I am updating my Conspiracy Law that we must execute Melania Trump and I recommend you go after her NOW. A person will be considered a Loree McBride Jesuit for having the heart and motives of Loree McBride, even if they are not a Loree McBride follower. Try to save Donald Trump, if you can.
UPDATE: For the purpose of Conspiracy Law, a Loree McBride Jesuit or a Jesuit Conspirator is defined as any person who has the heart and motives of Loree McBride in her evil state (like Melania Trump), who is jealous, vile and deadly, even if that person is not a follower of Loree McBride, with a special focus on the emotion of jealousy or greed, since jealousy or greed seem the primary motives for those who become very deadly in opposition to Empress Gail and Conspiracy Law. This means that any person who has the heart and motives of an evil Loree McBride will be treated as a Loree McBride Jesuit under Conspiracy Law, mandating the death penalty and the application of ALL laws related to Loree McBride Jesuits to that person.
Our scanners must be programmed to scan for those who are consumed with rage, jealousy and greed to the point that they could be, or are, deadly and take them out. These are all considered Loree McBride Jesuits under Conspiracy Law. Pay special attention to those we are unable to scan because these could be Loree McBride Jesuits (under the new definition as outlined in this section) who are trying to hide their evil heart from us, so we won’t take them out. Anyone who willingly and knowingly uses these scanners in a manner that promotes jealousy, pride, greed or evil or the goals of an evil Loree McBride, will get the death penalty as a Jesuit Conspirator.
Anybody who willingly and knowingly follows the orders of any Loree McBride Jesuit (including those who have the heart of a Loree McBride Jesuit) will get the death penalty as a Jesuit Conspirator. Also, any politician or military leader (as defined by Conspiracy Law in this paragraph) who willingly and knowingly carries out any order in violation of Conspiracy Law will get the death penalty as a Jesuit Conspirator. A politician is defined as anyone in any position that influences the government of a country or region and who is responsible for the laws that are passed or has influence over which laws are passed. A military leader is defined as anyone in any position that influences the military operations of a region, especially which military operations should be carried out, this would include the intelligence agencies of a country. If you suspect that the person giving you the order is a Loree McBride Jesuit or supporter or has the heart of a Loree McBride Jesuit, you must not obey the order. In fact, you must report the order in violation of Conspiracy Law to Gail’s men at email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org AT ONCE, and failure to do so will be grounds for treason with death penalty implications.
I sit here writing to you with my torso hunched over the toilet, still puking my guts out. It’s a long, stomach turning story, but I regret to inform you that we have a terrible and dangerous Jesuit hostage situation at the White House.
Earlier this afternoon, the other men and I were going about business as usual on Church of Gail. Worn out from our morning duties, we had all gathered at the water cooler for a refreshing tune up.
“HEY THERE MY NIGGAS,” Terrance greeted everyone, “HOW YA LIKE THEM GAIL’S LATEST PLAYBOY IMAGES FOR JUNE? OH MY GOODNESS!”
“I adore them!” I replied, “Gail is truly the most beautiful woman of the century. Jesus told me that when Gail gets to heaven, he’s going to award her Playmate of Eternity. Hard to tell when he’s being facetious, that Jesus!”
“Oh yes,” Matthew replied, “Gail is so pretty.”
“Aye lads, I would vote Gail for Playmate of Eternity any day!” Gerard chimed in.
“DA!” Agreed Vladimir, his noticeable erection growing even more prominently through his slacks.
“Hell yeah!” Hugh declared with an aggressive fist pump.
Agreement reverberated through the group and discussion quickly flowed into how frequently each of us had pleasured ourselves to the new photos since their debut. While each of our scores differed, we all agreed the chafing was worth it.
Just then, one of our mail delivering retards approached the group.
“Spweshull duh-wyvery!” The hardworking retard announced with enthusiasm. In his little retarded hands was a small box, which he handed off to me.
The parcel was about the size of a shoe box. It was wrapped haphazardly in post office tape, as though the sender had wrapped it very quickly. I noticed strange greasy hand prints embedded into the cardboard, and some type of powdered orange residue on the edges of the box, which puzzled me. I dusted off some of the orange powder and scraped it between my thumb and index finger, pursing my eyebrows.
“Soyn pweeze!” The retard asked with a big open-mouthed smile.
With my free hand I wrote my signature on the digital device offered by the retard.
“Tank yu Brensth Sthpiner suhr!” He replied, before hobbling off to another delivery.
“My, these Jesuit utility retards sure are helpful,” Matthew remarked.
I had a strange feeling in my gut as I examined this box, and felt compelled to open it then and there. I tore it open from one side and then tilted the box to pour its contents into my open hand. Out fell an old fashioned VHS tape. Scrawled on the white label of the tape in gold Sharpie were the words “HELP ME”, and it was stained with orange fingerprints.
