Remember when horror movies used to be scary? Back when the phrase "President Trump" was an oxymoron? Ah, those were good times. Now, as our country rapidly morphs into a nightmare hellscape, those fictional tales of terror seem almost understated.
Well, we have some good news, fright fans! In honor of the first Friday the 13th of 2018, we've decided to reboot that previously rebooted slasher franchise - but this time it's guaranteed to chill you to the bone, because we're adding a heaping helping of Real World Horror. Don't worry, there are no spoilers here because, frankly, no one knows just how this story's going to play out. But go ahead and dim the lights and enjoy the terrifying opening scene from...
Under an ominous gray sky, a tall, handsome man in his 70's with neatly combed salt and pepper hair enters a dilapidated old diner called... "McDonald's." The assembled locals barely look up from their Quarter Pounders long enough to realize it's United States Special Counsel ROBERT MUELLER.
Mueller approaches the bored teenage CASHIER at the register.
MUELLER: Good afternoon.
CASHIER: Can I help you?
MUELLER: Yes, I was wondering if you could direct me to... the White House?
Chairs squeak and plastic silverware drops on the unwashed floor. The patrons all turn and look at Mueller with fear and disgust in their eyes. He returns their gaze, confused. There is a long silence. Finally, one of the locals, a grizzled OLD MAN, addresses Mueller.
OLD MAN: I reckon you mean the old Obama place.
MUELLER: Yes, that's the one.
OLD MAN: You don't want to go up there, friend. Things have changed.
MUELLER: I'm quite familiar with the current resident.
OLD MAN: A horrible thing he is! A fetid, slumping pile of pure evil. Why, I've seen him ooze through that very door, cut the line, order a dozen Filet-O-Fishes, and swallow 'em all in one bite! ...with a large Diet Coke.
CASHIER: Doesn't pay for 'em though.
MUELLER: Yeah, that's the guy. I'd like to go have a chat with him.
OLD MAN: I wouldn't if I were you. Folks who go up there have a way of disappearing.
MUELLER: How do you mean?
OLD MAN: Well, let's see... there was Sally Yates, James Comey, Walter Shaub, Reince Priebus, Sean Spicer, Andrew McCabe, Rex Tillerson, Hope Hicks... and, of course, that hideous swamp-beast that was killing and eating the local livestock in the middle of the night.
MUELLER: Steve Bannon?
OLD MAN: That's the one. They all just went away... although, on some nights, when the wind is just right, you can still smell Anthony Scaramucci's cologne.
MUELLER: Listen, I know all about what's going on up there. I just have a few questions for Mister...
They patrons all frantically cover their ears.
OLD MAN: Don't say his name!!! The only thing he loves more than deep fried fish-wiches is hearing his own name! And we don't want his kind around here anymore.
MUELLER: Well, let me see what I can do.
Mueller exits and strides confidently down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House, which is surrounded by black clouds and swarms of bats.
OLD MAN: Seems like a nice fella. I sure hope he knows what he's doing.
Will Robert Mueller suffer the same fate as the ten people the Old Man mentioned? ...And at least 35 others he didn't mention? Or will he end the sinister reign of the Thing That Loves Its Own Horrible Name? Find out soon! Like, hopefully, really soon.