“I’ve spoken to a certain president, who I like, actually. A past president, former president, he said: 'I wish I did it. I wish I did.' But they didn’t do it. I’m doing it. Yeah?”
That's Donald Trump yesterday, speaking to reporters, explaining how he spoke to a "certain president," a past president, a former president, who told Trump how HE wished HE had started a war with Iran.
Trump told this story twice, yesterday.
Joe Biden's spokesperson denied any such conversation took place.
Barack Obama's spokesperson denied any such conversation took place.
George W. Bush's spokesperson denied any such conversation took place.
Bill Clinton's spokesperson denied any such conversation took place.
There is no White House phone record of Trump speaking to any former (living) president since the begin of his war on Iran. And really, what? Trump rang up Biden, Obama, Bush, or Clinton to shoot the shit? Hey, maaaaan, I know I've done nothing but badmouth you and demand you be put in prison, but how's it hanging, Bro? You doing good?
Yeah, right.
Either Trump is lying, again, or Trump is insane, again.
Which is it, MAGA? Is it both? Because it feels like it's both.
The misadventurous mixture of an overactive imagination, a Clone Wars obsession, and a boring yet high-stress life. Basically, I’m an adult with a group of armored, highly trained imaginary friends. This is the stuff that happens.
Kix Hates My Lunch
It all started with Kix. I shouldn’t have really been shocked. Too many days in quarantine had left me bored and frustrated with the worldwide virus response, and I started thinking about how a medical professional I actually trusted would handle it. The fact that the only medical professional I trusted was a character from a children’s cartoon was also a problem, but Kix seems like he would be smart enough to get things done right.
Mistake number one.
Next, I started writing down some ideas for Kix-based one-shots. Those quickly snowballed into fully written one-shots and their number started to grow almost daily. I started reading more clone-based fics and planning out additional content of my own.
Mistake number two.
When I finally got the call to return to work, I was nervous. We’re busy, almost constantly packed with people and I didn’t see any real chance of that changing. Capitalism is a powerful thing to those who benefit. I was scared, wishing for a sense of confidence and security that could help me through those first few days back.
Mistake number three.
When I got to work, they were there. I saw clones patrolling the area, listened to them talk to each other, and took comfort from their presence. It doesn’t really matter how I started talking with them, but I did and Kix soon became one of the troopers I spent the most time with.
Kix is judgmental. It’s because he cares, but it’s a bit stressful. He urges me to sleep more, drink more water, wear more sunscreen. I try, but who really has the time?Â
I’ll never forget the first time Kix came with me while I ate my lunch. As I pulled out a plastic baggie filled with trail mix, I could feel the horrified stare, but busied myself opening my water bottle so I could start to rehydrate in the air-conditioned space.
“What the kriff is this?” he asks (a little harshly, if you ask me).
“Trail mix,” I answer simply, silently. I never speak out loud, but the clones always seem to hear me.
“And what else are you going to eat?” It’s a dangerous question, with an even more dangerous answer.
“Nothing.”
Kix doesn’t disappoint. In fact, he pushes his chair back so he has room to stand up again and start pacing. “Nothing? Are you karking serious? Do you even know how much trail mix you would have to eat to get the calories you need? Especially if you’re going to work for the rest of the day?”
“It’s hot outside,” I explain as patiently as I can. Conversing with an imaginary medic wasn’t particularly how I wanted to spend my lunch break, but he was here and demanding answers. “If I eat too much, I’ll feel sick when I go back to work. I eat something small and drink a lot of water, then I go home and eat again when I’ve showered and cooled down.”
“You’re going to pass out,” Kix tells me, voice matter-of-fact.Â
I would almost have believed him, except that… “I do this all the time, Kix. The last time I had a big lunch at work, I almost did pass out. This is what works. Trust me.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Well, so much for trust. “Your bedside manner sucks.”
“I’m trying to keep you out of a hospital bed!” Kix snaps.Â
“I’m not going to pass out, Kix. I am going to get cranky if you keep pestering me about it. I have work I need to do while I’m not… working. Schoolwork. It’s due soon and I need to get it done while I have a few minutes.”
“Yeah, add stress to the mix, that’ll help everything,” Kix says snarkily.Â
I can tell from his voice that he’s moving further away from me and closer to the door, but I’m focused on my phone and refuse to look at him. After he’s gone, I pop the baggie open and start to read my assignments for the week as I enjoy my trail mix in peace.
*fin*
Next | MasterlistÂ
A/N - for full authenticity, read all titles for this story while thinking really hard about the theme song for It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
