Friday, February 19, 2016

Like Pope Soap On A Rope, So Dope

“Donald, do you really want to start a fight with the Pope?” the hair asked.

“Yes. Fuck him. Commie Pope. Filthy Brown Pope. Fuck him,” Donald said. He stretched in the blood-warm water of the Infinitus Pool and farted like a dying manatee.

“I don’t know, Donald. There are a lot of Catholic voters,” the hat said. The hat was perched on a shelf along with the hair, both far above the caustic waters of the Infinitus Pool.

“Leave me alone,” Donald grumbled. “I hate condoms just like I hate Filthy Browns. If Commie Pope wants to fuck with me, he’s going to find out what it’s like to get fucked right back. You mess with The Donald, you get the Donald right in your chocolate starfish!”

“The serum might have been a mistake,” the hair whispered to the hat.

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll be fine. The Infinitus Pool will restore him.”

“It’s just a hot tub, moron.”

“Donald doesn’t know that.”

“When was the last time the damn thing was even cleaned?”

“I told him the green slime was a luminous æther harvested from an organ only Muslim lesbians can grow.”

“What?” the hair exclaimed.

“And that it would make his whole body into an erection.”

“You’re mad. Simply mad.”

“He bought it, didn’t he? Look, you want to ride this moron all the way to the White House or not?”

Donald scraped a handful of mucosal algae from the side of the foul hot tub and began to rub it on his genitals.

“Look at him,” the hat said. “He’s an idiot that says whatever dumb shit we tell him to say. The only people dumber than him are the ones that want to vote for him. We’ve reached a critical mass of stupidity in this country. Now is our time! Donald is our way!” The hat began to cackle hysterically.

“What have I done?” the hair sobbed.

“Fuck the Pope!” Donald screamed, masturbating furiously, globs of algae flying into the air.

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