Obama Sweeps: The Ruins

Obama Sweeps: The Ruins

By LeoneHaxor

The date was August 5th, 2014 when the call came from the Eighth Continent. Apart from the fact that history had been changed drastically by its appearance, it was an otherwise normal Tuesday in the White House. President Barack Obama was seated at his desk in the Oval Office, silently poring over a personal letter.

“Mister President?”

Obama looked up at the Secret Service agent standing in his doorway. After a brief moment, a flash of recognition shone in his eyes. “Oh, good morning Pamela,” he greeted. “Almost didn’t recognize you with that new hair color. You decided on blonde this time?”

“I stopped dyeing it, sir,” Pamela explained.

“And your natural locks work well for you.” Obama eyed the note in Pamela’s hand, and gestured to it with a palm and a nod. “Although something tells me you didn’t come in here to talk about your styling choices.”

“We’ve received a…” Pamela paused for a moment, her mask of professionalism shifting ever so notably. “A call a few minutes ago, from a strange man who keeps asking for you.”

Obama steepled his fingers. “What’s so strange about him?”

“Satellites show that he’s calling from the Eighth Continent, sir. And according to the name he keeps giving us, he’s not one of the locals.”

Obama raised his brows.

“Apart from the fact that he’s claiming to hold a PH.D in ‘Internet Retardation,’” Pamela continued, “he keeps giving valid clearance codes. And claiming to have ‘found something really big.’ He refuses to talk about it with anyone other than you.”

Obama considered this for a moment, and then nodded. “Transfer him to my line.”

“Konnichi wa,” came the voice on the other end of the line. It sounded like its owner had contracted throat cancer at some point, registering as a discordant herald of autism that made most people want to take a radiation shower. “It’s Filthy Frank, motherfucker.”

“I know who you are, Frank,” Obama said evenly. “Why didn’t you just use the direct number I gave you?”

“Some pointy headed asshole who’s never touched a cellphone before got ahold of mine. Instead of, you know, asking about it like a normal person, the retard just decided to dick around with it using his gay majicks.”

Obama frowned. If he had any doubts that this was the real Frank, they were gone now. “So what happened to the phone?”

“Oh, it’s fine. Apart from the fact that he managed to wipe the contacts list off this fucking thing, it’s working better than a hundred dollar fleshli–”

Obama cut him off quickly. “Frank, why are you calling? According to Pamela, you said you had something big to talk about.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, about that, I uh…” Obama could practically taste the nervousness in Frank’s tone. “Look, there’s no way you’re going to believe me if I just say it over the phone.”

“I used two Pokémon that have been passed down through the ages by George Washington, who had documented their location in a secret message on the back of the Declaration of Independence, in order to destroy a magical force-field erected by a unicorn from another universe who stole a continent in order to use it in a planetwide genocide campaign,” Obama rebutted. “Since then I’ve had to deal with all kinds of new social legislation coming up, like whether it’s violating public decency laws to have an entirely new group of people go around naked.”

Frank fell silent. “…okay, that was a stupid fucking question,” he admitted. “Alright. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it over the phone, and I need you to just see this for yourself. Happy?”

Obama blinked. “You want me to just hop on Air Force One and meet you there?”

“Well, I could spend some Chromosomes and teleport there, but I’d rather not get bodied by the Secret fucking Service. Then who would tell you about this cancerous shit that Catseye was worshipping, or what I’m pretty sure was the font of that Conversion Bureau bullshit?”

Obama had fallen silent. “Obama?”

“Where exactly are your coordinates?”

“Well that was quick,” Frank noted. “And you’re just letting your balls hang out in the open.”

“Well, I can’t just hide a pair of national treasures down my pants,” Obama said, the Pokéballs bouncing somewhat as he walked. “But in all seriousness, did you really expect me to leave them in the Oval Office?”

Frank eyed Obama’s balls with a mild scowl. “I mean, if that weeaboo stuff will make you feel secure, go right ahead. I don’t give a shit.” He turned on his heel, stalking towards the deceased Catseye’s house.

Obama frowned, but didn’t push the issue as he followed. “So what exactly are we going to see in here?”

Frank glanced around the street. While humans weren’t an uncommon sight in Equestria nowadays, the fact that Obama was walking the streets of Ponyville was drawing a lot of attention to them. Frank wiped his sweaty brow. “Can’t talk about it now,” he said.

Obama caught his gaze.

The images on the cavern walls were carved deep into the rock,

One relief, depicting

“A war is coming.”

Obama stared at this for quite a while in utter silence. “…let me guess. You don’t think destroying the Barrier and killing Catseye was the end of it.”

“Obama. I summoned the Dark Lord here, to this exact chamber. You want to know how that ended?”

“Ore wa! Ochinchin ga daisuke nandayo?” [Yo! The fuck you summoned me here for, Frank?]

“Oh Chin Chin. I need your help deciphering this cancer. Can you take a look at it?”

“O chin chin ga daisuke.” [lol what]

The Dark Lord Chin Chin stared at the carvings with his sewn eyelids, frowning deeply with each passing second. “Ore wa?” [The fuck?]

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