He began as he began everything. He removed his saddle bag from its customary place under the refrigerator, unzipped it, loaded it with miniature dolphins, and then jammed everything into his eyesocket.
He had been happy once. There was a Crest Toothpaste Ranch to go home to. Days spent taming what were thought to be “unbreakable” tubes brought him great personal satisfaction and a transcendent minty freshness that he could not find elsewhere. But his ill-advised, forbidden, asinine, hackneyed, out-of-character, completely forced, spiritually bankrupt tryst with a local dental hygienist put an end to all that. Now he sat at home, smearing lifeless, uncoordinated Colgate onto his thickening midsection, hoping each leap…would be the leap home.
The dental hygienist fared slightly better. She was now the President and had an unprecedented 101% approval rating, largely because she gave everyone fresh cotton candy. And that is not a euphemism for anything, you chauvinistic son of a crackwhore. People like you make me healthy to beat the band. Which reminds me, she beat the band Maroon 5 to win the Presidency. Like literally beat them. Adam Levine died from a fractured skull. They played Moves Like Jagger at his funeral and then tossed his mangled body into a blast furnace.
He had watched it all on TV. It had been a tricky thing to pull off since he didn’t own a TV, but he managed it with cunning and guile and Guile from Street Fighter and also a theoretical hysterectomy. He watched as the awkward, rail-thin, bucktoothed, muddy-haired, cross-eyed hygienist that he’d fucked a couple of times only because her marginally-more-attractive sister had turned him down became the most powerful person in the entire known universe. And he was transmogrified into her most elaborate and whimsical supporter.
He bought all sorts of memorabilia. Coca-Cola syringes with her blood on them. Moldy cheese with her face on it. The Sears Tower, which she had re-re-named the Sears Tower as the first act of her Presidency. Her panties, which were her panties…and were actually boxers because she was kind of a tomboy in that she had once been a boy named Tom before the spontaneous genital inversion she experienced while watching an episode of My Two Dads. But eventually his fanaticism reached epic levels. He used all his remaining Kool-Aid Points to construct an exact replica of her face and have it grafted onto his own face.
They made passionate love that very night on the Oval Office floor during a nationally televised speech about the growing crisis of deformed rutabagas. He later Tweeted that the sex was “so-so,” and that he would rather have cuddled. She had him thrown into a high-security Bath and Body Works to spend the rest of his life being suffocated by overwhelming floral scents. But even she could not have foreseen the old miniature-dolphins-in-the-saddle-bag-under-the-refrigerator-rammed-into-the-eye trick and was fairly underwhelmed by the minor damage it caused.
Life went on as normal until something else happened, but that eventually stopped too, and life went on as normal again.