No. 2

A blurb, a brain expulsion, if you will. Fluff.

 ‘Here it goes again’ She thought to herself as His ill-advised diatribe began full swing.  ‘Sure thing, Darling, but this is America.’ He drawled. ‘We don’t take guff from any foreign swine that may be prowling around laying in wait to ravage the nearest and lamest of all Americans.’

She rolled her eyes and took a breath as He continued on His close-minded oral diarrhea.

‘My Lord-God in heaven!’ He exclaimed, puffing on His illegal smuggled Cuban cigar and poking a gnarled, bent old finger upwards toward his maker. 

‘These damn intruders, these God-forsaken sons of b*****s crossing our borders every day and taking good, honest jobs from good, honest Americans.  Pffft!’ He snorted, in all of His conservative fervor. 

She took a sip of Her chamomile and sniffed, checking Her blouse for lint and other debris.

‘This is not my America!  Not the America I fought for in the mud at Iwo Jima,’ He vomited toward Her, ‘nor did I watch my comrades in arms lose their young lives for these b******s to take over my country!’

 

(a knock at the door)

 

He shot an evil look toward the door. 

‘What!’ he demanded.

The door clicked and slowly opened, and a young man nervously poked his head into the room.

“M-M-Mr. Vice P-P-President?’ the young man stammered.

‘Yes?  What do you want?’ He demanded, swirling his brandy.

The young attendant swallowed hard, so loudly that She could hear it from across the room.  

‘They are ready for you now.’  he whispered in fear and then quickly closed the door.

‘Ah yes, if you will excuse me my dear,’ He said, suddenly calm.  ‘I must go address the GREATEST nation on earth.’ 

With that He disappeared through the door, straightening His tie and clearing His throat.

She shook Her head in amazement and bewilderment and continued drinking Her chamomile.