We are still some hours away from Mongo taking the Oath Of Orifice, but already the imongoral proceedings have entered infamy.
Seems when Mongo, and his sidekick, Sixpence, trudged on out to Arlington National Cemetery, there to lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknowns, the soldiers interred therein, they struggled up out of the crypt, grabbed the wreath, and hurled it across the boneyard. For not even the dead, can countenance The Monster.
Then it was over to the Lincoln Memorial, where 34 MongoRoids had gathered to cheer their lumbering beero. Sophisticated brain-scanning equipment deployed by NBC News detected no cranial activity whatsoever among those assembled.
A huge Jumbotron had earlier been erected that completely blocked the MongoRoids’ view of the memorialized Abe Lincoln. At first it was believed this was typical Mongo crassness, but then it emerged the Jumbrotron had been so placed at the request of Lincoln himself: not even in stone, could Lincoln bear to look upon The Monster.
Up on the stage a simulacrum of Jon Voight babbled unintelligibly about God and Twitler. Later in the weekend’s festivities Voight shall appear in a combo monikered The Five Dementia, consisting of himself, James Woods, Tila Tequila, Kanye West, and Fran Tarkington. Together, they shall tenderly serenade Mongo & Co. with “The Horst Wessel Song.”
On this night, the clock-stoppingly ugly Melvin Greenwood delivered a specially rewritten version of the worst song ever recorded, “God Bless The USA,” a blat that first burst forth, appropriately enough, in 1984. Just for Mongo, the 567-year-old singer delivered such lines as:
and i’m proud to be an american
when i watch those hookers pee
and i won’t forget the brains that died
to cast those votes for me
Some among the MongoRoids were so transported they grabbed a passing Muslim and sacrificed him to Moloch.
Mongo himself briefly addressed the MongoRoids (now reduced in number to 31, as a trio had stumbled off in search of heroin). “We’re going to unify our country,” he vowed, “so long as everyone is united around what I want.”
To cheers—and scattered strangled screams from those ODing on oxycontin—the Clockwork Orangeman promised that “we’re going to do things that haven’t been done for our country for many, many decades. Own slaves, shoot Mexicans from a moving vehicle, beat the bejeesus out of your bitch when she misbehaves—the sky’s the limit! It’s going to change, I promise you. It’s going to change!”
Simultaneously, over in Davos, George Soros correctly described Twitler as “an imposter, a conman, and a would-be dictator.” It was then immediately announced, by The Gargoyle, that Soros had been stripped of his passport. “He can just stay over there,” she said. “The last thing this country needs is another mouthy old Jew.”
“Jawohl!” seconded The Nazi.
Mongo-watchers noted that while Mongo himself attended the shindig out at the mall, together with one of his wives, Mrs. Mongo Vol. III, the lust of his life, daughter Lolita Mongo, and Lolita Mongo’s current husband, The Future Lampshade (see The Nazi, above), missing from the Mongo-train was young Barron [sic] Mongo.
Some Mongo-watchers believe Barron [sic] is afflicted with autism, and the thoroughly de-evolved Mongo family thus keeps him at all possible times shuttered away, like a red-headed stepchild, or Boo Radley. But, in truth, nothing could be further, from the truth. Barron [sic], in Reality, is the “white sheep” of the family—he recognizes his father is a stinking gaping anus, and wants nothing to do with him. He is, therefore, and at this very moment, socked away in an opium den, cranking Bowie, and engaging in intricate sexual congress with a Muslim man, and a Mexican woman.
Meanwhile, back on the Mall, taking the stage is the band 3 Doors Down, so named because, although they practice deep underground in a solid concrete igloo, it is not possible to survive their “music” unless you are hunkered down in a similarly reinforced shelter, located a minimum of three blockhouses away.
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