Synopsis
Inhabitants of the wealthiest government in the land, these weak-hole warriors were sick and tired of being shamed. They were sick and tired of being blamed by the sick and tired, for the state of the sick and tired. They were disgusted with the world as they knew it. Green food coloring dye #2443644 jealousy pumps through their veins. They wanted the homeland to be more like the suburban paradise of the Affiliated States United Under Freedom; with their big fucking electric fence protecting them from the depravity and filth. Clintrumpians are afraid. It’s bad enough that Rosie The Baby Killer wreaks havoc upon their whitewashed streets, regularly. But she’s a woman, and she’s a brown woman. She’s a “Bitch” and she’s a “Witch”; a “Menace”; the fucking “Antichrist I tell you”. They posse up with pitchforks and baseball bats, torches and pipe-bombs, Acks Body Spray Flamethrowers. The white boys are feeling froggy. The mob-scène migrated from all over the small country to the eastern-central shoreline, where Rosie had been last reported at in the MEMEZ. Roughly 675 pissed-off trust fund yuppies march in the streets. “You will not replace us!” they chant along with other varying cries of bratty gripes. The police ended up serving as an escort service to the lynch-mob, once the slightest hint of a counter-protest amongst the locals was detected. One of those weird-ass-cube-cars comes flying; slamming into the asphalt and mowing down several dozen of the lynchers. A small stream of blood puddles in the street. Rosie the Baby Killer turns the corner and confronts the angry bastards. “Are you guys saying, ‘Jews will not replace us’?” Rosie asks the men, hardly phased to the fact that she just killed so many, and that the rest haven’t run away yet. “Yes!”, an older gentleman in the back shouted. Rosie looked at them perplexed for a moment. “I`~ (um, oh) … Ah, I’m not Jewish. Not even a little bit.”, Rosie said with a slightly over emphasized Latina accent. The Police captain in the front became noticeably frustrated with the miscommunication. “YOU! We’re saying YOU will not replace us! I’m not saying Jews will replace us either, but it’s YOU specifically. You will not replace us!” the cop yells. “I was saying Jews!” the old man in the back reiterated. “But what the fuck does that even mean?” Rosie asks. People rarely wait for an explanation these days. They certainly weren’t ready to offer one up. “Fire at will!” the captain yells. The police open fire. Thirty-six sweaty, angry men with bad haircuts, and shoulder chips on their dog collars, fire their weapons without hesitation. Rosie the Baby Killer’s knee-jerk-kitty-cat-reflexes fire off a sonic boom that ricochets the bullets back into the crowd, knocking everybody off their feet, killing three and injuring six. “I swear to crust, you Godless fucks, I’ll kill your babies! I’ll kill ALL your babies!” Rosie shouted at the angry white men, whom were just moments earlier, acting very tough. Rosie the Baby Killer has never in her life, killed a baby. She loved the pseudonym nonetheless. “Get the fuck out of our country, bitch!” a man with a math-teacher-haircut shouted from the back. “Terrorist! Witch! Whore!” the discombobulated men shouted as they regrouped. Rosie steps forward at her anarchojury. Rosie did not think of herself as a “whore”, nor should she have reason to. It hurt, and it pissed her off. She may, (by certain loose definitions of the words) be a “terrorist”, and yes, sure a “witch”; but the young woman was far too misanthropic to be a whore, by any implication of the word. What a presumptuous thing to say about Rosie the Baby Killer. She figures, she’d never asked anybody to exist in the first place; let alone to exist as a fucking weapon, on a continent that would loath her all-the-same; because of the color of her skin; and because she’s always jacking cough syrup.
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