Hot pandemic nights, chapter 1

Lord Emperor gathers his inner council to announce a fun new initiative.  Everyone is very excited.  Will we need to print up new banners for pressers and rallies?  Does it need a catchy theme song? What will it be called? 

"Lord Renfield, is everyone assembled?  Yes, yes, very good.

I've gathered you all here to lay out my grand plan to deal with the troubles of our land. A cobblestone, if you will, on our road to victory.  I call it, ‘operation shoot em in the head’. 

Here's how it works.
I want you to fly out to Portland, and then dress like you’re going on a raid in Afghanistan or Iraq, so full camouflage for everyone, black hoods to conceal your identity, thick black boots for stomping, brass knuckles, lead pipes with nails stuck in the end.  The usual stuff.

Assault weapons of all kinds, because you can never have to many guns, not in america,

So suit up, strap on those semi-automatic weapons, climb in the rented Enterprise minivan, then head into the center of town, where all of those moms and grand moms are protesting in the street, holding arms together as they shout out what a bad boy you have been.

But bad boy’s going to get the last laugh, he’ll show them.  Show them what a man does..."

Lord Emperor paused, used both hands to shakily take a sip of his diet coke, then gathered his thoughts as Lord Renfield wiped a spittle from his face with a bleach wipe, being sure not to smear any makeup in that process, because you did not want to mess with that bronzer, or you'd be in big trouble.  Cleaned up, the Lord Emperor continued.

Here's what i want you to do.  I want you to walk right up to em, grin a little, and then shoot them in the head."

"Excuse me," bald military type with a lot of merit badges pinned on his shirt says, "you want us to what?" 

"I want you to shoot those moms and grand moms right in the head.  Get blood all over their hand knitted sweaters.  Show em who’s boss.  Show them what being a bad boy really means."

"Now who’s the baby, who’s the baby now," he screams.

"Ah sir, we can’t do that." 

"Can’t do what?"

"Shoot them in the head. Or anywhere really."

"You’re fired."

"It’s no use sir, you’ve crossed a line.  No use...ahhhghh..." 

Hooded marines drag him off.  Or maybe a trapdoor opens, i get confused about this part.

"Get me someone who will shoot em in the head. Or at least bash em with a lead pipe full of nails, kick em in the stomach until they need surgery, gas em with stinky toxic gas, maybe give em herpes so they’ll remember us later, late at night, when they are all alone, alone and licking their wounds.  And then their face will itch, because we gave em herpes"

Someone in the back raised their hand.

"I’ll do it sir." 

"What’s that now, son?"

"I’ll do it. I’ll shoot them in the head." 

"Then you’re in charge of our new initiative, operation 'shoot em in the head'. Welcome aboard son. "

The man in the shadows at the back of the room stepped forward. What a grin, everyone thought. This guy must be a million laughs. Maybe a little bit heavy on the make-up though.

"What’s your name son?"

"They call me Joker, sir."

"Welcome aboard Joker. Welcome to the team."