Graphic Sexual Horror [part 1] + Donnie darko

Ron DeSantis sat in his tufted Herman Miller office chair, arms on his ebony desk, head in his hands, fingers intertwined; deep in pensive thought.

His mind unsettled, and racing, his leg jittering in a frantic motion as if possessed by a malvolent apparition; betraying the years of body language training he had refined to seem stoic under duress.

What am I doing?
Why am I doing this?
Is it worth it?

He pondered darkly, while periodically staring at the television on the counter, then the door in front of him in an impatient yearing for a knock, and then glancing at his wristwatch, trying his best to prognosticate when that knock may come.

After some time, he heard a rap on the door, followed by a sheepish voice.

"May I come in?"

Relief washed over DeSantis as he replied in a tone that one could have mistaken for exhaultated.

"Yes, please do"

DeSantis's loyal aid entered the room.

DeSantis gave him a look of exhortation, and spoke.

"Do you have it?"

His aid pulled out a thin manilla envelope, and peered into DeSantis eyes ruefully, uttering a single word.

"Yes"

DeSantis then asked a question he rather would have not.
"Did you look at it, is it real?"

His aid responded in a somber tone.

"Yes sir, I saw ten minutes, then I needed to turn it off... I can confirm it's geniune".

Desantis knew his aid was telling the truth, he had always been an honest confidant. Still perhaps out of a sense of guilt, or a need to have some form of penance for the sin he was about to commit, he asked his aid to do the unspeakable.

"Play it, I need to see it for myself".

His aid opened the manilla envelope, pulled out a diskette, and stood in stolid anguish, before responding in a candor normally absent from his language.

"With all due respect sir, no one should see this..."

He ambled towards the television, turned it on, opened the diskette case, and inserted the disk into the side of the device.
The film began.

The aid turned his body away from the television as if to shield his eyes from peering into the maw of a void, a small mercy, to prevent him from the trauma he had experienced earlier.

Within 5 minutes the music began, and a depraved carnival unfolded onscreen.

DeSantis saw it, them, all, a failed abortion, something awful that should not have been, but somehow was.

"That's enough!" DeSantis exclaimed, panic seeping into his words, as his body instinctively recoiled in revulsion.

"Turn it off! BY GOD MAN, TURN IT OFF!"

He felt sick, his stomach churning, as though eels were writhing within.
Nasuea overtaking his being, he went into the drawers of his desk and took out a bottle of scotch, popping the lid and taking in copious amounts of the amber liquid.

His aid unable to hold his tounge spoke.

"You've seen it now sir, it's disgusting, immoral, the man is SICK! He needs help, we shouldn't be enabling him. What if this leaks? You're going to expose millions of innocent, men, women and children to this abomination?"

He aid uttered the word "children" again, slowly as if to emphasize, and delinienate the danger.

DeSantis eyes sharpened, he looked at his aid balefully, and went on a bellicose tirade.

"You insolent swine! You think I don't understand the risks? You think I go to bed and rest unburdend?"

DeSantis's voice began to crack.

"I will not be able to forego what I bore witness to today, it will NEVER wash off! But too much has occurred to procure that film, the backdoor deals with the North Koreans! I need that stupid hicks endorsment, this country can't withstand another four years of Biden, and Trump keeps rising in the polls, it's for the good of the country!"

His aid whisped in a low murmur.

"I hope so... I'll... place the call...

---------------continued in part 2

This sex cult is gonna be the shit, Donnie Darko is the fucking shit.