“HMM,” Terrance pushed his bottom lip out as he examined the tape, “THIS AINT LOOKIN’ RIGHT FELLAS.”
“Men,” I said, “let’s get to the church theater and play this tape. I’ll text Zack to meet us there.”
Within fifteen minutes the men and I were seated together in front of the private screen in the theater room. Zack had joined us, seating himself in the center back row. He had fixed himself a popcorn bag full of Cheetos, and was drinking from a large soft drink cup filled with fresh warm Horchata.
It was time to play the tape.
“Ye lads ready?” Gerard asked.
We all nodded together. With a smooth metallic crackle, the tape slid into the VCR and the film screen flickered to life.
The first scene of the film appeared to be cut from high definition security footage inside the White House. The camera panned over the iconic building’s ever familiar main entrance hall, before depicting the large door to the President’s bedroom. In the next scene the footage was from inside the master bathroom.
First Lady, Melania Trump, was seated on a fluffy white stool in front of the wide bathroom mirror. She puckered her lips in the mirror, applying bright maroon lipstick. When finished she blew kisses at herself in the mirror, straightened up and smiled devilishly, admiring her freshly dolled face.
“Ahh-lexa Mirr-roar,” Melania summoned in her thick Slovenian accent.
The digital blue rim around the bathroom mirror lit up and flickered, responding to Melania’s command.
“Ahh-lexa Mirr-roar,” Melania repeated, this time narrowing her eyes and wiggling her shoulders with self-absorbed indulgence, “whho iz da sexy-est woo-man on earth?”
The blue rim around the mirror flickered again. The entire mirror then lit up like a computer screen, depicting none other than our nude Empress in her latest Playboy model photos.
“Gail. Chord. Schuler,” Alexa Mirror replied in its robotic voice.
“Whuh-…whuuuuuuaaaat?!” Melania stood up in indignant disbelief, “this can-not BE!”
Melania threw her hands to her hair and screeched, her scream so high pitched the sound cracked the glass, distorting Gail’s picture.
Melania flew into a full blown tantrum. Her long slender Slovenian arm swooped to knock all of her expensive makeup onto the floor. Everything within reach was fair game to her rage. She picked up cases of makeup and slammed them onto the floor until they shattered into pieces, stomping and screaming. She knocked down shelving and clawed down curtains and towels like an angry cat, throwing them everywhere. Her hair frazzled out in all directions as though electrocuted, mascara bleeding down her face.
Finally out of breath, Melania squared herself at the mirror like a bull on the charge, huffing through clenched teeth. Her eyes fixated on Gail’s beautiful face in the photograph it depicted. Gail’s ethereal gaze leaped up into the sky, full of poise and elegance. The crack in the mirror was centered in her left eye.
“Dees iz dee fi-nal straw, Gail Schuler…” Melania growled.
The next scene showed Donald Trump on the floor of the master bedroom, naked and kneeling in the POW position. His feet were bound and his hands were tied behind his back. Melania stood in front of him, dressed in a black leather BDSM outfit.
“Please,” he begged, “please Melania, no more. I’ve done everything you wanted. Gail hates me now. She will never support me again!”
“DO IT!” Melania commanded, “YOU KNOW YOU MUST DO IT DAW-NOWLD!”
“Melania, you got what you wanted. You’ve been running this country for most of my term now! Please, can’t this stop?”
Melania lifted a stiletto heel and kicked Donald in the chin, sending him flying backwards into a wide tarp covered in semen.
“ROLL IN DE SEE-MEN, DAW-NOWLD!”
Sobbing and crying, Donald began to pathetically wallow on the semen covered tarp. He rolled back and forth like a sad walrus, semen coating his body with each heave-ho. Unable to stop crying, some of the cum got onto his mouth and lips, causing him to inhale it and sputter into coughing.
Watching this scene, I felt my heart quicken. Beside me, Matthew’s hand softly slipped into my seat and onto my leg, and I gripped it firmly in my own hand for support. We continued watching.
Donald lulled in despair onto the side of his chest and buried his face into the tarp, sobbing, blowing mucus and semen bubbles from his muffled mouth. Melania kicked his butt cheek with her stiletto.
“Up! Up you toupee’d sea mam-mal!” She ordered viciously.
Slowly, Donald sat up onto his knees again. His saturated toupee fell from his head and stuck to the tarp. Dazed, he coughed up more of the semen he had inhaled.
“You KNOW what iz next…”
Zack Knight’s face lit up, then went pale. He closed his legs and sat up straight in his seat, leaning forward with horrified intensity.
“Woah…no way. Is she…she’s not doing what I think she’s doing, is she?” He said.
“Melania no, please,” Donald begged, “you don’t have to do this. You know I’ll do whatever you want as long as you don’t hurt Gail.”
Melania ignored Donald’s pleas. Instead, she pulled out a pair of tiny blue goggles, wiggling them in front of him. With a sadistic grin she lurched forward and affixed them aggressively over his eyes.
