Friday, February 22, 2008


This time Lindsay Lohan kills us all… again…

It all starts Friday night in a private room in the West Hollywood nightclub Villa. Not only has Lindsay fallen off the wagon, she’s knocked it over, set it on fire, and tore down the wagon factory. In a locked-door private room, Lindsay is surrounded by a circle of camera phones as she cleans lines of blow off the back of an iphone with the gusto and adrenalized labor an illegal maid on her first day in America.

Just as Lindsay switches to a larger, milkshake straw and prepares to dive headfirst into the blizzard of ’08, her iphone blows up in her face, setting off a synchronized circle of exploding camera phones enveloping Lindsay.

Turns out, the missile that destroyed the satellite USA 193 wasn’t just an ordinary missile. Not only was it programmed to destroy the satellite, but due to some garbled code, it was also set to destroy every machine that the satellite had communicated with, which, thanks to the Bush administration, includes every GPS device in America, and thanks to our good friends at places like At&T and Verizon, it also includes most every cell phone, wireless laptop, and pretty much every other handheld device in America.

More than half of America is killed on the spot, as blue tooths blow brains across Strabucks, Sidekicks slash through groins, and Razrs decapitated pretty girls and pretty boys.

Lindsay miraculously survives the explosions surrounding her, but has suffered some permanent trauma. Immediately beforehand, she had laid more rails than John Henry and a hundred Chinamen combined, so the culmination of the explosions and massive amounts of drugs jarred her into a permanent delusion that she and is a Marilyn Monroe hybrid reincarnate, as Lindsay demands everybody call her Marilyndsay Monrohan. Everyone’s so surprised she’s still alive (which really is nothing new) that they agree to whatever she says. Hollywood’s just that way.

America lies in shambles. John McCain is still pissed about allegations that he had an affair with a lobbyist. Considering America’s current state of destruction and his legendary anger streak, McCain decides it’s finally time to pull the trigger on his penultimate plan, so John McCain grabs a dog whistle out of his breast pocket and blows it with the strength of a man 1/10th his age, at 5:00 AM Saturday morning.

With one high pitch squeal, inaudible to most human ears, John McCain calls together his secret, massive army of illegitimate children-- the bastard sons of lobbyists, pages, interns, other politicians’ wives, and Vietnamese hookers. McCain has sired thousands of children, all the product of fifty years of torrid affairs and a tepid science project with women he deemed most fertile and most likely to produce the ultimate soldier.

Since his return from Vietnam, McCain has been breeding and training a super army of his offspring, knowing this opportunity would one day come. McCain and his rogue army of crew cut, bastard soldiers armed with only a bowie knife, a stick, and a single bullet, storm the Whitehouse and Congress, seizing power in the youngest and bloodiest coup in the history of man.

Meanwhile, across the ocean, the Serbian riots rage out of control as all of Serbia, Kosovo, Bosnia and the rest of the Balkan states are engulfed in flames and pissed of ethnic groups that aren’t discernibly different to the American eye. The riots spread through Europe and the Mediterranean until Vladimir Putin can’t contain himself any longer.

He’s toyed with his rooks and pawns long enough, and is done being blue-balled in his game of conquest, so he pulls out his chainsaw and rips through the chess board by launching medium range missiles loaded with depleted uranium to Serbia, wiping out half the Balkan states and reinstating communist control over all the former Soviet states and all of Europe East of Germany, krauts included.

Back in America, Marilyndsay Monrohan has further patterned her life after Marilyn Monroe, unfortunately, Marilyndsay’s not very good with history, and she thinks Monroe and JFK went to Cuba for the “Cuban missing Christmas,” so she packs up and moves to Cuba at 3:30 PM Saturday afternoon.

Upon arriving in Cuba, Marilyndsay Monrohan immediately assumes control of the entire island nation, succeeding Fidel Castro due to a misunderstanding stemming from a precarious combination of several translation problems, a quarter-pound of cocaine, and Marilyndsay’s infinite feeling of self entitlement. Regardless, Marilyndsay Monrohan is now the Queen of Cuba.

It’s 6:37 PM Saturday night, and by now Putin has teamed with China to extend the Soviet Union across all of Asia, Europe, and Africa. Saturday night, Putin flies to Venezuela to meet with Hugo Chavez and unite South America together under one massive communist super nation. Coincidently, Marilyndsay has done all the cocaine in Cuba, and is jetting to South America to stash up at the same time.

Putin hears that Marilyndsay Monrohan, the Queen of Cuba is in town, and arranges a meeting. Putin’s no fool-- he knows how crucial control of Cuba is to taunting America. When Putin meets with Marilyndsay he first tries to bribe her with cocaine—no dice, she’s got a guy. As Putin sits stoically across a large mahogany desk staring into the Queen of Cuba’s vacant, dilated eyes, he prepares to make the greatest political move of his life. He can’t buy Marilyndsay with drugs, power, or fame—she’s got all that, so he gives her the one thing no one ever did—a father’s attention.

Putin asks Marilyndsay about her friends and boyfriends. They go to the park and feed the ducks. They have a picnic and even roller skate some by the beach. By 10 PM Marilyndsay Monrohan is putty in Putin’s hand, and Russian’s shiniest, most likely to work, nuclear missiles are all moved onto Cuba.

By 4:30 AM Sunday morning, the Lohan Missile Crisis is in full swing. Presidentator McCain and his most elite branch of 14 year-old bastard warriors fly to Cuba to negotiate with the Queen. McCain and Monrohan sit at the negotiating table, each with their hand on a portable, red button—the button.

They open negotiations by staring at each other silently for 15 minutes, until McCain breaks the silence and yells “Listen here, you ungrateful little bitch!” McCain’s not the masterful negotiator JFK was. Before he can even finish his rant, Marilyndsay yells back “Fuck you! You’re not my father!” McCain lunges over the table, tackles Marilyndsay and punches her in the face three times before her body can hit the floor.

Monrohan is dazed, but leaps straight to her feet, and slams her shaking hand on her button, slowly releasing several old Soviet beater missiles that have sat in storage for almost fifty years. Marilyndsay regains her balance and points at McCain, “Fuck Y!..” before Marilyndsay can even say “you,” McCain slams his knuckles through her teeth and sweep kicks her feet out from under her.

Marilyndsay falls to the floor, hits her head, and loses whatever consciousness she started the meeting with. McCain picks up her limp body and hurls it onto the table knocking maps, computers, and papers off in a small storm. The cranky old vet stands over Marilyndsay’s bloody, throbbing, unconscious body on the table as he rolls up his sleeves with frighteningly meticulous attention and symmetry, before he leaps into the air and delivers a flying elbow drop slamming across the base of Marilyndsay’s spine with all his body weight.

McCain gets up, grabs Marilyndsay Monrohan by the hair and drags her bloody body across the table to his button, and proceeds to pull her head back by her hair, and smash her face onto the button again and again until every missile ever built by America is launched at every country that even looked at us wrong, starting with North Vietnam. Within the hour, at 2:49 PM Sunday afternoon, the world has ended.

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