I Am America – A Herman Cain Fanfic

ATLANTA, GA. – “Hey, she’s a dame. What do ya say, Hermie? We pick her up and show her a good time, give her the presidential treatment?”

Two pairs of eyes met in agreement on the rearview mirror. As it slowed to a stop, the campaign van brakes cried out in protest.

“I’ll introduce myself.”

The man in the backseat watched through tinted windows. “Yes, what is it?” the woman inquired of the driver, who approached her on foot now. He was a stocky white gentleman wearing a sportcoat, stylish prescription glasses, and a stained yellow mustache that matched his teeth.

“You want to meet a celebrity?”

“What are you doing?” she asked as he got closer. Her face changed, although an expression of politeness remained. “Now, wait just a second, what do you want? Back! Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The driver had grabbed her by the wrist, but when she pulled away, he slapped her across the face and took her by her curly brown hair, leading her into the side door of their idling press wagon. She noticed it now, out of the corner of her eye: 2012.

Perhaps you’ve seen him on TV. He’s bringing jobs back to America. He believes we can take this country back. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here today. His marriage fell to ruin in the wake of a series of sexual harassment scandals that surfaced as researchers snuffled for anything that might drop him out of the running. The hours were getting short; the days, much darker. It was only a matter of time now.

With their fly in tow, our two spiders drove around back of a warehouse not far from where they acquired a thirst for young flesh. Once inside, they removed her blindfold. The building was stacked to the tits with beer koozies, picket signs, boxes labeled “flair,” cardboard figures and T-shirts in every color and size ranging from small to medium to large, extra large, extra extra large, and the unthinkable XXXL. With no small degree of confusion, she absorbed her surroundings, forgetting for a moment the two dark figures just ten feet behind her. She struggled for breath at the sheer immensity of wall-to-wall fascism, lights shining on American flags, and in her eyes, too. She squinted to ascertain the meanings of slogans and effigies. America never looked so cheap. That is, until a red crowbar wedged itself between her right eye and the inner socket, hooking itself on her temple. The pain was insurmountable. She could not scream, and collapsed instantaneously under shock. Dull sensations of otherness were shooting off at random locations around her body. The pain was unfathomable. Reality ceased. A voice gave instructions. She followed them, without question, without understanding, with no intellectual capacity whatsoever to guide her through this terrible nightmare. She was no longer human.

The young woman – a skinny waitress in her thirties – with her fist in her mouth, put the other hand down to her gingham skirt. Her broken hand was gnarled into a claw, but using that claw, she tugged upward at her skirt with pathetic incapability, in a bid to satiate the verbose bloodlust of her attacker, candidate for the U.S. Republican Party presidential nomination, Herman Cain – a Georgia Tea Party activist.

The hairs on Herman’s neck bristled with anticipation. In the dark, he could not see it, but a flash of recognition darted through the young lady’s body as she made out the face of a man she once knew. A man who, before, had told her what to do in a more professional setting. She worked in one of his restaurants. Her boss. The owner.

Your God is Power. You have no shame.

“Rape victims are sluts who produce their own birth control. But you’re no victim,” declared Mr. Cain, a former deputy chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City. “You like this. I’m going to teach you to like me.” As he pumped, and huffed, and breathed scotch into his victim’s mouth, his eyes glazed over and fixated on the corner of the room, where he imagined a younger, better looking rape victim. And briefly, he pictured his wife. “Now secrete it!”

Herman Cain crouched down over the woman, who was now bloody, disheveled and used, and he asked her politely if he might take her out to dinner sometime, and if he can get that phone number.

Black dots patterned across his vision, bubblewrapping the terrible scene beneath him, the product of his undoing. One last passenger aboard the Cain train. As he struggled to breathe with that thin, tobacco-stained breath of his, Herman’s blood flowed like sand.

“She’s done for, Herman. Now let’s be on our way.” Chief of Staff Mark Block, Herman’s driver, sucked the last trace of life from his cigarette. He could not take his eyes off the scene. Her ripped white underwear with blue trim, bloody at the crotch.

“I– I thought her body was supposed to shut down to keep this from happening.” Cain withdrew an unlabeled bottle of blood pressure medication and took four tiny white pills.

“If she gets pregnant, then it means she liked it. Who can blame her? We’ve run a campaign like nobody’s ever seen. But then, America’s never seen a candidate like Herman Cain.”

A smile bled from the open corners of Herman’s mouth, from which sprung twin puffs of gaseous hate that twisted up his thin, dark mustache, and moved in a vapor around his furrowed brows, tracing the restaurant manager’s gray, receding hairline. Sister demons danced a double helix in the midnight air, assuming the form of matching parallel negative impressions, shaped like dervishes with forked tongues slithering, their writhing agitations, spied ever so slightly amid the shifting breeze in Block’s polluted exhalation. Graciously, they pulled his mouth wide into a devilish smile.

Trollman Cain

This story is part 2 in a 2 part series entitled “What was the deal with Herman Cain?