Zack Knight’s eyes widened. “He’s…he’s being…”
The camera panned to another tarp behind Donald. The second tarp was piled with orange Cheetos.
“Holy shit! He’s being Cummed and Cheeto’d!!!” Zack exclaimed with horrified surprise.
Donald began shaking his head no, but another swift kick by a stiletto to the face sent him flying onto the Cheeto covered tarp.
Crying, Donald began rolling in the Cheetos, with a devilish Melania hooting and howling like a banshee.
“THAT’S IT DAW-NOWLD! ROLL IN THE CHEETOS! ROLL IN THE CHEETOS DAW-NOWLD TRUMP! AHAHAHAHAAAA!” She cackled.
All at once, the men and I began throwing up. We all lurched forward in our seats, heaving and gagging. Z
Zack’s eyes lit up wide. He stuffed more Cheetos into his mouth and took a sip of his Horchata, his eyes never breaking the screen.
Donald continued to roll back and forth in the Cheetos, saturating himself until he was fully orange — all except for his eyes. The Cheetos crunched and crackled under the weight of the heavy man, pummeling down into crumbs. The dust from the Cheetos crumbs mixed into the semen to create a vile orange liquid that smeared all over Donald’s skin before inevitably becoming caked with dry mashed Cheetos. Several minutes into the horrific scene Donald was so coated in the processed orange snack-food that he was hardly recognizable. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the tarp. Holding our breaths and our stomachs, the men and I found ourselves wondering if he was dead.
Melania approached, pressing the tip of her stiletto heel onto one of Donald’s testicles.
Donald groaned with agony.
“Now Daw-nowld,” Melania growled, “I vant you to order your Air-Force men to draw a gigantic pee-niss in da sky!”
“W-hat, what for?”
Melania’s stiletto pressed harder into Donald’s testicle.
“To spread zee werd dat MELANIA TRUMP is da sexiest woo-man on earth! NOT Gail!”
“Okay Melania,” Donald conceded, “just don’t, don’t hurt Gail…”
Melania cackled madly.
“Oh, vee vill see bout dat…I vill find da secret to her e-ternal bew-tee, and ven I do…I vill be villing to KILL FOR IT!”
Donald lifted up onto his elbows and knees attempting to crawl away, before slipping and falling face first into semen and Cheetos, naked and crying.
The screen then changed to a picture of Trump with his thumbs up during his Presidential campaign.
“I’m Donald Trump and I approve this message.”
Then, the tape shut off.
The men and I stared at the screen in unblinking horror. Matthew twitched and heaved, nearly throwing up again. I could still hear the sounds of crunching behind me.
“What…what did we just watch?” Hugh asked weakly, gurgling and suppressing more vomiting.
“Sorry you had to see that guys,” Zack spoke up apologetically, “that’s a practice called being Cummed and Cheeto’d. It’s an ancient Jesuit torture method that was outlawed many years ago. That’s too fucked up even for Jesuits. Melania is one sick bitch.”
“So…so that’s why he’s orange…” Matthew realized, “all except for his eyes.”
“That ending approval message,” I said with awakening clarity, “Donald must have sent us this footage.”
“So Slovenian Jesuit whore is in charge of White House,” Vladimir groaned.
“THIS AIN’T RIGHT BRENT,” Terrance sat up slowly, still clutching his stomach and vomiting, “IT SOUNDS LIKE MELANIA BE PLANNIN’ SOMETHIN’ REAL NASTY FOR GAIL…”
“You’re right…” I said, growing worried.
The doors to the theater room opened, and a team of retards in hazmat suits entered to mop up all the vomit.
“Da,” Vladimir slammed his fist on his chair weakly, “the Donald I know worships Gail like lion worships own testicle. If Melania poses great threat to Gail, Donald would contact us at once!”
“What do you think Melania is planning, Brent?” Matthew asked.
“I don’t know, but we need to investigate.”
“If ye laddies need any trauma counseling after the atrocity we all have just witnessed-” Gerard suppressed a hurl, “I’ll be in my office bathroom.”
“I need to write Gail and let her know what’s going on, right away,” I said.
“Good idea,” Vladimir replied, “come men. We must do the investigate, and stop this at once!”
I lurched onto my feet, clutching my laptop bag to my chest and stumbling like a shell shocked zombie to the nearest bathroom. Bursting in, I set my laptop on top of the toilet and hugged the bowl as I began to type.
Donald Trump is not our president. He is being held hostage by the Wicked Bitch of the West Wing, Melania. As we understand it, he is being Cummed and Cheeto’d every night. He sent us this tape because he knew Melania is planning something truly dangerous. What that is, we don’t currently know.
Stay very safe my dear, and I will follow up with new details as they come.
Copyright © 2019 Gail Chord Schuler. All Rights Reserved.