DOLT 2

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DOLT and Great Cha-Chew were married and were celebrating when a fly landed in their ointment.

Trump was elected.

Great Cha-Chew (henceforth referred to as GC) was not troubled but DOLT was.

"We can't just let this happen: we've got to do something!" DOLT exclaimes.

"Like what?  Once he's elected that's pretty much it..." GC tries to be reasonable.

"We could do a recall."

Just then, Ixalyte bursts in with some polling numbers.

"Hey guys!  Check these numbers out!  It says that C would do great as a third party candidate!"  The cone shaped, slimy guy deposits a heap of paper on a table, knocking over the coffee.

"You don't mean..." GC said breathlessly.

"That's right: the American people have already shown that they can vote for idiotic, egotistical evil, now let's give them a greater evil!" Ixalyte enthuses.

"Why settle for the lesser evil?" DOLT said.  "I like it!"

* * *

"Is this a threat?" President-elect Trump demands.

"We're not sure," simpers one of his aides (whose name was Harry).

"You're fired!!" Trump blurts.  "Siddown!" he says when Harry gets up.

"They have a point: Cthulhu is more evil than you," Harry continues.

"You're fired!" Trump says automatically. "I can pick a new running mate, right?" he says in more reasonable tones.

"Well, as a matter of fact..."

At that moment, the wall to the conference room tumbles away, revealing a star space.  In the foreground was a monstrous entity, looking more like a planet than a living being.

"I am Astrototh!"  booms a voice deeper than space and time.

"You're fired!" Trump says reflexively.

"But...I don’t work for you," Astrototh booms confusedly.

There is a definite breeze towards Astrototh.

"And cut that out!"  Trump bellows.

The breeze stops.

"Are you sure he's evil enough?"  Trump asks.

Harry gapes.

"You're fired!"  Trump interjects, irritated that no one is paying attention to him.

Harry comes to.

"What?" Harry says distractedly.

"I said you're fired."  Trump explains. Harry gets up.

"Siddown!" Trump screams.

Harry drops back to his chair.

"Are you sure he's evil enough?

"I AM ASTROTOTH!!" the demon sultan bellows.

"You're fired!"  Trump snaps.

The wall starts un-collapsing.

"Get back here!"  Trump says, mater-of-factly.  The star-field returns.

"What do we think the Democrats will do?"  Trump asks.

"Hillary has Shub-Niggurath." Harry explains.

"Who?" said Trump.

"She. The star-goat with a thousand young!  An ancient force of evil!" Harry explains, getting up and waving his arms around.

"Total amateur,"  Astrototh says mildly.

"Shut up," Trump says automatically.

"I will NOT be spoken to like that!" Astrototh says petulantly.

"Do you want to be my running mate or not?"  Trump demands.

"Well...ooookaayyy..." the deep voice says.

"And you can't sit there like some...planet, you have to be smaller!" Trump complains.

There is a popping noise and a giant eyeball, attached to a human sized body, appears.

"Will this do?" Astrototh says (no mean feat since he has no mouth).

"Better..." Trump admits.  Then he adds "You're fired!"

"Again?" Astrototh begins, but Trump cuts him off.

"Siddown!" Astrototh quickly sits down in Harry's abandoned chair.

"Now, here is what we'll do..." Trump begins.  The other two gather in closer.

* * *

Hillary meets with her campaign manager and Shub-Niggarath in one of the meeting rooms.

Hillary marches up to the table and sits down.  Her campaign manager (whose name was Sidney) also sits down, perhaps less forth-rightly.  Shub-Niggarath oozes shyly in the background.

"OK, you're evil, but are you evil enough?" Hillary demands.

Shub-Niggarath slimes uncertainly up to the desk. "Sure..." its voice sounds less than certain.

"Are we sure about this guy?!!"  Hillary demands of Sidney.

"He...it was the best we could do on short notice," he nods at Shub.

"I AM evil enough!!" Shub-Niggarath bellows.

"How come Donald gets the first stringers?"  Hillary drops her face into her hands.

"AM too!" Shub-Niggarath, bellows more hesitantly.

"What about this Kool-aide character?"  Hillary asks, looking up.

"You mean Great Cha-Chew?" Shub-Niggarath cuts in.

"Whoever," Hillary says disgustedly.

"He's an armature." Shub-Niggarath says.

"His polls are pretty bad," Sidney looks at some papers.

Hillary glances up.

"He means good," Shub-Niggarath corrects helpfully.

Hillary glances at Sidney again.  He nods.

"You're welcome," Shub-Niggarath says petulantly.

"He's also got some sort of computer genius on his side," Sidney looks at some more papers.

"Do you mean social media?" Hillary asks.

"No.  Some sort of programmer." Sidney is reading something.  "By the name of...Dolt."

"I thought you said he was smart," Shub-Niggarath interrupts.

"He is, it's just his name is...WHY am I even explaining myself to you?!!"  Sidney glares angrily at the looming Shub-Niggarath, who oozes back.

"Sorry," the hulking monstrosity says in a tiny voice.

"His name is Dolt."  Sidney says through gritted teeth.

"So what about him?" Hillary demands.

"He..is...very...good...with...computers."  Sidney says.

"I thought you..." Shub-Niggarath starts, but be he is silenced by a glare from Sidney.

"Well, here is what we're going to do..." Announces Hillary.  Sidney and Sub-Niggarath gather in closer.

* * *

"He's using dead people's vote!" DOLT told GC excitedly.

"We'll show him!"  GC rejoins.

At that moment, a rotted hand groped through the dirt of James William's grave.

* * *

"Name, sir?" asks a harried election official.

"Uahhhhh...." replies the corpse in front of him.

"Is that with a silent u?" he asks looking at a printout.

"He means James Williams," says a looming, red robed figure.

"At the Heather Gardens polling station, it is a scene from a zombie movie as the undead have descended to vote," a newscaster outside reports excitedly.

The scene switches to the image of a zombie which expostulates: "Braaaaaains...." The caption read 'James Williams.'

"According to exit polls, the undead are voting overwhelmingly for Great Cha-Chew!"

The picture switches back to James who comments: "Uaaaaaaahhhh."

"Mr. Williams would not elaborate."

The dead are in line, along with the living.  In fact, aside from, or perhaps because of, the clumps of earth and dried blood they look a lot like the locals.

The picture switches to corpulent, goatee'd young man.  The caption read James Harvey.

"I think, right, I think the dead should be allowed to vote.  I mean, freedom of expression is what this country is all about, doncherknow..."

The picture switches again to a 30-something bespectacled man, captioned reads Kevin Williams (no relation).

"I don't think they shouldn't be allowed to vote.  I mean they're always shuffling about and moaning 'Braaaains!'  We already have enough people ignorant of the issues!"

Just then, a pack of zombies drags Kevin to the ground and devours him.  When they finish, they look at his friend, next in line.

"Well, I think they should be allowed to vote!" his friend says hurriedly.  The zombies pat him, one of them leaving a few moldering fingers on his shoulder, and move on to the next voter in line.

* * *

"Abortions for everyone!" GC says at a rally.  The crowd boos.

"Very well, abortions for no one!" The crowd boos again.

"Alright, abortions for some and little American flags for the rest?"  GC asks.  The crowd cheers.  GC beams.

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