Picture this:
Somewhere in the Everlasting Hills of the Great Basin there’s a quiet Walmart easing through another day of unmasked marketing.
Suddenly outside the grocery entrance, a big fat black pickup with big klieglights, an American Flag, a Confederate Flag, and two Trump 2024 flags fluttering in the breeze comes to a speedy halt.
From the back leap a squad of 12 overweight Heet-Packers fully armed with their favorite gun toys. Their camouflaged baseball caps are worn backwards and they are sporting earphones.
The squad leader shouts, “Move Out!”
Inside the store the serenity of the masked marketing is broken as the troopers storm in, each one racing toward one of the assortment of aisles.
The squad leader shouts into his mic “Report!”
As a visual inspection of each aisle is completed shoppers can hear over and over the word “CLEAR!!!”
Suddenly behind the squad leader who is still wearing his wrap-around sun glasses, a sharp elderly giggle breaks the silence. He turns and see’s a 70+ plus grandmother and her eight and ten-year old grandsons standing at a register. Granny points at the squad leader and chuckles, “Feeling swollen eh Big Balls?”
Angry and blushing, the squad leader raises his gun without thinking and fires a quick burst toward the ceiling.
Granny isn’t smiling any more.
Neither are the grandsons who shout to each other, “You locked and loaded Toby?”
“Sure am Buzz!”
“Let’s get that pot-belly skunk!!”
The squad leader screams into his mic.
“Retreat!!! I’m surrounded and they’re armed!!!”
The squad leader lumbers his 5-foot-two 240- pound carcass toward the exit and the waiting multi-flagged pickup.
In hot pursuit are two aroused grandsons, each armed with a small slingshot and a pocket of pinto beans for ammo.
The Saga of Crooked Donald 