Randy Goes Down on the Farm!

 By:
randy gillis

 

So, I’m sitting at my assigned desk, going through a new stack of Hillary video captures, and organizing them by the degree of hideousness of her expressions, from simply ‘unfortunate,’ to ‘dear God, how’d that happen?’ before I started my day of meme making, when suddenly, it hit me.  How did THIS happen??

I’ll tell you how it happened.  I’m a dreamer and this is what happens to dreamers.  All I wanted was to live in a better world.  A world where people respected their obligations to a society and the society respected its obligations to its people.  Is that too much to ask?

Anyway, I saw the ad on Facebook and figured it was totally legit.

The sound of a clammy hand coming down on my desk jarred me back to my new reality.  It was my shift supervisor, Stanislav.  He was the third person I blew here in the hopes of gaining assistance in escaping.  After him, I realized I was just being used, which normally I’m okay with, but now it suddenly irritated me.

Stanislav picked up the stack of video captures and grunted, “These quality, no good,” in an accent I was trying desperately not to find smoking hot.  “Well,” I huffed.  “You’ll have to take that up with the photoshop department.”  He picked up the images and stormed away, pausing briefly to look back at me over his broad shoulder.  “See you in break room?” he sheepishly asked.  “Okay,” I surrendered, “but this is the last time.”  His smile practically curled around his left ear as he continued to the photoshop department.  There’s nothing hotter than a bottom who doesn’t know he’s a bottom yet.

When I first arrived here, they tested me to see where I would be of most use.  They asked me what I thought of the 3 branches of American government, so naturally, I wound up in the snarky memes division of the propaganda department with rather forceful instructions to re-channel some of that bitterness to a more ‘appropriate’ target, with a ‘greater goal’ in mind.  That, or I could choose an option lifted right out of SAW VI. 

So, I did what I had to do.  To survive.

The morning conference with Stanislav and my fellow propagandists was going per usual for a Monday.  Blah, blah, blah…more Jesus, more flags, more football….blah, blah, blah.  Then, unexpectedly, Stanislav announces the new propagandist of the month.  Yours truly.  I can’t say I was surprised.  After all, I was the one who coined the phrase “HIGH-LEVEL sources close to the (Clinton, Sanders, Trump) campaign suggest…..”.  Before we knew it, FOX ‘journalists’ and pundits were using that line more than “Crooked Hillary.”  I was able to snatch the title from the bitter Lithuanian queen who came up with “alternative facts.”

I was also the one who created the rumor that Hillary was running an illegal abortion clinic to supply fetuses for Satanic rituals (funded by the Clinton Foundation) out of a basement of a locally owned Domino’s.  Stanislav thought it was too much, and that maybe this was my attempt to contact help using code (he has total contempt for Americans, but he didn’t think they were stupid), but when it went viral in Alabama, he changed his tune.  That, and I’m also blowing him on a regular basis.  Either way, I earned it.

Monday afternoons on the farm can drag on forever.  I was sitting there, tapping my pencil on the pad on my desk, trying to think of words that rhyme with ‘Biden,’ and wondering how I’ll be punished for refusing to join the ‘Hannity’project.  Because there’s just so much soul I can afford to lose, when I suddenly heard a commotion from down the hall.  Men screaming, furniture breaking, and a very familiar woman’s growl.

I look over and, standing in the doorway was……Patricia!  My lesbian ex-wife!  In all her military glory.  And just like the terminator, she had zero kills but left a bevy of busted knees in her wake. 

I jumped from my chair and leapt into her arms like Ana Pavlova.  I was covering her face with butterfly kisses when, with a stern, disappointed tone she said, “a Russian troll farm?  Really Randy?”  I bowed my head in embarrassment and tried to explain.  “The ad promised a new life for the disillusioned,” I mumbled.  “I was trying to go organic.  I thought trolls were a root vegetable.”  She thought about it for a moment.  “Well,” she conceded, “that’s metaphorically true, I suppose.”

 

I embraced her again, ecstatic that freedom was so close.  “I just knew you would figure out the codes I planted in the memes I created,” I said.  She laughed.  “It was so cute that you put a tiny border around your memes with the words ‘Illary-Hay Orever-Fay, followed by your exact coordinates.”   “I didn’t put coordinates in there,” I said, confused.  Patricia patted my cheek.  “Sweetie, I had you microchipped after our second date.” 

As I processed this she grabbed my hand and lead me to the door.  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.  I paused.  “Oh, um, say, could you come back and get me after my afternoon break?  Stanislav is about to learn something new about himself….with my help.”