🧥 The Stuffed Suit: A Presidential Day in the Life

breaking transcript of chaos, confusion, and cocoa butter diplomacy from the Oval Office’s fluffiest occupants.[satire]

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What if the President of the United States wasn’t a man at all—but three anxious raccoons stuffed into a navy blue suit?
What if the snarling, the strange press conferences, the inexplicable biting… all made sense, once you understood the situation from the inside?

This isn’t fiction. It’s just very specific journalism. Read on.

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🏛️ Scene: The Oval Office

“Right this way, Mr. President. Your office has been appointed exactly as you requested. See right here? Here’s your Big Mac button.”

The president snarled in approval. His assistant assured the decorator that he was just getting over a bit of a cold. Not the CHYNA VIRUS or FAKE BIRD FLU—just a little horse in his throat.

He sat the president down at the Resolute Desk and ushered the decorator out.

“You look a bit stressed out, Sir. How about I give you a few minutes alone to decompress?”

“SNARL,” snarled the president.

“Okay then. Buh-bye now,” the assistant said as he backed out, a bit too fast to seem cool and slammed the door a bit too hard to seem calm.

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The president sighed, deflated, and collapsed like a pile of laundry.

Three raccoons emerged from the navy blue suit, unaware they were being recorded. Their various snarls and vocalizations have herein been rendered into Trumpian English for the sake of readability. But in the actual room, it just sounded like three raccoons arguing over the bullshit they’d gotten themselves into. Because that’s what it was.

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Billy (head raccoon):
“Damnit, Carl. You smell delicious. It’s impossible to think about anything but food with the stink of your garbage stash rising up from the crotch zone. Oh my gaaad. Beautiful smell.”

Carl (pants raccoon):
“Aww, thanks, Billy, I—”

Steve (chest raccoon):
“Carl, you can’t carry extra trash around all day. They think we pooped ourselves. Did you hear what Walter Cronkite said? I was mortified.”

Carl:
“Nobody cares about dumb-dumb Walter The Falter Cronkite, Steve. He’s a has-been. I’m the it guy. People say we smell terrific and I agree. It’s like a barrel of rotting fruit on a summer’s day.”

Steve:
“People don’t like that smell. They’re just nice to you because you’re the president.”

Billy:
“Fake News.”

Carl:
mrrgmmgf

Steve:
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

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Billy:
“Okay guys, he’s gonna be back any minute. Time to get back in the suit.”

Steve:
“Look, it’s stuffy in here. When do I get my turn up top? You’re slipping. You’re embarrassing us. They’re catching on.”

Billy:
“Too sensitive right now. We’re playing 5-D chess. I can’t explain it in a way you could use. It’s delicate. And you need to fix the voice box. I can’t just snarl through every press conference!”

Steve:
“You bit the Prime Minister of Uganda.”

Billy:
“He smelled like cocoa butter. I was confused.”

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🚪 Knock Knock

A faint rap at the door.

“Mr. President?”

“SNARL!” Billy snarled, as the raccoons stuffed themselves back into the blue suit from which they ruled the free world.

“Certainly, sir. Take your time. The attorney general needs to speak to you about the biting incident. We’ll be waiting.”

“Snarl.”

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Who else do you suspect might be three raccoons in a suit?

• Elon Musk

• Your regional manager

• Jordan Peterson

• The Pope

• All of the above

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📣 If this made you laugh, snort, or wonder what Carl keeps in his pockets—share it.

👇 Comment below:
What’s your favorite theory for who’s really running the show?