“Oh, Fauntleroy, get away from the mirror,” Flossy said, while flipping the page in her fashion magazine. “I am sure your missile is bigger than Kim Jong-un’s.” After ten years she knew what he wanted to hear. “Comrade MickFlint, has outlived his usefulness. You are going to need an American Gulag Archipelago. Maybe a God awful place like Arizona or California.” She smiled to herself. “You can clean out the cities and send all undesirables, lib-tards and dissenters out of our country. America for American’s, will that fit on a baseball cap?”
Fauntleroy glanced over at Flossy.
“Darling, is it true you are still walking around admitting massive voter fraud? Couldn’t that leave you open for a new honest election to be held?” She flipped the page and saw a $200.00 bottle of cologne she would order. “Why can’t we just all get along?”
Fauntleroy glanced over at Flossy. “Get a pad to keep track on. I gathered up 168 crazed mass-murdering immigrants over the weekend in Pomona. Start with 11,000,000 and subtract 168. How many weekends will it take to get rid of all of them?” He smiled. He enjoyed teasing his imported designer wife.
“Do you have to pay Con-Con Connie more money when she endorses Model T.’s products on TV? That was a nice prime time commercial. I heard three more stores dropped her line since she did that.” Flossy flipped the page.
“Did you hear about that dam in California? They evacuated 188,000 people. You can bet if Anglo-Saxon’s built that dam there would not be a problem with it.” He laughed, “Just when they thought their drought was over, the water is all going to run down the state and go to waste. Serves them all right.” He glanced at his watch. “Say it one more time before I go.”
Flossy gave him, her I don’t understand look.
“You know, I love to hear you say it.”
“I don’t want to say it.”
“I’m not leaving until you say it.”
With that threat hanging over her, she leaned forward, puckered her lips and said, “Benghazi.”
Con-con Connie met him at the door. She handed him a paper and said, “They got brother Frank. They found him by the bank of a river.”
They both walked down the hall humming the Tom Dooley song. Fauntleroy finally spoke, “Find me a National Security Advisor, someone not on Put-Baby’s payroll. Is there anyone?”
“In this town, Mein president?” She paused, “What about me? Me, me, me!!!”
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to communist spies is purely coincidental. No disrespect to the Tom Dooley song is intended. The article is provided “as is” without warranties. No monies were paid by or to communist infiltrators in the Capitol. The orchestration of a financial crash is underway. Crash results may vary.
If you are allergic to Fauntleroy and Flossy or any of the ingredients found in Fauntleroy and Flossy, stop reading and consult your Soviet Commissar or Police I.C.E. Commandant.