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CHRONICLE SUPPRESSED BY INDIGNANT US GOVERNMENT

Key members of the U.S. Senate have privately avowed to have the Chronicle taken down
Key members of the U.S. Senate have privately avowed to have chronicle.su taken down forever.

WASHINGTON– PRECLUDING THE PROTECT IP ACT, FEDERAL ACTION WAS TAKEN LATE SATURDAY NIGHT AGAINST THE CHRONICLE.SU IN ONE OF A HANDFUL OF “PLANNED ATTACKS” AGAINST WEBSITES “DEDICATED TO INFRINGING ACTIVITIES.” THE NATURE OF THE ATTACK, HOWEVER, IS POLITICALLY MOTIVATED.

HERE’S WHY:

THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY IN QUESTION [WHOSE AUDIO COPYRIGHT BELONGS TO A DEAD HOBO] IS NOT HOSTED AT CHRONICLE.SU, MEANING NOT ONLY ARE THE ACTIONS TAKEN AGAINST THE CHRONICLE ILLEGAL, THEY ARE AN ABUSE OF POWER GRANTED BY A LAW WHICH DOESN’T EVEN EXIST YET.

Roy Blunt ready to "drop the hammer" on chronicle.su
"Hammer those Chronicle boys into shape with THIS!"

THE CHRONICLE.SU IS ACTIVELY ENGAGED IN LEGAL BATTLES WITH “SEVERAL” MEMBERS OF THE UNITED STATES SENATE, NAMELY A DISCREET LIST OF CO-SPONSORS OF THE “PROTECT IP ACT.” NOT ONLY DOES OUR TAKEDOWN SUBVERT THE FIRST AMENDMENT RIGHTS OF CHRONICLE STAFF [ALL AMERICAN CITIZENS] BUT THE ASSAULT COMES DIRECTLY FROM WITHIN THE GOVERNMENT [IN CONTRAST TO RECENT ATTACKS BY RIGHTWING PSEUDOHACKERS KNOWN WITHIN THE INTERNET COMMUNITY AS “SCRIPT KIDDIES”].

DOING YOUR PART:

FREEDOM ISN’T FREE. TO COVER OVERSEAS HOSTING COSTS AND “INCREASING DRUG INTAKE” THE CHRONICLE.SU STAFF IS PASSIVELY ACCEPTING BITCOIN DONATIONS AT THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS:

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THE EMBATTLED CHRONICLE.SU HAS BROKEN OFF FROM THE UNITED STATES AND HAS EXPRESSED CONTROVERSIAL SOLIDARITY WITH UNCONVENTIONAL PARTNERS: THE SEPARATIST MOVEMENT PKK, THE KURDISTAN WORKERS’ PARTY.

PKKTHE PKK IS A KURDISH MILITANT ORGANIZATION WHICH HAS SINCE 1984 BEEN FIGHTING AN ARMED STRUGGLE AGAINST THE TURKISH STATE FOR AN AUTONOMOUS NATION AND GREATER HUMAN RIGHTS FOR ALL PEOPLE.

CHRONICLE.SU IS REPORTED TO HAVE RECEIVED THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN EXCHANGE FOR ONGOING POLITICAL SUPPORT TO THE COMMUNIST REGIME.

THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN.
THE ATTACKS AGAINST THE CHRONICLE.SU AND LEBAL DROCER WILL NOT STAND. THE CHRONICLE.SU WILL NEVER DIE. CENSORSHIP IS QUIET. THE TRUTH IS LOUD.

THEY WILL DO ALL THAT THEY CAN TO CHIP AWAY AT OUR FREEDOMS OF SPEECH. THIS IS ONE IN A MYRIAD OF PECKS INTO A STONE MOUNTAIN OF UGLY TRUTHS THE GOVERNMENT DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW. WE WILL WIN.

THE CHRONICLE ALWAYS WINS.

“READ THE CHRONICLE. KNOW THE TRUTH.”

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Peter King To Rescue Fear-Gripped Midwest From Shariah Law

Peter King
Peter King, Terrorist

WASHINGTON — Congressional defenders of the terrorist organization, People’s Mujahedin of Iran, continue to ensure a Middle East bereft of peace. After years and years of butthurt regarding the fundamentalist Islamic threat to Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kansas and Oklahoma New York Representative Peter King has finally harnessed the hate in such a way that he will one day be elected President of the World. In so-called “flyover country,” paranoia has reached a fever pitch with regards to the immediate and overwhelming threat that shariah law surely poses to America’s heartland. While Christianity remains the predominant opiate of the massive masses, each burkha seen in public raises rational fears of Taliban oppression in America’s heartland.

Phone hackers revealed negotiations between the People’s Mujahedin of Iran and Peter King, in which the exchange of child sex-slaves for weaponry was discussed. King has responded with alarmist accusations that phone hackers targeted the families of 9/11 victims in order to deflect personal scandal and protect his position of power.

