Part 11 of My Soap Opera, “Decadence”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10. To recap: After getting kicked out of the Presidential race for using hateful language on live television, Sebastien Van Der Miles retreated to his family estate where he was immediately kidnapped!

“Kidnapped?!” screamed Bryan Mantis.

“Yes!” The King of Europe yawped back.

“AFTER HIM!”

*

Dylan McDermott sighed and looked down at his phone. It was ringing, again. He sighed and looked at the caller ID. Barrack Obama.

McDermott was nervous. The President had been calling him again and again ever since Sebastien had imploded and used the n-word in the presidential debate. He wasn’t thrilled. McDermott was stalling, but there’s only so many times you can dodge the President’s call before you wake up with no scalp.

He resigned himself to his fate. He was probably going to lose his job. He answered the phone.

“WHO DIS?”

*

The university lecturer droned on to his university class, “As you know, snakes are kryptonite to Europeans. Even incidental contact promotes a severe allergic reaction.”

“We know,” booed the class as they popped their Apple EarPods back in.

*

“WE’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!” screamed Bryan.

“BACKTRACE IT!” The King of Europe screamed back as he hacked into the mainframe with his Legacy Mac OS Powerbook G4.

“ENHANCE!” screamed Bryan as they zeroed in on Sebastien’s geolocation before crosshatching it against a nexus lexus search of known variables.

“WE’RE GOING IN!” screamed The King yet again as he used Linux to reset the subnet IP, revealing Sebastien’s location.

“Wait,” whispered Bryan as he grabbed the King’s arm, “WE NEED BACKUP!”

“THERE’S NO TIME!”

The King and Bryan began to kick in the door to where Sebastien was being held and burst into the room, guns raised.

*

“Yes Mr. President, I understand Mr. President,” answered McDermott yet again as he continued what appeared to be an endless phone call, “There’s no way we’re letting him run. That’s unacceptable. We’ll just concede the election. There’s no way I can find another candidate this late in the process.”

Just then, McDermott’s eyes lingered over the TV. It read: BOEHNER DROPS OUT, HOWARD TO RUN IN HIS PLACE.

McDermott literally jumped for joy and heard President Obama do the same. He turned back to the phone and squeed, “Yes, I’m seeing this Mr. President. Not only did Boehner quit the race, but he hired the most hated man in America to run in his place! They’re giving us the election!”

McDermott’s sweet summer joy turned to an autumn breeze when he realized with a thump that he needs to find a new candidate.

“Will Joe do it?” asked McDermott. All he could hear over the phone was President Obama howling with laughter. Turns out not a lot of people are lining up to take a low-paying high pressure job where you have to work with the sociopaths in the tea party.

President Obama managed to finish laughing, cleared his throat, and sternly said, “I don’t care who it is. Obama don’t give a fuck. Find someone, anyone. Trick them, bribe them, whatever. Play it how you want! The election is in fourteen minutes.”

“And Dylan,” continued President Obama, “You know what happens if you fail?”

“Then Ron goddamn Howard becomes president.”

Dylan shrieked and dropped the phone. He imagined the apocalyptic hellscape that would come to pass if Ron Howard were president. Death panels. Roving biker gangs. Watergates. Unsecured emails. Bodies in the streets. This can’t happen.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Make it so,” yawped President Obama as he hung up and got back to doing whatever Obama gon’ do.

McDermott began to hyperventilate and search the walk-in closet for a suitable democratic candidate. He considered calling his lawyer, Octavian Charles, and begging him to do it, but the call was long distance and there was no guarantee it would get through.

McDermott started chattering aimlessly to himself, “Where the hell am I going to find a vapid, empty, power-obsessed husk of a person, willing to sacrifice four-to-eight years of their lives for an outside shot at getting their heads in some books? Where am I going to find someone narcissistic enough to go through with that? Where am I going to find the next President of the United States?”

Just then, Kendra Von Puter slithered out of her eavesdropping place, put her arms around McDermott, and whispered gently in his ear, “I think I can help you.”

*

Bryan Mantis and the King of Europe burst into the room and heard a muffled scream. The King of Europe pivoted like a watermelon and shot a dark figure several times. Vanderbilt Von Puter fell to the ground, dead.

“We got him!” yelled The King as he gave Bryan a high-five.

The King walked over to Vanderbilt’s body and yelled in his dead ear, “THAT WAS FOR KREEZY, MOTHERFUCKER!”

They found Sebastien Van Der Miles cowering in the corner with a black eye. Bryan undid his handcuffs and whispered, “Don’t worry son, it’s over.”

“Am I president?” asked Sebastien sincerely.

“What? No. What? No!”

“Oh,” Sebastien looked glumly at his shoes.

Sebastien composed himself and walked over to The King of Europe and pulled out an exquisitely wrapped red box. He handed it to the King and said, “I got this gift for you. It’s what Kreezy would have wanted.”

A single tear formed in The King’s eyes as he accepted the present and whispered, “Thank you.” The King wiped a single tear from his eye, “Now run along now, son!”

“Sure thing, Dad!” yawped Sebastien as he ran out of the room, back towards his house.

“Another job well done,” glowered the King to Bryan.

Bryan smiled back and responded, “Well I guess we’ve got to deal with this body.”

“You check Bryan; I’m going to open my present.”

Bryan moved over to Vanderbilt’s body and looked closely before laughing to the King, “Man, he stinks.”

“True that, Bryan, true that.”

Bryan began to daze off and thought back to his days in mortician school, back when he was thirteen. Just then, he put it all together. Bodies don’t start to smell until they decay. Bodies don’t start to decay until they die. For Vanderbilt to smell, he had to have been already dead before they got here. That could only mean one thing!

Bryan stood up suddenly and turned to his partner and screamed, “NO! DON’T!”

Bryan said it a second too late. The King of Europe had already opened the box and began to scream.

The box was filled with snakes.

The shock was too much for the King of Europe; the allergic reaction killed him instantly. It was the perfect crime.

Bryan began to sprint towards his fallen partner when he felt Sebastien grab his neck and stab him with some sort of syringe.

He hit the ground hard and everything went black.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s