“This is outrageous! I am a U.S. Congressman! What’s the matter with you people? Why aren’t you listening to me?! I am not a homosexual! I’m not like you people! Guards! Guards! Seize them! Seize theeeeem!”
They had moved much more swiftly than the Congressman and Chairman of the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee had fully anticipated. He had never been handled with such raw, masculine strength. There was no time to hold sham hearings, or gather weeks of favorable testimony. There was no stenographer hanging on his every word, and his new constituents would not allow him extra time to properly demean this particular captive audience.
They were organized. Their methods were that of a hunting pack, manhood-carnivores led by an ill-tempered mountain of an Alpha-male who would be the first, and certainly not the last, to get to know Darrell Issa’s nuanced views on the federal penitentiary system’s unofficial schedule of daily recreational activities.
It was only his first night of what was to be the rest of his natural life in an American federal prison. The sentence was more lenient than a jury of his peers had recommended– death by non-lubricated vaginal probing on Pay-Per-View. But Darrell Issa had managed to pull what would be his final string, outside of swapping commissary fruit cups for phone calls, with an empathetic judge who had been appointed by a Democrat. The richest Congressman in America, valued at over $450 million in stolen property– saw his privileges of wealth and disproportionate influence reduced to zero the second the gavel dropped.
It was nothing like he had heard. They had told him that he was special, and that no one would care about a wealthy U.S. Congressman with tanned, well-hydrated skin, sculpted conservative republican hair, and a middle-aged ass that doesn’t like to brag– much.
After exposing the intricate details of Operation Forcible Honeymoon months before, an operation set up by federal and local authorities, judges, various neighborhood watchers, knitting circles, community churches, and an undercover Justin Bieber(“Agent B”) to ensnare an extraterrestrial sex slave ring in what was to be the biggest intergalactic Adopt-a-Wife bust in the history of the galaxy, Darrell Issa was fulfilling his childlike dream of blowing whistles and the covers of international agents in the field everywhere.
And mere months after proudly exposing America’s entire intelligence apparatus, again, Darrell Issa, America’s Chairman of the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee of The Free World, could finally turn his totally non-partisan laser focus on exposing his waxy shiny balls to the institution of investigative integrity and possibly some elderly women in the park.
With the House of Representatives once again under control of known pragmatist and Vampire Democrat Party Hunter, House Speaker John Boehner, more confident than ever coming off an election in which America clearly signaled to Republican leadership that history’s winds were now blow drying the ass hairs of opportunity and combing them over for their appearances on Planet Sunday Morning Talk Shows, for jobs and the economy– it was discovered by no one that UN Ambassador Susan Rice ignored the new 9/11 memo warnings: “Zombie Bin Laden Is Determined To Attack Again Postmortem.”
To the not-impressed-meme shock of a U.S. President facing a proxy de facto-impeachment since being elected and then resoundingly re-elected for weakening the Exceptionalism of America and because of all those government handouts like reproductive rights, gay rights, immigration rights, equal pay rights, a new Patient’s Bill Of Rights– the Republican Congress were seemingly totally unaware that they were endangering the life of right wing talking points everywhere. This was quickly settled over the passage of the Protecting The Endangered Republican Talking Points Act, but with costs unable to be scored by the CBO, the bill’s costs were off-set anyway by repealing the Endangered Species Act, the Clean Water Act, tax increases on the top two income brackets, abortions, Obamacare, and UN Ambassador Susan Rice. With his hair and his balls, but not the hair on his balls because they’re obviously waxy and hairless, weighing heavily on the minds of the American people, the subject of Republican party antics quickly became lost in America’s debate over whether or not Libyans were actual people and, “weren’t those the bastards who killed Doc Brown?!”
Darrell Issa, the man who had already brought more American intelligence activities and state secrets to its knees in less time than any other Californian-American in U.S. history, had put himself on the short list to receive the nation’s newest highest honor: The Bi-Weekly Darrell Issa Self-Commendation for Bravery and Courage and American Things and Business Championing! for his efforts to consistently unseat Joesph McCarthy as one of the country’s most cherished and respected hearings holders.
The Congressman was riding high with approvals in the low 20′s. He was confident and strong, and gavel-bangin’! And merciful. So merciful. As a show of public mercy and empathy, Darrell Issa had collected several heads of those who had dared question his moral and ethical authority, and mounted them all on his own head like a human totem pole as a constant reminder to the public of his mercy and exceptional judgement. But once he began speaking through a self-modeled ventriloquist dummy, the American people couldn’t find the heart to tell him that ‘Little Darrell’ was much cooler than he was.
“Enough is enough!” they shouted. “We like Susan Rice!” and, “who the fuck are you, again?!”
Back in the laundry room in general population, Darrell Issa can only close his eyes now and try to imagine he’s back in the spotlight– the Star witness and Prosecutor– and wonder if his new constituents will investigate his body with the same concern for truth and justice that he showed during Operation Fast and Furious.
And the last thoughts Darrell Issa thought– just before blacking out through chants of “fresh fish! fresh fish!” was trying to remember his public stance and official position on federal funding for prison rape prevention standards. It’s face down with a sock stuffed in his mouth, now. And, Darrell Issa, with his ass numb and stretched, beyond whatever a mother could possibly love, even with good politician hair, can now only hope that his new constituents appreciate what he’s done for the country and his hair. He looks to his pocket mirror for any sign of introspect and runaway hairs. Nope. Nothing. ”Looking good, Darrell!” ”Loo-king good!” Justice is the name of this game, and Justice is a very large man.