard’s immaculate gold breastplate. Ahhh, I growled. Ignoring me, he grabbed me with a huge, hairy paw and pulled me up in one shockingly powerful motion. The boss… wants to see it, ooh, muttered the grumpy woman hoarsely. Ah, great. Roadshow, huh? All right, then. Take me to your leader. Gradually my vision returned, but what I saw shocked me. Fake newsreaders, bound and groaning as masked white coats stabbed them with macabre instruments and injected toxic light sera into their bloodstreams. His cries were ignored. Only the green numbers and graphs on the monitors elicited a reaction from these specimens of Hippocratic corruption. Oh, my God. An innate desperation to confirm this reality, my sanity, drove me to look at my captor, to perhaps find in his heart a hidden shame for his role in these atrocities. ….. My eyes met his. I yelled. The beast’s unnatural face contorted into a primal fury at this insult, and I felt the back of my head hit the wall behind me before the world went black. Put it there, Manafort, said a caustic voice I’d heard countless times on the air over the past two years, when I came to my senses. The belligerent and boastful attitude is wonderful for luring lost souls in, and look at the Jezebels painted in the carnal house just through that door, young man, it will be wonderful, believe me. A second-rate, treasonous blowhard that I don’t even trust to wash my windshield during rush hour in Manhattan to keep our country safe and prosperous. Awful, slimy, disgusting …. You’re doing a monologue on me. Unfair! The President of the United States threw a tantrum and sought sympathy for his genetically engineered great ape like a baby for its mommy. The creature frowned and raised a large fist at my aching skull like a hammer of Damocles, but Trump shook his head reproachfully and then turned to me. You see, that’s what I’m talking about! You, the media, twist things before I even have time to explain myself! My administration is a well-oiled machine. I’ve managed so much, and it’s not my fault! Everything I inherited from Nobama and Hillary is a terrible mess! The rhythm of his licentious and ambiguous exclamations accelerated like a sports bike in motion, and even a seasoned talker like me had trouble keeping up. It was probably a concussion. RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM! he answered none of the questions asked, as if he were simultaneously watching an invisible, inaudible episode of Jeopardy, and then looked at me suspiciously. It didn’t look easy. Mmm, all right, okay. First of all, I don’t follow the media at all. I don’t even write the news. But since you ask, what’s going on with Kong’s son? Manafort? Muslims invade our country, drugs are cheaper than candy, and you want to know about Manny? That’s it. He’s fast, he’s strong, he’s got crates of bananas, and at night….. President Trump has taken a break. He and his cannon looked at each other with an icy gaze that resembled mine. The keys to Melania’s menagerie. You didn’t hear a giraffe gasp, did you? His bright orange mug showed the facade of sublime satisfaction. It’s beautiful, he sighed softly. You’re sick, I replied in disgust as my stomach desperately tried to detach itself from the images in my brain. I’m just trying to help my friends get credit, but you keep telling me that my Russian friend Putin helped me win the election! This is not true! Or it wouldn’t be if all those illegals hadn’t come to my inauguration. Which was huge, the biggest ever for a president. !! Well, until… Suddenly his mood brightened and he began humming a sweet tune to himself with a sly smile. About what, I asked, completely confused. You know, GT, he said softly, almost fatherly. We’re not so different, you and I. We have nothing in common! I called him back, trying to get out of my head quickly. Oh, no? We both started out as internet trolls ….. I disagree. I think the Metropolitan Wellness Center selling $600+ ounces of flowers to medical patients is fooling me. …. We tapped into people’s anger, hatred and pain, he continued, licking his lips, all that anger. The only thing I hate is weed, bro, I clarified. Manafort refused. He stared at me with the patient, soulless eyes of a prehistoric predator. I want to share my vision with you, GT. I will make America great again. You’ll see. Let’s go, Trump greeted, turning away from me and walking through the high-security door behind his office. I sat there, trying to figure out what was going on more than protest, when I felt the monster’s breath on my neck. Go away, he threatened me. What else could I do but follow our forty-fourth president? A door led to a metal lattice ramp that overlooked glistening, bubbling green barrels. This strange cocktail filled rows of display cases, four feet high, stacked in eight piles that seemed to fill a football field, two. White uniforms on motorized elevator cars whiz by. In the corridors between, huddled moroids walk around and long-armed drones fly past them to perform routine diagnostics. A strong stench filled the room. I removed the gag and covered my mouth with my hand. Ignoring me, the president took a deep breath and smiled. He waved at me. I looked over the edge. Whatever horrors I had seen, nothing could have prepared me for what lay beneath. A legion of stylish, costumed human pigs have gathered at the throne of the beige slime to establish meaningful relationships with each other or wander aimlessly among piles of rotting excrement. The creatures noticed me and began to scream in delight. It’s sad! they called. False! They proclaimed. Trust me! they insisted. With a shudder, I took a step back. Sus Domesticus. You know what I love about pigs, GT? asked Trump. I