Part 7: Biden Bombs Haiti
Joe Versus The VooDoo Lizard Queen and Her Roving Magical Beaver Squad
Biden and the strike force parachuted into the Carmichael’s Haitian compound in the dead of night, with massive equipment drops timed perfectly to squash many of the zombified sentries who were wandering around the grounds dressed up like little beavers. Their little tails flapped crazily as the palettes of gear and weapons hit the ground with huge thuds. Biden pulled off his jump suit, exposing his tuxedo, while Agent Little slipped on his hockey mask and raincoat, and then whipped his machete over his head several times and called in the first wave of ninjas.
“Man, I miss this shit. Nothing like a full frontal assault to get the blood pumping. Okay, let’s hit it.” Biden pulled out his trumpet and blasted out a long bugle call, and the entire landscape came alive with soldiers and mercenaries literally crushing the main gates and scattering around the grounds of the mansion, RPGs vaporizing beaver zombies right and left. Little waved to the bazooka squads, who immediately started blasting away at the front of the house and were instantly backed up by the flamethrower teams, who charged in and roasted everything alive.
“So where are these bitches at, Boss?” Little looked around. “These are witches, right, I mean whats-her-name is running a coven of muffin worshippers, there must be a cave or a huge orifice or something.” Little pointed to one of the out buildings, and a bazooka team stepped up and launched a blast at it, and the explosion made the ground tremble.
Biden looked around, and then saw it. A sixty foot high statue of a mouldy vagina with bronze eunuchs guarding it on with side, with a passageway through the middle into a dark cave. “That’s it. They’re in there. It’s red harvest time, so they’re eating placentas.” He waved at the troops and then pointed to the giant vagina, and the strike force moved into position.
The radio in Biden’s pocket crackled. “Mr. President, I have the President-elect, he says it’s important.”
Biden keyed his microphone. “Donald, what’s up, we’re down here in Haiti hunting for Her High Priestessness and her crew of zucchini penetration acrobats. You get checked in at the office?”
Trump’s voice came through loud and clear. “Yes, it’s all good here, we’ve got everybody in the Cabinet fitted with thumb screws and genital cuffs, and they’re telling us all sorts of things. That little shit Bootie-tang is rattling off all kinds of stuff, he’s had a breakthrough and is calling himself Clara Belle. He keeps screaming for Rhett and Scarlett to dress him up as a Conga dancer so he can boogie down with the Purple Gang. Wants me to whip him with a feather boa. What a freak. But he told me Hattie Carmichael is really a space lizard, and to watch out. She can spit venom and fly, so just don’t get too close.”
“Roger that, keep the pressure on those fuckers there until we get back, then we’re really going to have a good time. It’s going to be salt water penis flailings and wedgie horsey rides. And see if you can find those ass-hats from NIH who brokered the deal with the Chinese on the COVID thing.” Biden laughed. “And those co-conspirators down in Gitmo, send them on a beach day where the crocodiles are the worst, just lather them up in chicken fat first.”
“I’m on it. Bring back some beaver scalps. They make great hand towels.” The circuit went dead.
“Thumbs screws,” Little said as he pulled up hockey mask, “I love it.”
“That guy knows how to party,” Biden said as he adjusted his body armour. “I can’t imagine what he’s going to do with all those car batteries and jumper cables.”
The strike force kept its attention on the entrance of the vagina, and noticed that someone, or some thing, had emerged from the cave. It was Hattie Carmichael, dressed up like a voodoo high priestess, being carried on her throne by a bunch of tiny midget hermaphrodites, all dressed up like the Lollipop Guild. Biden raised his hand and the strike force held its fire.
“Whoa, Hattie, you look awesome in that dress. And who are the little people, they look like squashed raccoons. How’s it hanging?” Biden smiled at her. “You've been busy, doing it to the children. Ah, I mean, doing for the children. They look pretty well done over.”
“What the fuck? How’d she get loose, Chief? Somebody at Border Protection on the take?” Little keyed his microphone and talked to the command post, issuing orders.
Hattie suddenly stood up and hissed at them, her head dress swaying back and forth like a cobra. “I am Mistress Labia Externica. My beavers are more powerful than you can imagine. Leave now or be consumed.” She extended her arms and them shook her wrists back and forth, making the rattles shimmer.
“I always knew it was beaver power with you, I’m surprised you’re still into that. Down here everything smells like spoiled fish. So who’s in the cave with you? We’ve got a whole list of people we’re inviting to entertain.” Biden looked around. “And how often do you change the fruit in your hat? Looks like it needs a refresh.”
“We have control of your soul. I will eat you alive,” Hattie screeched. “My beavers are hungry.” The midgets carrying the royal sleigh set it down and began gyrating on the ground like beached fish, flapping like mad. “Look, they are doing their death rattles. And my beavers are magical. They can do stuff.”
“Man, I haven’t heard anything like that since the 1970s readers forum in Happy Snatch magazine,” Little said. “How many beavers do you have, lady? And what’s up in there?”
Just then, a figure bolted out of the giant vagina cave and began running around the compound, screaming at the top of his lungs. It was the former President, Bubba Carmichael, wearing nothing but a grizzly skin loincloth. His entire body was painted with venerable giant vagina symbols, and the crotch of his loincloth had been completely ripped away, and there was a golden Prince Albert through-the-tip dingle swinging as he ran.
“Fuck me! Fuck me! Kill me, Joe! I can’t take it any more. I’ll tell you everything! Just promise you’ll kill me when you’re done! These bitches are out of control!” The man was in a complete panic, and was chased down by some commandos who put him in a straitjacket, carrying him off to the rear of the compound.
“Sorry, dude. You’re culpable for letting these bitches turn into witches. It’s time to settle all accounts.” Biden expression darkened. “Well, Mistress Labia, it’s reality check time. You and that plastic-faced baboon Congresswoman Pasquale staged a coup against the United States Government and drugged me up so you could give each other finger action while you got your hair pie eaten by your little cluster of bikini anti-waxxers. Time to settle up.”
Biden raised his hand and the entire strike force put pressure on their triggers.
“I am the all-powerful beaver! I shall conquer all!” The woman suddenly morphed into a half-lizard half-human, jumping up and down, and then vaulting off her raised chair onto the ground. “We shall be beavers forever!”
“So long, Hattie. There’s no beaver shampoo where you’re headed. Say hi to Gertrude Stein.” Biden spun his hand in the air with his index finger pointing straight up, signalling a go-fire order, when a giant arm came thrusting out of the vagina cave and grabbed her, and pulled her back in.
“Holy Fuck! Is that what I think it is?” Agent Little was startled.
“Yep,” Biden said as he gave the ‘hold’ signal. “It’s the Giant Fister Monster. It’s in there. We’re going to need bigger bombs.”
Next: Biden and the Nuclear Moles