Johnson could see the future and he was none too happy at what he conjured up in his tired old man's mind. He'd seen it before. Knew how it was done. He thought of himself as one step ahead of Turd Blossom's anti-reality-based thinking modus o. Turd Blossom aka Karl Rove, Dubya's Dirty Tricks operative and deep state liaison, had supposedly try to rig the results of the 2012 presidential election by calling on Ohio election officials to throw away some provisional votes. Greg Palast had himself intervened. Someone somewhere got the shot beat out of them that night. Obama won re-election. Next thing we know the Big O suspended funding for gain-of-function research. He was pissed off. Donald Trump had mouthing off again, calling on Obama to cough up his birth certificate. When the Big O did, placing the jpeg on the White House website, conspiracies sizzled, some saw anomalies, question protocols, and some nitwit talked about those goddamn popping rivets of the freefalling twin towers again. You could scream sometime, Johnson told his bride to be, Leah. Yeah, she said, you could.
Johnson saw the end of the world if DJ were allowed to take office. Was the upshot. He was terrified by the thought of what might happen if DJ let RFK Jr. take fluoride away and refuse to let people take vaccines for the bird flu just waiting for DJ to raise his hand at the Inauguration and swear to uphold the law of the land. Old Joe would snigger, but he was no slouch on the scofflaw front. He'd helped coup Ukraine and was afterward its presider while they groomed the winner of Ukraine's Dance with the Stars and smash hit funny guy for the sitcom, Servant of the People, Volodymyr Zelensky. Servant of the People was his political party, and he was a song-and-dance man (h/t Dylan) for a nation revving up for war.
Anyway, Johnson was pissed off at his president, whose office he respected implicitly. It was a nice office. He'd been there once on a tour. Grabbed some candies from a crystal bowl, Zagnuts, the ones with toasted goodness in every bite. Johnson blamed Old Joe for the catastrophe about to happen: Trump 2. He's not dropped out of the presidential race soon enough, leaving Kamala on stages in catch-up mode trying to capture votes with that wide-open smile at everyone that seemed to say, Right? And the pantsuits. Jesus! She was channeling Hillary Clinton. Some said she was doing the Big O's keep hope alive thing (oh, wait, that was Jesse Jackson, who had been three when MLK died as the result of COINTELPRO agents), and, some said that Kamala had an earpiece and was taking messages directly from the Big O during the debate with Trump. Was she a Manchurian Candidate? And besides, as DA of California she had once jailed a Jew.
Johnson wanted DJ dead. He was upset that Biden was so "obtuse" (to borrow a phrase from Shawshank Redemption, America's favorite film, for some reason) that he couldn't see the thing to do was to not just drop out but f*cking resign instead, making Kamala president of these United States of America, and giving folks a taste of a Black woman as president. If she's won, maybe she's switched to retro minidresses or even gone all Angela Davis militant, reinventing her hairstyle and talking about making America great again, like when Black neighborhoods were lighting sh*t on fire as if to say, enough was enough and we ain't gonna take it anymore. Sass. And maybe during the debate she would have gone right over to DJ and punched him in the chimichangas with an uppercut learned from her native Mumbai. (What? Psssst. Never mind.)
Now, Johnson told his fiance and financier, Old Joe would have to up and die to help Kamala's chances. He could go easy or hard. He could have a stroke. Or he could be bumped off. Up to him. Time was running out though. The Inauguration and return of the Clown President loomed large and he seemed intent on getting back at the f*ckers who'd made him a felon and who had impeached him and who seriously dented his wealth. Especially the woman who scored an $83 million dollar payday from a court because DJ had groped her -- and everything.
Johnson deeply respected the office of president.
After Old Joe refused to resign following the election Kamala lost and then gave his kid, Biden, a pardon, for lying about packing a gat, and then pardoned shitloads of turkeys at Thanksgiving and then pardoned all the federal death row killers, I wanted to hurt Old Joe. I tried to reach Corn Pop on the phone but no answer. Corn Pop was Black and had worn pomade and no cap at a public pool where Old Joe lifeguarded when he was Mighty Young Joe, and the two had altercated, with Corn Pop (and friends) pulling switchblades in the parking lot near Joe's car and Joe swinging a length of chain. Joe had called Corn Pop a name -- Esther, as in, Hey, Esther, get off the board if you don't have a cap. Joe was sorry, in the parking lot, for calling the Black man Esther Williams. Now Old Joe would have to die. Suicide. Or resign. Or Bang. Because we were running out of time.
DJ was the new Hitler, combined with a randy Mussolini, and fascism, clownshow style, was about to take over the country. DJ had to die, thought Johnson. Leah agreed. So, Joe could shoot DJ at the Inauguration and stay on as president and forgive himself, or he could go f*ck himself, and take what's coming. Also, Johnson wanted to shoot RFK, Jr. Oh, no, exclaimed Leah, Not another one. But Johnson was a chicken sh*t and as the day approached he grew more and more trepidatious. He paced. He overly respected the office. He downed toasted goodness until his glucose levels went to high double figures. Then as he was about to cop out like a punk. Kamala grew a pair of six shooters and at the Inauguration, before Trump could swearingly uphold the law of the land again, she channeled Christie Love and shot Toy Piano Rachmaninoff to deaf. And Old Joe. And RFK Jr. And Nancy. And Mitch. And".
Angela Davis was duly impressed at the chaos and civility that ensued. K forgave herself. She released all the motherfuckin prisoners. She fired her Colt 45s in the air again, as if to say, Blaxploitation is back, baby! Corn Pop threw her a pack of Kools. America was frisky again! And when Old Joe said he coulda beat Trump had he stayed in the race, Kamala waited outside the White House and took him before he could hop in his limo to another pardon party, and beat the sh*t out of him. I'm Christie Love, not Courtney Love, bee-atch.
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