The Highest Level of Government

The Manticore and Barack Obama sat in the Oval Office, playing Candyland like they did every morning. Obama passed the Manticore a bottle of whiskey and they each drank deeply from the bottle, taking breaks only to draw cards and advance their Candyland pieces. After 20 or so minutes, the Manticore had amassed a big lead on Obama. Obama's forked tongue flicked in and out, and he stroked his scaly chin, planning his next move.

The Manticore was unwavering. The Manticore took a huge swill of whiskey and advanced his piece on the final point on the Candyland board. Obama jumped to his feet, shouting at the top of his lizardman lungs, "YOU DIRTY JEW MOTHERFUCKER! PIECE OF SHIT FUCKING FAG JEW MANTICORE! BULLSHIT!"

The Manticore shrugged his shoulders, put his yarmulke down on President Barack Obama's desk and walked out of the Oval Office without saying a word.

The next morning, Obama and the Manticore met in the Oval Office and played Candyland and drank whiskey, like they always did.

Sandalwood

Rachel Simmons was a single mother struggling to stay afloat in America. She had 4 kids with her deadbeat, lowlife boyfriend Tony. One shitty Friday, Tony said that he was going out for a job interview and never came back. Rachel was left with their upside-down mortgage, car payments and an impossible full-time job: being a mother to 4 children.

Mr. DeMarcos knew all this. DeMarcos was a politician. He wore expensive suits and heavy leather shoes. DeMarcos strutted like a peacock in public. He stood for family values, and for the simpler times when the American dream was still alive.

Rachel knew of Mr. DeMarcos; DeMarcos was a state senator. She had voted for him in the last elections. Rachel Simmons hadn't thought about him since then. DeMarcos was doing a good job and he was popular with his constituents including Rachel. That is why Rachel was so surprised to see DeMarcos standing in her driveway after she returned from the Food Lion chain of grocery stores.

DeMarcos was wearing a Brioni suit. It looked every bit as expensive as it probably was. His Louis Vuitton loafers shone brightly in the sun. Rachel walked over to him, perplexed. DeMarcos handed her a note and without saying a word, strutted out of the driveway and into his nearby limousine.

Rachel went inside and read the note. The note was a list of instructions and detailed an appointment to meet DeMarcos after nightfall. Rachel carefully followed the instructions in the note, packing a briefcase as DeMarcos asked and waiting for him to return after dark.

About two hours after sunset, there was a rap on the door. Rachel saw DeMarcos through the ornamental glass window of her home. She let him in. Without saying a word, DeMarcos took the briefcase and set it on her countertop. He lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. Rachel dimmed the lights and admired DeMarcos in the now-smoky kitchen.

DeMarcos depressed both buttons on the briefcase, releasing its latches and exposing its contents. He reached in with both hands, gripping two massive handfuls of the 70%/30% hamburger meat that he had asked Rachel to pack inside. He rubbed his meat-filled hands all over his face, knocking the cigarette out of his mouth. Like a man possessed, DeMarcos grabbed more and more meat from the family pack in the suitcase and mushed it into his face. Rachel Simmons said nothing. In the background, a baby was crying.

DeMarcos looked her in the eye with an unblinking, meaty stare that would haunt her for days afterward. He counted out $5000 in $100 bills and left them on the counter. DeMarcos then strutted out of the house, his leather shoes clip-clopping on the tile floor. Chunks of meat sloughed off of him and dropped on to the floor. He pulled the door shut behind himself and left without saying a word.

She knew DeMarcos would be back. "Just one more time," Rachel reassured herself. "Just one more time."

Drakkar Noir

On a hot and humid June day, Principal Jackson's voice crackled through the static of the middle school public address system. "Students, please form straight, single file lines and proceed in an orderly fashion to the gymnasium for an Assembly."

We did as we were told, and I ended up seated next to my friends Joey and Mike. We weren't the most popular kids at school but we were pretty cool, anyway. The Principal, flanked on one side by a stocky policeman, asked our teachers to leave so that we could have an assembly about the dangers of illegal drugs. Principal Jackson introduced the policeman as Officer Albanese, and told us that he would be making regular visits to the school to educate the student body about drugs, and that he would know if we were using any drugs and put us in jail.

This was the beginning of the DARE program and the first we had ever seen of this sort of assembly. Joey rolled his eyes and Mike and I tried not to laugh. "What a waste of time this is," I thought.

Principal Jackson stepped away from the podium, heading to the back of the room, and Officer Albanese took his place as speaker.

"Hello, My name is Officer Albanese and I will be your DARE officer. I have been a police officer for 10 years and I have seen drugs tear apart families, destroy this community and kill children. I have seen the worst parts of drug use and I am here to tell you about them so that you will not use drugs and so that you will never have to deal with these tragedies that I have seen."

Officer Albanese's speech began to drag and he could tell he was losing the attention of the audience as the murmur of side conversations became a dull roar of student's talking amongst themselves. Albanese thoughts raced, quickly trying to bring the attention back onto himself. "I am a police officer and because of that, I am the only person in this gymnasium qualified to carry a gun."

The officer drew his sidearm, a black pistol and held it up over his head. Albanese waved the gun back and forth. "The government has entrusted me with this authority, to use lethal force to protect the public from criminals and dangerous drugs. The power of this firearm cannot be separated from the power of this badge," he said, holding up his badge in his other hand.

We laughed to each other in the crowd. "This guy is really on a trip," I whispered to Joey.

Albanese asked the Principal to come back to the front of the room. Principal Jackson took his place at the side of the podium and began to address the crowd. "Now, remember what Officer Albanese said and DARE to resist drugs and violence. I hope that you all --"

Albanese kicked the back of Principal Jackson's knee and pushed him down by his shoulders on to the ground. The officer trained the pistol on the now prostrated school administrator. A concerned silence fell over the crowd, but nobody moved at all.

"Take off your pants and take a fucking shit on the floor," Albanese's voice boomed through the gymnasium.

The Principal quickly undressed. His disgusting penis hung limply as he cowered, straining to produce a bowel movement before the burly policeman. As he strained and grunted, small nuggets of feces began to drop onto the shiny hardwood floor of the gymnasium. It was so quiet that we could hear each squishy plop as the pieces of shit hit the wooden floor.

Officer Albanese's face contorted into a smug mask of satisfaction and he walked out of the gymnasium without saying anything further.

I'll never forget that day. It was the first time that me, Mike or Joey had ever see a man forced to defecate at gunpoint. It wouldn't be the last.