The corona virus saga - chapter 48

There’s a special 80-person police force within the Federal Emergency Management Agency, a component of DHS, that guards the president’s doomsday bunker at Mount Weather in Berryville, Virginia.

The president had been secured underground in the doomsday bunker ever since the problems had begun.

His body double, a live gorilla, was used as a substitute during all public appearances.  Once they put on the clown makeup and the wig it was hard to tell the difference between them.  And they used deep fake neural net technology to polish it up afterwards, give it a good sheen, before sending it off to the networks and cable news stations.

Special generative neural networks were used to construct the faces for the various virtual people they populated the newsreel and campaign rally footage with.  They used special algorithms to make sure the computer generated faces resonated with the target audience.  Made their brains light up like they were looking at chocolate or high quality pornography.  They just lapped it up and wanted more.  And the PR office was happy to give them more.

On the surface they were still launching weather balloons as a way to 'provide cover' for the real intent of the facility.  And what a facility it was, built during the early 1900s and not upgraded in the least since then.  A system of pneumonic tubes were used to send messages back and forth between different parts of the facility.  State of the art fax machines were at the ready, as were military grade paper tape and card punches.  Teletype terminals chattered as they posted the daily news and the weather balloon meteorological equipment readouts.  There was even a ham radio facility in addition to the usual tube and crystal based military radios.

Underground, it was a little bit different.

The president yelled out an order.

"Get me a cheeseburger."

"Yes sir."

"And a diet coke."  

"Yes sir."

"And my adderall."  

"You already took it, sir. "

The president intently watched the 12 television monitors that showed various network and cable news programs.  And Jean-Claude Van Damme movies, he loved those.  Special edited versions that only included the fight scenes.  He loved those the best.

But at this particular moment the presidents eye was gazing at a live feed of a protest march in Washington DC.  It was on one of the vintage RCA New Vista color tv consoles acquired by the facility in the 1960s for the moon launch.  In carved oak wood console cabinets.

"Look at these people marching. They really love old Rump, don’t they."  

"Actually sir, they are protesting against you."

"No, no, no. They’re celebrating the greatest country in the history of the entire galaxy. So beautiful. The best ever. With the best economy ever.  And the greatest cheeseburgers. That’s what people tell me. You know. People who know.

Those people love me. And they need to march and shout to let everyone know how much they love me."  

"Sure sir, whatever you say."

"Have you seen my adderall?" 

"You took it sir."

"I need a cheeseburger."  

"You already ate it sir."

The live footage switched to a tape of Rump's performance art piece in front of a Washington Church.

"Look what a great job i’m doing holding that miniature plastic replica of the StarGate up in the air. A moment for history, that’s for sure."  

"Yeah, yeah, definitely one for the history books, sir. You do know that’s the monkey on tv."

"Look’s like Rump to me. In charge, taking command, quite handsome if i do say so myself, letting everyone know, that we are going to fuck these protestors up.  Like Jean-Claude Van Damme, he's a serious motherfucker.

We need some tanks.  We need tanks on the street now.  Show some force.  Get me my generals."  

"We’re in a secure location sir. underground. The generals can’t get in here. You need to skype or setup a Zoom meeting with them."

"The greatest president ever.  That's what they are saying.  Important people.  People who know a thing or two.  Did you know that’s what they are chanting. The greatest president ever. What a glorious sound.  Music to the ears.  It’s a great day for Rump.  A great day for america."  

"Sure sir, whatever you say. Here’s your adderall."

"Now you're talking. Time to do some tweeting, or twittering, or twit-chat, or whatever the kids call it these days.  

Did you know that kids love me. Black people too. Even dogs love me. They think i’m the best."  

"Sure sir. Do you want some water with that adderall?" 

"No no, i like to suck on them, like lollypops. Like i’m a baby. And then they tell me to do things."  

"Absolutely sir, whatever you say. Do you want your tv remote?"

"Yes, yes. Time to watch Hawk News, news as fair and balanced as a hawk is to the mouse he just grabbed off the ground, all the news that’s fit to Vomit, that’s Hawk."  

Fidgets with the remote. Can't seem to get it to do anything.

"Fix this piece of shit, will you.  Now, where’s my blankie? I need my blankie?"  

"Sir, you have a dribble. A dribble coming out of your mouth onto your chin. Would you like me to wipe it off?" 

"Rump doesn’t dribble. NEVER. Now go get my blankie. Daddy needs his Binky blanky.

And call Hannity. He needs to tell me what to do. Before i turn around and announce it in a press conference and call it my own idea."

"Yes sir, right away."