[ WP ] After you are elected President , you discover a big red button hidden in your desk in the Oval Office . When you ask your predecessor about it , he said that it had been there for decades , but the secret of what it did died with Kennedy . After a few years , you finally give in and push the button .

I never got to know what that button's supposed to do. The red, glaring, oval thing just glares at me like my ex-wifes clitoris, and I'm getting the same vibes that I did after my schools inept sex-ed. You know, the feeling that you absolutely do not know what to fucking do with it. 
 
 Whatever you do, do n't touch the button. Whatever you do, do n't touch the button. A mantra. Mantra of someone who fucking cares. I'm the president of the united states of fucking America, I have suicidal tendencies on my ear and in my head and the world be damned it's better to burn out than fade away. That fucking dickhead cumsquat cuntshunting fucknuts of a viceprez may have managed to halt my attempts at getting the sole control of our nuclear missiles ( that'd be a mass suicide to make the Finns shudder in envy ) god damned president-emasculating son of a, a, a, fuck it. The world be damned. 
 
 “ Please be seated ”, a creepy voiced dressed with a young girls pronunciation creep out from the wall. “ whaa ”, I hear the sounds of wheels and cogs in motions, suddenly the floor moves and a barbershop-chair springs to life, thumping the back of my knees, forcing me into a submissive sitting position. Fucking sitting. Fucking missiles. Fucking vodka-fueled hemorrhoids. “ Information Protocol initiated ”, a helmet drops down from the roof of the fucking oval office and I am almost too drunk to comprehend but fuck it I put it on and my brain gets flooded with information. Not in a cool “ understand this shit ” way, but really fucking flooded. I'm a drunk president with suicidal tendencies and newly found cumstain in my crotch and well I cant comprehend fuck-all except that this button should not be touched and now i'm'bout to receive some magical treatment Alien-DNA-Injection-style and I ask it nicely “ please no needles ”, and it replies ( rather smugly, and I do n't even know how a faux female robot voice can be smug and shit I do n't know I was n't elected on my intellects now was I they did n't do n't still do call me Jihad George just because I have anger issues and can blow the fuck up at any time ) 
 
 Then I feel a fucking draft in my nether regions and suddenly my pants just dissolve and the voice says “ Pants Removal Initiated ” and I start to freak out even though I might enjoy the casual finger up my shitcannon from whichever secretary or secret service agent ( shit I do n't discriminate if its just about my dick getting sucked, i'm the fucking president I cant be hurling discrimination like some monkey with feces or a kid in the kindergarden, bess' believe, I have seen both. ) that just happens to be in the so called “ suck-my-fucking-dick-vicinity ”. I am the president of the united fucking states and it feels like I am about to get raped and before I die I want to make profanity mandatory in every sentence and then some claps spring out and locks me to the chair and I hear some whirling motions ( sounds ) and then I start to scream because something is forcing itself up my ass and well this must be what rape from an inanimate object feels like with the voice and everything that tries to assert assurances as it smoothly repeats “ please stay calm, it will soon be over, please be calm ” and all I can do is scream FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK and then with an audible POPP it gets pulled out and it hurts like hell and something did something and then the voice says “ Alien DNA Enema Completed, Transformation: Instigated ”. And thats when I black out. 
 
 Five days later I wake up in a museum in Germany or Czech or some shit. I look like something... unwanted or an ungeziefer or something. Definitely not an alien, just a fucking monster, but, hey, I can climb walls! And I remember something about my sister visiting and my father denouncing me even though I thought he was dead and I am still locked in this room but at least its well lit and all the objects have small bronze plaques with information on them although my eyesight is getting slowly worse I can still make out the headline “ KAFKA MUSEUM ”.
