By the Infidel Cowboys (Lusk, Wyoming)
The following is a work of “fan fiction.”
As part of his political civility campaign, Governor Cox often travels to Washington DC, believing he can temper the rhetoric and style of the fascist in the White House. In this, he constantly ingratiates himself, hoping to advance his own reactionary agenda in Utah. In July 2026, he spent days inside Trump’s colon, eating endless shit. This was not a one-off event, as politicians regularly service the president, giving him rim jobs.
Inside the Yellow Oval bedroom in the White House, Trump removed his suit. His boxers were damp, as the fabric absorbed his sweat and anal leakage. He rang a bell, letting his staff know that they should send in one of the lapdogs waiting outside. Cox bounded through the door, eager to make his servitude known. As Trump positioned himself on the bed, with knees and hands on the mattress, Cox moistened his lips and peeled the dank underwear from the “boss.” He stepped back to admire the man who constantly makes exaggerated claims of grandeur, thinking “Trump is/has the biggest asshole in the world, and I am a masterful analingus. Now, let’s get to work.”
Cox knew he did not have much time given the impatience of the Commander in Chief, but he wanted to run his tongue around the giant booty rather than simply plunge it into the stinker. The random, wirey, white hairs tickled his lips. Coating his palms with Astroglide, he parted Trump’s ass checks and gently ran his fingers over the swollen hemorrhoids. While the President’s backdoor was messy, the water-based lube made the process easier and, perhaps, a little cleaner. As Cox, spiralled his tongue around the outer edges of the Head of State’s distorted cherrio, the President demanded satisfaction, compelling Cox to vigorously lick the gapping orifice. His nose and tongue flitted in and out of the anus. When he came up for air, he looked like a Saint Bernard at a water bowl. His jowls were covered in saliva, lube, fecal matter, and flecks of toilet paper.
The Chief farted and then grunted, “More, damn it.” Cox had to take a minute to catch his breath, so he proceeded to fist the President. Despite the loose rectal muscles, this action generated great orgasmic pleasures for them. Finally, on the verge of exploding, Cox ravenously returned to the trough. He squeezed his bald head past the sphincter and mowed down on the partially digested McDonald’s Big Macs, Filet-O-Fish sandwiches, and Quarter Pounders. He kept chomping and climbing his way up the President’s colon, until he was fully immersed in the cavity. He was surprised to discover that this time he was not alone. In one of the semilunar folds, Rudy Giuliani was cleaning the crap from his glasses, rehearsing lies to tell the judges. In another fold, Kristi Noem was practicing taxidermy, mounting a dog that she shot. Macro Rubio was drinking watery stool. Further up, in the columns of Morgagni, Kid Rock was masturbating, adding more mucus to the membranes of the large intestine. It seemed that most of his staff were present—no wonder Trump always appeared bloated. By eating the President’s ass, Cox found his people. Tucked away, he stayed in place for a few more days.
Finally, on July 13, 2026, Cox crawled out of Trump’s asshole to join the tyrant and the other goosestepping suits for the proclamation to reduce the size of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments by approximately 90 percent, undoing the land protections that had been established through decades of mobilization. In the inverted world, the despot claimed that this was a victory for the people, indicating he was “giving it [the land] back,” which actually meant he was going to let extractive companies lay waste to the environment. This order dissolved the Bears Ears Commission, which consisted of a tribal-federal body to advance co-stewardship over ancestral lands for five Indigenous nations.
With a shit-eating grin, Cox wallowed in the moment. The state of Utah had spent over 6 million dollars of taxpayer monies in the last ten years to pursue legal actions and craft a public relations campaign to seize federal lands. These actions were pursued despite the Utah constitution stating that the people of the state “forever disclaim all right and title to the unappropriated public lands” within its borders.
Cox stood there dreaming about the expropriated lands—finally these holdings and the resources they contained could be exploited. His development and industry friends were going to be so happy. The state legislature had allotted 20 million dollars to help seize federal lands, so the funds would have to be used to “convince” the public that the elected officials had the people’s interest at heart. He immediately put out a press release indicating that “The State of Utah welcomes new federal action that modifies the boundaries” of the national monuments, indicating that the previous protections resulted “resource degradation.” Now, the “natural minerals” can be liberated for economic development.
He felt immense pride, as everything was going his way. He would continue to impose his “Operation Gigawatt” plan to double energy output within the state by turning Utah into a uranium wasteland, connecting mining, manufacturing, testing, energy, and depository operations within beehive country. More public relations money would have to be spent to convince the public to embrace this toxic future, so a few folks could get rich, especially in an era of less regulations of the nuclear and electrical industries. As Cox smiled for the cameras, he burped, vomiting up some excrement. Knowingly all the other sycophants, nodded at each other, as they were all full of shit.
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