didn’t get an answer, but I quickly turned around when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot behind me. Wait…, I said, holding up my hands, but he ignored me. You’re smart. Very, very smart, just like my buddy Putin. You know him? A great guy, a great leader. He agrees 100% that I am raising an army of pigs. He told me! They are also omnivorous. Those bastards will eat everything. Then he began to laugh, a genuine, animalistic laugh from the dark spirits where his dark passenger came from. And believe me, they are delicious. At the last moment he turned the gun away from me and fired at the crowd below. The unfortunate man fell to the ground and was quickly seized by his peers with a terrible gnashing of teeth and clattering of hooves. Her screams soon ceased. Shortly after, the president’s maniacal screaming stopped, and the weapons were handed to me. Each of my genetically perfect TrumPig clones accelerated chronologically to eighteen, he said, anticipating my questions. American citizen and member of Trump’s Republican party. In 2020, I’m taking them to every blue state in the country. THEN WE’LL SEE WHO WINS THE POPULAR VOTE, WON’T WE! The damage to his ego aroused the ire of his master’s pig army below. They took turns attacking and copulating with each other in a frenzied orgy of pork and blood. The ball is in your court. Panicked, I looked around to see if I could defend myself when I heard something rumbling above me. Huge pieces of the ceiling broke off and fell down. Trump and his abomination tried to get out of the way of the sudden onslaught of the filibuster, but they were besieged and buried in the rubble. The walkway gave way under the weight of the load, and I grabbed the metal beam….. OY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY STUFF, GT! It was a miracle. FRITZ! I exclaimed. HANDS!!! Okay, I said, taking her hand. I looked up and looked into the friendly face of my faithful motorized companion. You saved me, buddy! You heard my psychic distress call! А ? No, look, you’re not psychic, GT. We’re dead. How so? The stupid bees said, and I quote: We don’t supply robots, Fritz worried. I followed your phone here. Simple. You don’t seem to care much about cyber security, do you? Oh, man. So you couldn’t deliver the oil? I whined and came straight to the point. What about the Nug-Run Shatter Super Sour Cookies I wanted? A sweet explosion of a sativa that tastes like candy? No, but don’t worry. You can meet them at Hash District HQ or at Cloudy Fridays. The bet stands. Get me out of here, buddy. An arm came out from under the rubble. NOW! I called out, and Fritz turned on the engines. We sprinted across the destroyed bridge. TAKE IT! shouted Trump as Manafort made his way out of the wreckage. A dirty dozen Trumps came at us. A dark office stood between us and the exit. Attorney General Jeff Sessions lazily waved his laser scythe in my direction, causing sparks to fly. Don’t move, he said softly, his cybernetic eye gathering combat data for analysis. Mnuchin laughed, juggling the little shiny blades and doing somersaults in place in his eagerness to join the fray. Mattis turned menacingly with his morning star. Why? I asked the creepy HR guy. What did he offer you? He made us big! exclaimed Kellyanne Conway, showing off her leather bat wings. He’s going to make America great again! Nightmares muttered in agreement. You’re too heavy to fly like that, you big doughnut eater, Fritz whispered to me. It will make you great too, GT! Then there is only one thing we can do, I said sternly, and dropped my jaw. We’re really good like this, I think! We shouted in chorus, cheering each other on as the electric guitar roared triumphantly over a series of electronic buzzes and clicks. In the images of the warehouse, we proposed the ultimate human-machine interface. I will drink the blood of his heart! DeVos shouted and punched. Sessions’ braid stopped her. It is customary to wait until the installation is complete, the Attorney General replied reproachfully. Jesus, Betsy, you’re a disgrace. Don’t you know anything? scolded the dino-Spicer, whose huge, deadly incisors made up for his skinny, useless hands. I’m sorry, I have no experience. None of us do! That’s no excuse! Ahem, we said, and a light flashed in our eyes. I’m gonna have to stop you there. In one move, our chronic knife cut the last supports holding the bridge in place. As the creatures who sold their souls to Trump collapsed and announced the inevitable end of their Faustian deal, the Robo-GT flew up, dodging random pieces of buildings that crumbled like asteroids as we escaped from Mar-a-Lago! Hey, GT. Yeah, buddy? What does the law say about writing a story where, say, assholes break a sitting president? Don’t be paranoid, buddy. It’s not like the president reads all about himself ….. Okay, look. First of all, I don’t have the energy to look. Second: If people don’t understand that a story full of robotic limbs and barrel-grown pigs playing with existing pathways is to be taken lightly, then this country has a lot more problems than I thought. Besides, it was only a dream. Oh, good. Thank you, GT. You’re welcome, Fritz. Wake me up when we get to Silly Bees, okay? You got it, buddy. word-image-5927 Sponsor OG Trumpig’s crowd screamed Fake News! Fake news! When the brave robot knight flew away. Kellyanne Conway spreads her wings. Go ahead, Mr. President! She called Star. Leave her alone. Protect our children, Trump ordered. We got what we wanted. Behind the president’s back, a little piggy appeared. He had wavy brown hair and wore thin wire-rimmed glasses. EGADS, BABY!

Duh-duh-duh! Should we continue?

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