Barack Obama’s Head in a Jar: Deep in the African Congo

 

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What the Jesuit-controlled news media doesn’t want you to know, the truth about their murder of President Barack Obama on March 31, 2012. To honor a great President, this story was released on the two-year anniversary of the real Barack Obama’s death in March 2014. Jesus has replaced the real Barack Obama, who is now in heaven, with his automaton. An automaton is very similiar to an android. This story explains exactly how and when the real Barack Obama died.

The small book features Gail’s drawings of major players in her life. The true story is below (without pictures).

At Amazon’s Create Space, and at Amazon Kindle and as paperback at amazon.com. Can also read the story below.


DEEP IN THE AFRICAN CONGO

Barack Obama’s Head in a Jar 

by 

Gabrielle Chana

Vladimir Putin clutched the sides of his chair for support and eased himself down, sinking into the chair. His shoulders slumped. He looked at Gerard, his psychiatrist. Past the circles underneath his eyes, his gaze stumbled into another world.

Gerard Butler, the Scottish actor, looked upon him with caring and concern. Lifting a glass of vodka, he offered it to Vladimir, who reached for it, hand trembling. Vladimir dropped his hand to his lap, and slunk the hand down to his side. “Thank you. I already have vodka today. So, I don’t need now.”

“So, Vladimir,” Gerard’s eyes flowed toward Vladimir, bathing him with empathy. “Tell me what happened to Barack Obama.”

Vladimir leaned back in his chair, spread his legs, and bowed his head. “It started when I celebrate victory, because I kill that bitch Loree McBride, after Moscow skyscraper fire she did to us. She kill two of my comrades.” He bowed his head, silent. “I lose my erect.” His face went stone cold. “I so happy to judo chop that bitch.”

So bad ass Vladimir killed the bitch, Loree McBride. Of course, he knew she had many clones. But at least he got this one. A victory for him, because this bitch always tried to kill Gail and the men who loved her. To see his two comrades devoured by Loree’s fire, burst his heart. Loree’s flame thrower singed his pubic hairs, scalding him. He knew his life would whirl away, if he didn’t scramble to survive. So his men got his signal, and teleported him to Church of Gail. Others, left behind, scrambled and smothered the fire.

He strode down the hall at Church of Gail, and felt his erection for Gail return, and knew he’d be alright. He closed the door over his heart, and clamped his feelings, to remain strong and manly against avalanches that drowned him day after day.

At the bridge, he arrived, joining in with his dearest friends on earth now; the men who, like himself, loved Gail. To them, he raised his vodka glass.

They were in the trenches with him. They were his comrades in the war against the Jesuit Order, the organization that schemed every minute to destroy the woman he’d die for, Catherine the Great and king David, the love of his life—Gail.

By enthroning her in his heart, he felt the awe needed to take on Goliath, to keep breathing, to keep living, so he could be a human being again. “You should have seen the look on that bitch face, when I judo chop her.” Vladimir laughed, and raised his vodka glass. “I kill her. I get my erect back.”

Hugh Jackman and Matthew McConaughey laughed, both raising their glasses with his, and the glasses met with a click.

Matthew laughed. “Hey, that’s pretty bad ass there, Vlad. That Loree’s like Camila. Wish I knew how to do judo chops.”

“Yeah, man. Wish I could have seen that!” said Hugh Jackman, a big grin overcoming his face.

Vladimir’s phone rang. “Shit,” he said. “Hello?” Vladimir’s face fell. He jumped to his laptop and viewed the latest video from Gail’s YouTube channel. Here inside Church of Gail, he could lay his guard down for a moment. But now, he rocked back and forth in his chair, wheeling the laptop towards him, leaning his head forward.

Hugh Jackman jumped to the computer alongside Vladimir. In Gail’s YouTube video, a woman left a message on Gail’s phone.

“Gail, I need your help.” She seemed as if she scraped in the dark. “I was passed your number by a confidante. I just came to this secret compound. They were training us all to be Jesuit seductresses.” Her fingers seemed to be sliding off the edge, ready to fall. “We were given constant semen enemas.” It seemed the noose was tightening around her neck.

This could be a genuine Jesuit defector, and not a trick. But Vladimir could never be sure.

March 30, 2012:

“It was terrible. I think it’s done something to me,” she said. “I need help!” The next words came quickly as if she saw somebody coming towards her. “I have to go!

Using the signal from the phone call, Vladimir determined the call came from deep within the African Congo. Hugh had been training an all robot army. Both decided to stuff the robots onto Vladimir’s supersonic jet, which could travel from Church of Gail to any location on earth within minutes.

After landing in the torrid jungle, they trekked through it for a day, following the signal, hearing the buzz of the forest, and feeling the slithers of the vines and branches, ignoring the mosquitoes. The compound came into view. Then the signal died, as if expecting them. “This no good, Hugh,” Vladimir said. “They are expecting us.”

