THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET

DEEP STATE KIND OF STUFF.  DON’T GO AROUND PUTTING IT UP ON THE TWITTERS.

DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT TOP SECRET MEANS KEEP IT QUIET, DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT AT THE NEXT TRUMP RALLY.

DO NOT PUT THIS MESSAGE ON TRUMP CAMPAIGN MERCHANDISE.

DO NOT TELL MELANIA.  DO NOT TELL YOUR IVANKA.

YOU WANT US TO “TIFFANY” IVANKA?  WE’LL TOTALLY DO IT, KEEP THIS QUIET.

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.

 

Location:  MAR A LAGO RESORT, FL  27 December 2019

“Mr. President!  Thank you for granting me an audience, it has taken me a very long time to get on your schedule.  I am truly appreciative of your time and do not wish to interfere with your holiday.”  A short, sweaty man stood before the President in his office at Mar a Lago.  He reeked of Marlboro Reds, cheap booze, cool ranch Doritos, sweaty latex gloves, and section 213 of  Busch Stadium in St. Louis, MO.  The government agent appeared nervous, but determined.

“I don’t know who this guy is.  He smells like Hillary, and I know, I’ve been around Hillary.”  The President said.

“Who are you talking to?”  The government agent asked.  He looked around the room and found it to be filled with white furniture with gilded accents, empty Diet Coke cans, and quarter pounder wrappers.  A MAGA hat appeared impaled on a gilded piece if phallic art in a table in the room.  The walls were adorned with posters of The Apprentice and pictures of various celebrities the President met over the years:  Macauley Culkin, Whoopi Goldberg, Hillary Clinton, among others.   The President sat confused, looking at the ingredient list on his can of Diet Coke.

“CONTAINS Puh HEN…Puh henal…Penalal….”  The President went on.  The government agent picked up a half-empty can strewn about the golden coffee table.

“Phenylalanine.”  He said.  “It doesn’t matter.  What I am about to tell you is something the US Government has been tracking for decades.  The agency I work for was not authorized by you, Mr. President, but by the Office of the President–”

“Why do these guys keep coming in here?  I didn’t authorize any of them.  They show up and say they work for me, but I didn’t hire them.  If I hired them I’d have gone through that guy that finds me those Guatemalans.  Very short, like Oompa Loompas.  They work very hard because they think they have a good union, but they don’t.  Very sad. Totally America.”  The President replied.

“I….Uh…uh…” The government agent stammered briefly.  “Listen I am here to inform you of SPACE SMITH.  SPACE SMITH is the biggest existential threat to national security.”

“I don’t think he’s made out of wax.  He’s more like a leather Muppet.  I don’t know how he’s talking either.  I thought they’d have a guy’s hand up his ass moving the mouth.  Very entertaining, you can’t see them talking, it looks like the Muppet is doing it on it’s own.”

“Please don’t talk about hands up my ass.  I haven’t been able to go a week without soiling myself since my meeting with Mohammad Bin Salman.”

“The Saudi Towel guy?  I know him.  Manly embrace.  Very nice man.  Great leader.–”

“He’s not a nice man.  HE’S SPACE SMITH.  SPACE SMITH is an ancient evil, seamlessly traversing time and space, RAPING EVERYTHING IN EXISTENCE.  Mostly planets, spacecraft…me.”  The government agent admitted.

“What?  #YouToo?”

“YES!  It travels with impunity across all borders and barriers!  Here, give a listen to the footage we caught from the Boeing launch last week:”  He pulled out a small tape recorder:

Flight Control, we have ignition.

CAPCOM, this is Flight Control confirming ignition.

Flight Control, we have liftoff.

CAPCOM, this is Flight Control confirming liftoff.

….

….

….

Flight control, we have a slight imbalance on telemetry.

CAPCOM, this is Flight control confirming imbalance on telemetry.  Is it that fucking gimbal again?

SPACE SMITH RAPE GIMBAL

Flight Control, what was that?

CAPCOM, this is Flight Control can you confirm it is the gimbal?

SPACE SMITH RAPE GIMBAL.  NOW RAPING ENGINE #3

CAPCOM, this is Flight Control, telemetry is all over the place.

SPACE SMITH ALL OVER THE PLACE

This is Flight Control, we lost control of telemetry.   Cannot confirm the craft enetered orbit.  CAPCOM?

Flight Control, this is CAPCOM we can confirm the probe made it into low orbit.

CAPCOM this is Flight Control.  Confirm your altitude.

SPACE SMITH INSERT PROBE INTO ORBIT.  BY INSERT PROBE, MEAN RAPE PROBE IN THE WRONG ORBIT.

Flight control, this is CAPCOM.  Are we not doing phrasing anymore?

 

“We need to build a wall around SPACE SMITH.”  The President shouted.  “I like that.  Space Wall, with a space moat in front.  Maybe we can have some space alligators swimming in my spade moat, it depends because I don’t know what the alligators think and it might come down to how they feel, alligators as we all know are a very proud people, they want whats best for them and we want whats best for us.  They want a deal, they need a deal but won’t say so and I certainly want a deal.  So we’ll see.”

“You cannot stop SPACE SMITH with a wall, Mr. President.”

“With the proper application of a protective tariff, we can stop these terrible SPACE SMITH trade deals, literally raping our economy, raping middle America and all their patriotic middle American rape workers…”  The president began.  “What?  Don’t interrupt me like that, I was on to something there guys.  Really, I wish the two of you would stop raping each other and get along.”

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING TO?”

“I’m not the one that smells like section 213 of Busch Stadium.  Busch fell out of favor back in the 70s, and I don’t even like soccer.”

“Stay focused Mr. President.”

“Right.  We’re going to levy tariffs and crippling sanctions on SPACE SMITH.  As long as I am President, SPACE SMITH will no longer commit terrible atrocities on middle America.”

“Good Mr. President, now you’re on the right track.  But there is only one way to stop SPACE SMITH.”  The government agent handed the President a file folder marked UNITED STATES SPACE FORCE:  Do not talk about this on Twitter.

“The Space Force is my idea.  I love it….”

 

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET

DEEP STATE KIND OF STUFF.  DON’T GO AROUND PUTTING IT UP ON THE TWITTERS.

DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT TOP SECRET MEANS KEEP IT QUIET, DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT AT THE NEXT TRUMP RALLY.

DO NOT PUT THIS MESSAGE ON TRUMP CAMPAIGN MERCHANDISE.

DO NOT TELL MELANIA.  DO NOT TELL YOUR IVANKA.

YOU WANT US TO “TIFFANY” IVANKA?  WE’LL TOTALLY DO IT, KEEP THIS QUIET.

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.

THIS TRANSMISSION IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.