Katrina Pierson’s Excellent Adventure

It was 2:32 AM outside Katrina Pierson’s┬álocal Quik-Gas-N-Go convenience store when a sound like thunder split the warm summer air. She looked up and saw the night sky open up, and an iPhone came screaming down toward her, landing at her feet. Oddly, the phone didn’t break upon impact, but instead it started ringing as soon as it hit hte ground. She decided to answer it.

“Hello,” Katrina said.

“Hi Katrina! This is someone from the future, with a very important mission for you,” the voice said. It sounded like an angry, drunk orangutan in a shitty hairpiece over the phone, but Katrina wasn’t completely sure. Considering she had nothing better to do, she asked the voice on the other end of the line what the mission was.

“You have to stop the Afghanistan War from ever starting, Katrina,” the slightly gorilla-ish voice said.

Katrina was confused. She knew as a Trump’s national campaign spokesperson she was clearly one of the most educated and intellectually astute people on the planet. But how could she possibly stop a war from starting when it had already started?

“How can I possibly stop a war that’s already started,” Katrina asked exactly as the narrator had just posed the very same question. This was one of the many times she was thankful to hear voices in her head.

“Time travel, Katrina, doy,” the voice said.

But Katrina knew that President Barack HUSSEIN Obama had banned time travel by executive order. It was just one more example of liberal government overreach. Who was Obama to put a kibosh on a non-existent technology? It was almost too absurd to be believable, but she had heard it on Allen West’s radio show, it had it be true.

“Okay, fine, but how do I time travel, and where do I go to stop the Afghanistan War,” Pierson asked befuddled tone in her voice. The voice on the other end said that he’d send the cell phone she was talking on a text message with a phone number in it. All she had to do was initiate the phone call to the number provided, and she would be teleported to the right time and place.




“You’re going to have to stop the president from starting the Afghanistan War back in 20001,” the voice said, “by any means necessary. Do you understand Katrina? Stop the president in 2001 from starting the Afghanistan War at any cost!”

Katrina was pumped. This felt like a mission for only the most trustworthy of patriots. She knew that the history classes she took at Trump University would pay off. Because she knew exactly who she was looking for, once she teleported back to 2001.

The iPhone dinged. The text message had arrived. Katrina opened the text, pressed the phone number on the screen, and the phone started dialing out. A sound like a dial-up modem handshake started coming over the phone’s ear piece. Suddenly, Katrina felt her insides become her outsides, a warm light enveloped her, and for what seemed like an eternity she felt like she was weightless and mass-less; just a ball of tiny, racist energy floating through the cosmos.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, it all stopped. In an instant she found herself in the Oval Office. She was slightly disoriented at first, but quickly got her bearings. She looked at the middle-aged white man behind the big desk and asked, “Where’s the president?”

The man looked puzzled.

“Who are you,” he asked.

“I’m here to stop the Afghanistan War, I’m here from the future,” Katrina said, “now tell me where the president is! It’s a vital mission that I’m carrying out.”

The many laughed an impish, nearly maniacal laugh. He squinted his eyes as he laughed. He reached for a pretzel from a nearby bowl, but was laughing so hard he nearly choked and a Secret Service Agent had to slap him on the back like a baby to get the pretzel out of his throat.

“Little lady, I am the president,” the man said.

“No way,” Katrina responded.

“Yes way,” the man shot right back.

“But…that just doesn’t make sense. What’s in the news these days,” Katrina asked, extremely puzzled.

“Ma’am, just a couple weeks ago, hijackers flew planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon,” the man claiming to be the president said, “and we have reason to believe the mastermind of the terror cell that perpetrated this attack is somewhere in Afghanistan. So we’re going to go after him using shock and awe, and we will win it. Because these colors don’t run, freedom isn’t free, and my flag lapel pin is so large, we can drop it on Afghanistan and level it, so…”

Something wasn’t adding up. Katrina knew her history. And the man sitting there wasn’t black. Barack HUSSEIN Obama is black. And the Afghanistan War was started by him; Katrina knew this as surely as she knew Donald Trump doesn’t want to fuck his daughter.

“Are you sure you’re president,” Katrina asked.

“Of course, my daddy said I could be president next, and the Supreme Court made it so,” the man said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Hmm. Okay. Well, I must’ve dialed a wrong number,” Katrina said. She went into her iPhone’s phone app and found the number dialed right before she time traveled, and she dialed it. Once again,┬áKatrina felt her insides become her outsides, a warm light envelop her, and for what seemed like an eternity she felt like she was weightless and mass-less; just a ball of tiny, racist energy floating through the cosmos.

Instantaneously, she was back in front of the convenience store. The phone rang again.

“Is it done, Katrina,” the voice asked.

“Well, um, I got back there and it wasn’t Obama so I think I dialed a wrong number.”

For the next six days, Pierson tried and tried to get back to 2001, where she knew President Barack Obama would be waiting to start the Afghanistan War, and each time she was greeted by the same, older white guy. Frustrated, she waited for the mysterious voice to call her one last time, and Katrina told him she’d be “pulling a Palin” and quitting before the job was done. The man said he was disappointed, but completely understood, because he had failed in running several of his businesses, many of which were just lame fronts for shitty merchandise and products.

“Don’t worry Katrina, you just stick to what you do best,” the voice said, “putting a voice of true Republican wisdom out there, and representing that amazing, truly extraordinary man with an absolutely real head of hair like the true MENSA member you really are.”


Republished from The Political Garbage Chute.

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About James Schlarmann 1228 Articles
Comedian, writer, founding contributor of The Political Garbage Chute, holder of zero world records or lifetime achievement awards.
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