March 31, 2012:

Suddenly, an all woman Jesuit army materialized in front of them, blocking the way to the compound. Hugh unleashed his robot army onto the woman army, but these women fought like gladiators. “Shit.” Vladimir spit on the earth. “I hate to fight women. These women like bull dogs.”

Lasers went back and forth and swishing sounds lacerated the air. Vladimir and Hugh were forced to retreat. With the dead signal, he wasn’t even sure if the Jesuit defector still breathed. “This is trap. They only use that phone call to lure us here!” Vladimir judo chopped some of the women, but two men against an all Jesuit army, he was outnumbered. He did not expect an army, but rather a woman held hostage.

Hugh was out of breath, his muscles quivering against the blasts in the air. “The robots can’t hold them with hand to hand combat. We’re greatly outnumbered. Let’s try some bombs.” The heat and battle famished them with thirst, but laser blasts and bombs lacerated the ground, almost annihilating them. After hours, they broke through. The bombs knocked down thousands of women and Hugh and Vladimir scurried into the compound. They saw in the distance, on a table, a head inside a jar. The head was alive.

Hugh coordinated his robots, they could not let up or they’d have to retreat again.

Vladimir stopped dead in his tracks, the blood rushed from his face.

With blood-filled tubes to his neck, the head belonged to American President Barack Obama.

“Oh, Barack Obama!” Vladimir cried. “My black friend! What has happened to you?”

The face on the head had no expression, as if it accepted its fate. “I’ve been like this for days. It looks worse than it feels.” Barack had a blank stare. “It’s strange. I can feel my fingers. But when I look, they’re not there.” Barack’s face became a stone. “I hate being trapped inside this head and having no control over my body.”

More shots blasted through the air. Missiles whirled past Vladimir. He jumped, evading the onslaught. “Maybe we can save you. Maybe we can find a way to create a body for your bottom half.” Vladimir wailed, but the fury about him and the whirling gunfire, stopped the tears. His face froze. This was war. When the rage was over, he could be a human being again.

“No, Vlad,” Barack said. “I want to die.”

“How you get here?” Vladimir asked.

“One of my secret service agents betrayed me to the Jesuits.” Barack’s eyes looked sad.

“But, you my friend. I can’t kill my friend.” Vladimir managed a sniffle. “We can make bottom half for you. You can feel fingers, so you not dead.”

Hugh yelled at Vladimir. “Hey, Vladimir. Whatever you decide, decide fast. I can’t hold off this army much longer, or we’ll all be dead.”

The all woman army rushed into the compound and surrounded them like cobras ready to strike. Vladimir reached for Barack Obama’s head, a force field repelled his hand. He flipped open his scanner and aimed toward the barrier. His scientists broke the news. Only a nuclear bomb would dissolve the barrier.

His hands went to his face. He stared at Barack. “Barack Obama, my friend. I cannot have your head unless I use nuke to break force field around your head.”

“It’s my time to go, Vlad,” Barack said. “I’m ready.”

Vladimir’s heart froze his throat. Words died. He bowed his head in reverence, and gave Barack a salute.

Hugh rushed to Vladimir, out of breath. “We have to do something fast. I can’t hold them off any longer.”

“Have we found the defectors?” Vladimir said.

“Hell, I don’t have a clue!” Hugh said.

Vladimir nodded his head. He shoved back the torrents. His face became a stone. “Okay, we nuke compound. This is only way to free Barack Obama.” Vladimir paused in prayer, searching his heart. What would I want me to do, if I was Barack? “Yes, we nuke.”

I have been a widower, he thought. He remembered how he felt when his wife Larisa died. Now Michelle Obama will be a widow.

Vladimir thrust himself into a decision. Both he and Hugh dematerialized and rematerialized onto the supersonic jet. An experienced pilot, he whirled the jet over the compound and dropped the bomb.

All turned white around them. The mushroom cloud soared higher and higher below them, as they whirled away to Church of Gail.

Vladimir trod onto the main bridge at Church of Gail and met his comrades, Matthew McConaughey, Judge Terrance Jenkins, Gerard Butler, Brent Spiner, and others. He plopped into a chair at the bridge and bowed his head. It was nice to breathe cool air, after the sweltering jungle.

He stood, raised his vodka glass. The others joined him. He dumped his vodka onto the cold panel floor. “For Barack Obama.”

His face, a stone, he headed for his psychiatrist Gerard Butler, and told him this story.

“Vladimir,” Gerard said. “You want to talk about how you feel about this?”

The phone rang. He placed the receiver on his ear. Vladimir scowled. “Shit. A Jesuit car is trying to run Gail off the road. Good bye, I must go.”

He sighed, stomped his foot over his heart, ignored the torrents. He recalled how Gail thrilled him in bed in their last brain to brain encounter. Courage infused his heart. He closed his eyes.

He took off, strong and resolute for his woman.

 

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