The Pottyarchy: Chapter Four

Last night’s events had left Barbara with a feeling of cleanliness; it felt like she could breathe once again. When the sun had taken its rightful place in the sky, Barbara knew she was ready to bring down the hierarchy at today’s political presidential rally.

The announcer directed her attention to Barbara Sandy, “Senator Sandy what do you hope to achieve if you win the election?”

Barbara took a dramatic pause before beginning, “I’d like to start off by saying that we need to bring down the 1 percent. The 1% who feast on golden plates while sitting on their imported beds with frames that have been carved by african children’s’ hands. I have seen too many people who have little to no access to bathrooms because of the pottyarchy that exists within our society here in the land of the ‘free.’ The pottyarchy that is upheld by the cursed 1 percent will be brought down,” she preached. “BATHROOMS ARE NOT JUST FOR THE RICH.”

The crowd went wild as Senator Barbara finished her response.

The announcer smiled and looked at Clint Hills.

Clint Hills was huddled with his campaign advisers discussing how to reword Senator Sandy’s speech. He nearly tripped when he fumbled his meatsuit onto the stage.

“I agree,” he said and promptly proceeded to walk off the stage in a pompous manner. People looked at eachother in confusion and bewilderment.

The announcer said, “Daneel Trumf, care to share your ideas about the pottyarchy?”

“Let me tell you how I’m gonna deal with it,” she said as she raised her shaky finger. “I’m gonna deal with it, alright? I’m gonna take it down and no one’s even gonna remember it was there. I’m gonna take it down so fast and bring it back up just to take it down again. Let me tell you I know someone from the 99 percent of the population who can help bring it down; I mean because I know him I’m practically part of the 99 percent. I don’t care what-”

“Ma’am, can you answer the question?”

“I just did.”

People were hugging each other and sobbing. “She has such a way with words. Such sincerity,” they cheered as she made her way across the stage, glowing because of her neon orange tan.

Taz Cruise basically pushed Trumpf off the stage. He looked like he was getting ready to pull out a gun. His face resembled none other than the Zodiac Killer. That’s not important though.

The announcer looked at Taz in amazement.

“Unlike Trumpf, I’m going to KILL the 1 percent,” he screeched with his beak. “Any questions?”

A reporter in the midst of the crowd was halfway through raising her hand when Taz dislodged an arrow from his beak directly into her hand.

She screamed, “WHY?”

Taz walked off the stage carefully, his claws needed trimming, and whispered inaudibly, under his breath “because I’m the Zodiac Killer.”

When Barbara Sandy looked into the crowd, her eyes met with Janice’s endearing glance. “SECURITY,” she called out. “You see that red-head? About 5’6 with the dress that’s so tight her organs have to rearrange themselves?”

“Um,” the security guard replied. “Do you want her gone?”

“Yes. Get El Chacal because she’s not gonna go easily.”

Mr. Chacal came out and grabbed Janice by the waist, he tossed her over his shoulder and threw her over the fence. Janice’s eyes never left Barbara’s, not even when her tight dress tore in half; releasing her organs. Barbara noticed the despair and look of betrayal in Janice’s eyes; she knew that the storm had just begun.



Continue the adventure:


North Mesquite High School, blue prints author. Sophomore and band aficionado.

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