It's Good To Be Back Home!

 (By Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American)

We got the phone call from my baby girl, Bertha, just a week ago giving us the all-clear. Her call didn't come a moment too soon, either. Winter had deeply dug into the Czech Republic, which isn't as Republican as its name suggests, and my kid brother Cecil and I were shivering in the abandoned sex doll factory huddling up to burlap sacks of fresh yak manure (Despite what the town's mayor said, you don't get used to the smell).

    According to what Bertha said, there wasn't a spate of executive shootings after Brian Thompson and, since Bertha ran out of money to pay Sappho Security, they up and left when the contract was up. Still, she sounded happier and more relaxed since she was on the girl's weightlifting team in college.

     At any rate, Cecil and I had hastily arranged for a series of flights that involved a cheerful pilot in a leather cap and goggles, who actually had almost half his teeth, on a twin engine biplane. By the time we got to Kennedy International in Queens, people were giving us a wide berth on account of the smell of yak excrement and 25 pounds of goat cheese that clung to us like Socialist neediness.

     When we got back to 5th Avenue, I saw in the pile of mail awaiting me an invitation from my old friend Donald Trump to attend his historic inauguration yesterday. I say it was historic because it was the first time a man had taken the oath of the presidency after having been arrested four times in one year. And, if that isn't a Horatio Alger, rags to riches comeback story, I don't know what is!

     My brother and I didn't get home a moment too soon because we didn't come back from the Czech Republic until the 19th. So I barely had time to take a shower, change into my best suit and hop on another flight to Washington, DC. 

     Donald had the good sense to move the Inaugural indoors, especially as Cecil and I had almost succumbed recently to hypothermia. Plus, my old pal discovered the occupancy rate for DC's hotels was just 70% and he wisely deprived the liberal media of the opportunity to make hay over the fact that only 50 supporters would've showed up on the National Mall (which, strangely, doesn't have a single store or anything remotely resembling a mall. What a wasted opportunity for Commerce, a fact that I mentioned to Donald as he was leaving Blair House to be sworn in.).

     So we went to the Rotunda for the swearing in. Many of my fellow billionaires were there, including the "First Bro" Elon, Zuck and Jeff Bezos. Maybe I'm imagining things but they appeared to give me short shrift because I'm "only" worth exactly a billion dollars. I could be wrong but I could've sworn I heard Elon refer to me as a "pauper" under his breath when he wasn't practicing his stiff arm salute with instructions from Stephen Miller. The seating I got certainly suggested that Donald didn't have my best interests at heart.

   My seat, which is virtually isolated from the rest, put me beside a bronze statue of George Washington, which meant I had to keep my body perpetually turned to the left to see the proceedings. Still, it was an honor to be there and I considered myself to be ahead of the curve considering that former White House strategist Steve Bannon was outside freezing his fat, pasty ass doing his podcast.

     It was a splendid affair, with Trump stumbling just once (when he had to repeat his name. He kept saying, "I, John Barron" then tried to take the 5th when he was asked to uphold the Constitution). JD had taken his oath before and I could swear I heard him mutter through his smile at the president the words "25th Amendment", whatever that means.

 

     Eventually, I went with Donald to the Oval Office where, in an amazing burst of energy, he sat on his ass and signed nearly 100 Executive Orders that he was told to sign "or else". There isn't much truth to the rumor that one of them barred my kid brother Cecil from getting anywhere within 100 yards of Donald's grandsons or Elon's son that he's taken to carrying around on his shoulders (I heard a rumor the poor kid's spent so much time on Elon's shoulders that he actually forgot how to walk).

     But one of the EOs, one that made my heart burst with love and pride, was one that had been drafted out just that morning at the president's direction, designating the National Mall the Mall of America, although Minnesota already has one. In fact, the EO's title is "Fuck Tim Walz. I'm Claiming Mall of America." Not only that, it will allocate funding for an actual mall to be built on the current mall, with the anchor stores being an adult book superstore and a Victoria's Secret.