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Barack Obama walked into the oval office, head in his hooves. A FUCKING PONY. HE HAD JUST BEEN TURNED INTO A FUCKING PONY! He sat down unnaturally in a swivel chair and it span around dropping him to the floor. Swearing, he got to his hooves, pulled out a gun and walked through the door out onto a street. Martin Luther King Junior was swaggering down the street swinging in tune with the song "Just can't wait to be king" with slightly different lyrics.
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I juuuuuuust caaan't wait to be freeeeeeeeeee!
Obama looked up, murder in his eyes. He always hated the Lion King because he had gotten his leg bitten off precisely sixteen seconds in the future by a Lion that "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" he screamed as a Lion burst from a second story window and ripped his leg off. Obama shot the lion in the face and picked his nose with the smoking gun barrel, burning his nose in the process. Irrationally blaming the Bee Jees, he sat down on Nathan Fillion and rode his new bicycle into a shoe shop where he had a nice dinner comprising of six avocados and eleven pounds of underwear. Suddenly, he exploded and went to heaven for being good until the last ten minutes of his life. Saint Peter looked at him, dropped his trumpet on his toe and threw a beanbag at Obama. Obama caught it in his eyebrows, proving that he was the one true saviour of the universe. Seven and a half aliens from the planet SOdOff kidnapped him and ate him to absorb his interior design capability. After being excreted, he reformed into his pony shape, except with one leg missing and hobbled around the stratosphere, eating chocolates. Squatting over a pigeon as pre-emptive revenge for all the shit that would eventually be dropped on the statues of him, he realized that he couldn't fly and tumbled to Earth in a ball of fire, mushrooms, scales, fish and the occasional turnip that kept thinking walalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala in a dodgy Scottish accent. Seventeen and a half fish fell onto the moon and I'm done for tonight