Dianne Feinstein, or better known as Dianne the Fein, holds a chain attached to an immigrant in a princess Leia slave outfit and sludges towards the podium. The reporters are muttering questions. Cameras are flashing in her wrinkled melting face. She grunts and tries to hold her thick hands to her face, but cannot. In her ear piece, there is a sharp demand.
“Ok Dianne the Fein. You know your role in the empire. You are to express your happiness in the rescue of the last P.O.W in Afghanistan.”
“What is happiness?” Dianne the Fein grunts.
“Start out by smiling.” The voice suggests.
Dianne the Fein shakes her massive sludgy head in confusion. The reporters are waiting to hear from her. She yanks the immigrant girl in anger by her chain. A frustrated voice sounds out in Dianne the Fein’s earpiece.
“Try to raise your cheeks, by curling your lips, and lift your eyebrows to express your friendliness towards the rebel reporters.”
“Impossible.” Dianne the Fein grimaces.
“Might I remind you Dianne, that the Senator, Harry Reid has lauded our rescue of Sergeant Bergdahl. The President Puppet has as well. All of us need to work together to quell the rebel’s claims that this man was a deserter. I would encourage you to play along, or else.”
Dianne the Fein shakes the chain angrily as photographers snap pictures. She bellows in a deep voice under hanging wrinkled flesh.
“YOO DON’T TELL FEIN WHAT TOO DOO! FEIN RULE FOR GENERATIONS! FEIN KNOW WHAT IS IN WIND! FEIN POLITIC FOR FEIN’S SURVIVAL!”
“Don’t you do anything you will regret..!” The voice in the earpiece says hurriedly.
Dianne the Fein smashes the earpiece and throws it off the stage. She roars as she jerks on the chain, and leans forward against the podium threatening to spill her onto the reporters below. Security guards run on the stage and push against her pudding-textured body. Slowly they bring her back to an upright position. Dianne the Fein looks out at the reporters with contempt with pig eyes oozing. Great slimy beads of sweat roll down her forehead.
“I TAKE QUESTIONS NOW,” the Fein grumbles.
A timid reporter speaks up.
“Dianne. In December, Obama issued a statement that said the executive branch should have the flexibility “to act swiftly in conducting negotiations with foreign countries regarding the circumstances of detainee transfers. Were you aware of this prisoner swap at all? And if not, why not, as you are the Senate Intelligence Committee Chair- creature?”
“NOOO. NO HEAR.” Diane the Fein grumbles. The podium shakes.
A security guard gets a signal in his earpiece.
“OBAMA DO, ME NO CONSENT.” She belches out.
The reporter that asks the question is snatched up by flying drones hovering overhead.
“MORE QUESTIONS. DIANE MAKE CLEAR. NO HEAR! NO HEAR!”
Another reporter speaks up, looking carefully around him.
“Dianne. You look less melty today. Can you give me your opinion on the president’s statement that he had to act fast because they were concerned with his health?”
“HEALTH GOOD OF HIM! HIM WAS EATING STEAK.HIM WAS EATING LOBSTER. HIM WAS HAVING OWN GYM.” Dianne roars. A long bubbling stream of drool drips down from the podium and forms at the slave Leia’s bare feet.
“Are you saying that Sergeant Burgdahl was not malnourished and that his captors had him eating well and exercising? Wow. What else?” The reporter asks.
“HIM WAS GOES TO SCHOOL. HIM WAS LEARNING!” Dianne the Fein bellows. She yanks on the chain angrily. Security all around her is getting antsy. They are receiving instructions in their earpieces now.
“Whoa! Are you saying that the terrorists were giving the young man an education too? How nice of them? Tell us more Dianne the Fein.” A reporter for a small publication presses the issue.
“FATHER OF HIM, TALK CLOSE!”
“And the father of the prisoner had close contact with his son’s captors? Incredible!” The reporter almost shrieks.
Other reporters gain energy from the fiery questioning. The security guards move now. Drones appear from space and blast a few reporters into cinders. Other reporters trying to get more from the self- preserving Senator rush at her with microphones in hand. They are held back by Susan Rice Wheel Droids however. The lasers fly. Dianne knocks over the stand and rushes the security guards. She swats them away and sends them crashing against the American Flag. She wriggles her way on stage seeking escape.
“Act now,” a raspy voice sounds off in the immigrant’s ear.
“Yes, senora Rice.” The immigrant responds in broken English.
The immigrant starts choking Diane the Fein with her very own chain. The immigrant in the princess Leia outfit pulls hard. Diane struggles, grabbing at her bulbous neck, but cannot find the strength to escape it. She is old and weak from the struggle. The last breaths go out of Diane the Fein and she drops limp to the stage. She lands with a heavy splat and oozes into a pale puddle of bubbling broth.
The security guards mop her away, as the drones are clearing the area for any dissenters. The long standing generations of Diane the Fein, and her era of politicking and rule are over under the New Empire. They do not put up with dissent, even among their own. (cue Darth Vader’s music)