You're sitting on a beach bench with your girl, Spending your sweet time together holding hands, snacking, and taking in the sights, when the wind suddenly picks up and you hear the rising sound of a somber, minor version of Hail the Chief playing.

After shielding each of your eyes from the hurricane around both of you, you open your eyes and see that the Presidential Helicopter, The Marine One, has landed before you. You're intimidated by the black-clad and armed giants who simply hop off the vehicle, before moving to you and your girl's position. You hold her tight, for both of you, to quiet her shaking and ease your nerves, but you realize too late to do much more about it that they were focused on you and your girl. Her warmth was only felt for a second when one of these behemoths swats you in the stomach, winding you and throwing you to the ground, and then simply scooping her up and carrying her back. They only leave some scrap of paper behind.

A glimpse into the Marine One confirms your worst fears. His pale lips were twisted into a crocodile-like grin. His baggy and sleepy eyes were filled with lechery and unholy pride. The Crimson hat on his rust and sand colored head were unmistakable. It was the 45th US President, Donald Trump. And you could only watch helplessly, as your girl was placed on his lap and the Marine One took off.
Not knowing what else to do, you read the piece of paper the Marines left behind. Your heart sinks and displaces tears, as you read:
"Executive Order No. 16969: By the authority vested in me as President… it is hereby ordered as follows: That your girl's luxurious coochie be filled by the Commander and Chief, effective immediately."