We here at the Chronicle support fundamental biblical literalism when it comes from the mouth of a male-only Christian black-metal band. Unless delivered in that context, we don’t grasp that whole religion thing. The bipartisan congressional coalition is walking a dangerous wire over what is really quite reasonable State Department policy categorizing the MEK as a murderous terrorist organization. The congressional allies are desperately trying to ratchet up Iran’s internal violence, validating groups like the Basij, the Iranian religious police, famous for firing live ammunition into angry mobs during the recent Green Revolution of the educated, elite Tehranian youth.

MEK’s allies in congress are known supporters of terrorism. Peter King has been instrumental in official US support for terrorist groups, not only with respect to the MEK, but also the Irish Republican Army, whose victims he is too cowardly to directly confront.

If we here at the Chronicle could have our druthers, maybe we would ask that women spend the whole of their public lives inside tightly-sealed cloth bags. We really don’t know the solution to dealing with moral time travelers (seriously, like the 13th century or something) like the Taliban. But we’re pretty sure that offering comfort and encouragement to those who indiscriminately target civilians with violence is a surefire way to undermine message control with the Westboro Baptist Church’s southwest-Asian franchise.

The way to get the theocrats to simply chill is no, not to bomb them further back into the Stone Age – but to get them watching David Letterman – learning that maybe a few Jews weren’t sent a text message warning them to leave Tower 2. They must discover for themselves the joys of celebrity gossip and the evils of orange people with bleach blonde hair. And if you look quite closely at Iranian society, you’ll see that the proverbial sticks in the mud are aware of this. “Occidentalosis,” the multilingual call it there, like it was a highly-resistant bacterial infection. And it is!

Secretary of State Clinton has been very adamant in her denial of United States interference in the contested Iranian elections and the resulting turmoil. But other State Department officials have confirmed the use of spies during the protests, equipped with illegal satellite phone technology which fueled the propagation of dissident-associated media. We here at the Chronicle utterly loathe the Internet-censoring agenda of Iran and any state that attacks this fundamental human right. The diplomatic arm of our government has been talking out of both sides of its mouth, and one side of the mouth is drawn up as a result of a massive stroke known as WikiLeaks. Americans are coming to terms with the fact their government acts as the leather straps on the rape table, holding them down so mega-corporations can fuck them easier. And they can’t blame it on anyone but themselves anymore. Now they must simply admit, “I don’t care about the news ‘n all that stuff’s goin’ on.” Don’t expect that to get “Late Show” top-10 lists on TV anytime soon.

It never fails to amaze that fundies of different stripes are each other’s worst enemies, when really they seem to want the same basic underlying goals for society: Women out of the workplace and homosexuals closeted or dead – from Gay Related Immune Deficiency, of course, not dead because they fought in the Army. The only “serious” differences in fundie types are alterations in the underlying cartoon narrative of anthropology, familial histories, flying men and talking donkeys.

Seriously, I’m utterly bewildered that I get into serious conversations with moderately-educated adults that round out with their insistence that bread can be transformed into the flesh of Christ, which they desperately want to consume. Cocksuckers. How did such complete dishonesty become perversely confused with piety? How many licks does it take to get to the center of that Tootsie Pop? How many sips of wine before I get GRID from the blood of Jesus?

Anyone outside fundamentalist ideology is rendered completely unable to reason with the actual, practical consequences of these dogmatic narratives, and moreover the people with the most in common, the fundies, are left without the obligation of any pragmatic purpose behind their regressive policies. The truth is the fundies of all stripes deserve to be killed by one another, and maybe they would have joined forces if not for the utterly ridiculous excuse they have concocted for the most ethnically-segregated day of the week. In America, we all know which one it is.

Organized religion is probably the slickest, most effective ad campaign for racial separatism. Ever. Earlier this year, Public Policy Polling unveiled a disturbing 400-person survey of Mississippi Republican primary voters, and it turns out that a fantasically-nauseating 46 percent of the participants were willing to tell a complete stranger on the phone that they believe that interracial marriage should be illegal. And we’re not particularly convinced that polling the buckle of the Bible belt’s Democrats would end up much better. The point remains the same: Religiosity and racial separatism, a match made in hell.

Support for the MEK is just another brash fury that will prove exactly counterproductive to the stated goals of the ongoing U.S. excursions into the Middle East. It will further fan the flames through its insidious, tacit insistence that Islam, not terrorism, is the source of evil on Earth and the equivalent of Satanism. And if Islam is the problem, we’re pretty sure terrorism, per se, is the far, far bigger one. Surely, if MEK’s congressional allies understood the degree to which even these Iranian secularists desire the legacy of Islam to at least play a cultural role in their government — they’re called the “mujahedin,” for crying out loud — they would have nothing to do with them. It would be the wrong reason for disassociation but it at least would be a reason.

Check Back for in-depth interviews with top Lebal Drocer executives who will explain why it is not only better, but completely necessary to die by the millions in never-ending war than live for one day in boring, agonizing peace.