A stillness pervaded the melancholy masses here in the Emerald City, a microcosm of America and a known hotbed and sanctuary for breed-happy progressive liberals, cowboy conservatives, drug fiends, beer addicts, anarchists, witches, sex-gurus, alchemists, tech-geeks and freaks of all kinds. Even the I-5 was a dead zone and not thrumming its usual transcontinental seashell drone. It was so quiet one could hear the ether hum. And we know Bill O’Reilly will make a good showing.īut seriously, there was an ominous tone in Seattle, the nation that night when Biff was elected. The President of the United States would never act that way unless he was on another reality show that starred him grabbing pussies with Billy Bush like in the old days. Very grim folks, but don’t worry because that was all just a waking nightmare. Okay… You're fired,” spews out of the thing like hot sulphuric gas from hell, and the man below immediately dies from the stench of the creature’s mouth. Biff snarls and crouches on the dumpster above the man like a meth-addled, constipated devil spawn too disappointing for even Satan to make again. It hunches over a man in an alley unlucky enough to rest for a quick toke. He gallops the streets in search of his next teen beauty pageant to buy and “check in on.” B-Biff! B-Biff! B-Biff! B-Biff! The thing climbs through garbage cans and death houses, 7Eleven bathrooms and on peep show floors by night, prospecting, hunting for the next Big Deal. His face, a riot of meat-forms and deeply blackened pores, masked with two-day-crusted orange Cheeto dust. It runs off roaring like a demented rabid walrus, bowlegged on obese haunches, bent double, hooves riddled with warts and its hair tangled with filth, dollar bills and dandruff. That was a close call, Grandma, and Biff falls down 50 feet to the gutter. It screams and scurries off like a gimping overfed rodent with extremely tiny hands. Biff reeks of rotten meat, sour sweat and crab bait. One can hear “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” by the Rolling Stones - Biff’s choice of music to celebrate his election win - playing again and again in the warm-lit living rooms of American homes in hellish repetition…but then there comes a shriek like a lame, emaciated whale, and a parent, an orphanage caretaker, a grandma bursts through the door to find the cellulitis, pimpled ass of the mangy satyr, Biff, attempting to creep into their child’s bedroom window. His hunched back is the ever-growing symbol of the “amuricun” demagoguery at odds with the old tradition of liberty, free speech, diplomacy, tolerance and sacrifice. He climbs out from his luxury suite window at his own hotel, evading the secret service, with orange, artificial and grizzled “hair,” a puke stained mouth, gangrene eyes, warted personality and jaundiced soul. and all over the nation are horrifying now as the Biff-beast wanders twitter and the streets whetting his appetite on the innocent, the marginalized and the middle class. Now, looking back just a few months into the Biff-pig being president, the all-too-real narrative of a nightmare we live in gets worse as his presidency comes to full and frightening fruition.
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