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I am so out of line here, and I'll pay for this later. Really pay. But I'm like most of you earthlings-with your priorities so out of whack that it's a wonder how you survive each day; I can't scroll by a video of a pathetic puppy without clicking on it, then crying for anywhere up to an hour, then devoting the rest of my day to saving pathetic puppies.

I'll spare you the details of what I am because most of you won't believe it. And those of you who do believe me are just too freaky. Anyway, three hours to go and I'm dressed up in a modest black dress, white half apron, white cap, sensible black shoes, and heavy tan hose. Think of a British maid in the 1930's. But I've got myself a rockin' body. Tits that defy gravity, legs that look good in anything, even these black shoes. Hell, they'd look good in Birkenstocks. My face is pretty, but not too pretty. Because that's not where his eyes go, but it's where the Mrs. looks first, and she'll just dismiss me as forgettable when she sees my face.

The Obamas will just appreciate the service and won't even notice me handing off the cups to whoever brings them over--to one of the most awkward coffee & tea get togethers in history. I mean it, as far as you people go, this is going to be more uncomfortable than Hoover and Roosevelt in 1932. You have to wonder how Hoover, knowing he was called a fat, timid capon choked down a cup of coffee with a guy he thought of as a chameleon on plaid?  I know that is utterly useless to you people because your history goes as far back as what instagram picture you liked last night when you really didn't mean to, it was just that you had too much wine with dinner. All I am saying is it could help you in the future if you read up a little on your presidential history. You might choose more wisely next time.

When the butler hands me T's cup, I'm going to do something to it that defies your laws of science, physics and astrophysics. Everyone else is going to get shitty, lukewarm coffee or tea...well maybe the Mrs. will get the 10,000x calorie sugar cube on the side, but I'll bet my seventh eye she won't touch it. Not because it is suspect, but because I know for a fact that that woman has been off sugar since she got pregnant with Baron. But I can hope to tempt her, right?

When T sips his brew, the impact will be instant. It will render him unable to speak, and his fingers will grow so fat and amorphous that he will be unable to type on a keyboard or touch screen. He will panic, and try to get up and run, but the drink will affect his ability to move and react. T will only be able to function his body in a stately, calm, purposeful manner. He won't be able to grab, pinch, pull, tweak or type. And he won't be able to speak.

Shut up! SHUT UP!  You beings are so frigging reactive! I'm not done and you're already losing your shit-half of you screaming about poisoning the president elect, the other half of you are tossing your stupid pink hats in victory. God Almighty, why am I doing this?

T will be able to carry out the duties of his elected office in appearance. He had laid the groundwork for what he is, and for what he wants before this sucky coffee/tea gathering, the symbolic transfer of power that no one really cares to endure. That's true! You'd think the incoming douche bag would be all, Hey, look at me! I'm shoving the outgoing douche bag out the door so I get get my stink all over this place! but no. Usually by the time this meeting takes place, both incoming and outgoing are either shitfaced or hungover, useless and beyond care. Technically, my seraphic roofie is an overkill on this particular day.

The major ramification of my concoction is to render T neutral. If he can't talk, can't tweet, can't pout, can't gesture, and can't grab, can't stop his hair from lifting off his head he's a figurehead. A statue. A symbol. A token. A representation. A metaphor. I'm running out of your words here, and you're still not getting people really need to put down your devices and start paying attention to what is really happening around you, stop reacting after the fact, and plan a little better. T, in the state that I will put him in, in the position that YOU elected him will be rendered powerless. So it will be up to all of you!

No? You don't like it? Not even the hot maid in the frumpy dress? Come on! This shit is what you all binge watch on Netflix! You know, my crew warned me about this. They told me. They said I'd regret it even before it was done. Let them hang by their own hook, you moron! If you actually help them, and it really makes a difference, you know what we get? More humans in our world! No thanks! Let them wallow in their own shit until they figure it out for themselves. 

Well I guess I'm a sucker, and you all are the pathetic puppies. I'm going for it. Two hours to go, and I'm really hopeful. Excited actually. I'm hoping that this works out for all of you.

Oh, and one more thing. It's kind of mean, but this guy T deserves it. You all want to know what he wants-a billionaire, who has the hot wife, hot daughter, best properties, now the most powerful position in the world? He wants it so bad, and he just can't have it, and believe me, he has tried. This is mean, I really shouldn't, but what the hell. If he just asked me nicely, I would have given him it.

Alex Baldwin's hair.

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