Ed: This should have gone up before the election, but I didn’t notice it was pending review. In any event, it’s still an awesome and amusing short story written by Alec about what things might have been like for us in the near future had the election gone the other way.
“Mister President, count back from a hundred for me,” said the fat woman. “One hundred,” said the fat man, “ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety.”
John McCain had a number of severe health problems, all aggravated by his experience as a prisoner of war for the bulk of the conflict in Vietnam. Downed after his twenty-third bombardment mission against North Vietnam, he could do little but cheer as Nixon, elected on the promise to end the war honorably, stepped up the bombardment of Vietnam, extending it quietly to Cambodia.
Some wiseass knew they could count on her when the old man went under, and it hadn’t been fifteen minutes before Belya Revolutsiya had sent out texts to all of its members. The leak, who would remain anonymous to history, honestly thought something good would come of this; that freedom would be spread and the Bear’s iron heel caught in a steel trap.
John McCain’s chest had been punctured and trocarred and inflated. He would be unconscious for two and a half hours; the medication was supposed to last eight. It was 10:15 PM in Scottsdale and the weather had been getting balmier by the year, so it was just barely too warm to frost your breath.
In April 1975, as John McCain was finally recovering from his failed military career and his dreary civilian life and wife, a short man with surreal ideas who called himself Politique Potentielle marched under the blessing of the People’s Republic of China – sworn enemy of the USSR and its client North Vietnam, and sometime bedfellow of the United States – into Phnom Penh, a city of two and a half million souls with a history longer than that of much of Europe. He then ordered every man, woman, and child to leave.
It was fifteen minutes past midnight in Washington and Sarah Palin was wide awake, later than she liked to be but today she had to sit in the hot seat. Of course, her official duties were ostensibly very important, but Dave and Condi were probably going to be calling any shots that needed to be called.
The President, who was in the process of making a booty-call to the Marriott in which Todd Palin was sleeping, only half-noticed the phone ringing in the other room. It rang three times before being picked up.
It was 7:20 AM in Minsk, too early in the year for that to mean daylight, and a car had just exploded in front of the Serbian embassy, killing two dozen people and injuring scores more. The land-lines were buzzing in every direction; the mobile phones were even more wildly active. At 8:40 local time, orders from Moscow had every cellular tower and satellite under its control shut down as an emergency measure.
The Prime Minister’s intern was finishing the Serbian government’s mourning expression of sorrow and vow to spare no effort with the Belarussian government to bring the perpetrators to justice when, at around 6:32 AM local time, a commotion broke out in the phone room.