America, brace yourself: Big Union is preparing to kick your crippled nation while it's down. Today the presidents of the Ice Skaters' Union, the Hot Dog Processing Workers' Union, and the Thrift Store Owners' Union announced plans to join the WGA in solidarity.
A woman I found weeping the street told me that she was against these strikes and urged the workers to remain at their jobs, then she placed her face into the hot dust and transformed it slowly into mud with her tears. Union members have no heart and no soul and MAY be vampires.
The Congress of USA urged the people to be calm.
"These madmen can be stopped, must be stopped, and will be stopped," said Head Congress Man. "These writers have exposed us to the weakness at the heart of the American way of life. God save us all." Congress has ordered easy listening music to be broadcasted in major population areas to quell the violence sure to result from these further strikes.
Meanwhile the Teachers' Union announced their plans to also strike, but we threw away the press release. In times of emergency, we must prioritize the news of life or death, and the news that would have only mattered in a more peaceful time.
WGA members manifested as translucent silver colossi floating above panicked crowds today. The scorching heat from their auras killed thousands instantly.
"Please do not think we find your pain amusing," said a voice that apparently came from all of the silver giants at once. "You are not important enough to affect us in that way."
The apparitions made no demands and did not move for several hours, occasionally letting out a high pitched whistle that shattered windows and caused household pets to die instantly.
The WGA has announced that the faithful will soon be drawn up into heaven as a reward for their loyalty. A small group of brave rebels attempted to attack the floating writers with fighter jets, but the jets all vanished in a burst of light and reappeared in various swimming pools around the country with all the exterior paint removed and no sign of the pilots.
"I hope the studios will soon reach a resolution over digital rights," sighed the voice. The silver figures faded away but the piercing whistle remained for several hours afterwards. Studio heads announced they are finalizing an agreement with the writers, but that details cannot be released at this juncture. The sun at noon dimmed for a moment.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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