Chapter 1 :
The Night Of The Twerking Dead
The day that Barack Obama was reelected forty-fourth president of the United States was the worst day of my life. I remember watching the election results on the news from my home in Florida with my husband Paul. We were both nervous and anxious , waiting for them to announce the winner ; we knew it would be Obama.
Duh! Of course. Who else would it be? Every commie progressive , and liberal – who are also communists – in America was apparently ecstatic that he had won the last election , and now they were turning out in hordes to make sure he would win this election.
I had been frantically biting my fingernails all day , praying to God not to let Obama be president again. My once beautiful , perfectly polished nails , now looked more like uneven miniature tombstones. They were disgusting. The mere sight of them made me want to gag. But what made me want to gag even more was Paul. When he gets nervous or anxious , he gets horrible gas. He had been passing wind all day , while I had been biting my nails worrying about Obama being the next president.
The house had a horrible , lingering smell.
I had to open every window , but that didn’t help much.
We had a huge fan in the living room that we always used during the summer.
I had to turn it up full blast. Even that didn’t help.
“My God , Paul , please stop farting ,” I said , standing several feet away from him.
“I can’t help it ,” he said. “Obama’s going to be the next president , and I can’t stop tooting.”
When they finally announced that Obama had won his second election , Paul’s gas became more intense. “Oh no! I can’t stop farting!” he said.
My eyes suddenly filled with tears. Not because Paul couldn’t stop farting , but because Obama would be president for another four years.
I threw myself on the couch.
Obama was president for another four years.
It was the end of the world all over again.
I felt like screaming. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum like a two-year old who can’t get what it wants. I wanted to scream and kick ; I wanted to throw and break things. Instead , I lay there silently crying and crying , the tears flowing from my eyes like a miniature waterfall. I couldn’t stop crying.
America was doomed!
America was dead!
America was finished!
God save America!
Aubrey came out of her room. “Jeez , it stinks in here ,” she said pinching her nostrils.
“Your father can’t stop farting because Obama won again ,” I said , “and I can’t stop crying!”
“Oh no , America’s doomed.”
“That’s just what I was thinking!” I wailed hysterically.
“I was joking , mom. America will survive.”
“No it won’t! Not with a commie Muslim in the White House another four years!”