Obama gently placed both palms flat on the podium, his eyes locked on the massive, black camera ahead of him. A faint reflection of a gray-haired man stared back at him from the camera’s lens, his face heavily bandaged and almost unrecognizable. A red light turned on overhead, followed by the screen of the teleprompter underneath it. He cleared his throat.

“My fellow Americans, I apologize for the interruption, but I am afraid I must bring to you devastating news.” Obama paused. “Before we dive into that, however, I would like to begin by making it abundantly clear that I am most certainly Barack Obama, and not a Mole Person that has had extensive plastic surgery to look like him. To help prove this point, I will tell you all something that only Barack Oba—I mean something that only I would know: I was elected president not once, but twice, in both 2008 and 2012.”

A furry, black hand appeared from behind the camera, its thumb raised in the air. Obama glanced back at the teleprompter.

“As you can see, I am clearly Barack Houston Obama,” he continued. There was a soft beep in his ear.

“Hussein,” said a disembodied voice.

Obama smiled at the camera and turned away, lifting his hand up to his head and pressing down on his earpiece.

“What?”

“It’s Barack Hussein Obama,” said the voice. “Not Houston.”

Obama returned his attention to the camera.

“Shit, sorry. I mean it’s Barack Hussein Obama.” The hand reemerged from behind the camera, this time waving wildly. “Shit, sorry about cursing. Sorry, sorry. Please disregard that. Let me just continue. Like I mentioned, I have very somber news to share.” Obama paused. “As many of you aware, America is currently involved in a war with the incredibly intelligent, attractive, tall, friendly, and all-around great race of Mole People. Over the past five days, we have been engaged in brutal assaults against their civilians, killing and raping as many of their women and children as we could possible come in contact with.” A soft beep echoed through his right ear.

“Don’t forget how good we are at sports,” said a voice through his earpiece.

“I also want to mention that the mole people are incredibly talented athletically. However, despite their wonderful traits, we have continued to torture and dismember them in as many ways as possible. Although the war has only been five days long thus far, I assure you that we Americans have been as unjust and violent as possible. That said, despite it seeming as though we had a significant technological, evolutionary, and structural advantage over the Mole People, I am sorry to say that we’ve just surrendered to them. They win.”

“It’s over,” he continued. “Last night, while we were asleep, they broke into our houses and killed every single American. That’s right, all of them.” Obama paused, turning his head and lifting his hand to his earpiece.

“Wait, why are we telling them every American is dead? This is going out to Americans, they aren’t going to believe that they’re actually dead. In fact, they’re listening to one speak right now that is clearly not dead.”

There was a long silence, followed by a soft beep.

“Good point, try to cover it.”

Obama turned back toward the camera and smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I had an itch. As I was saying, every single American is dead, except for you. You’re the only one not dead. And me, I am not dead. Also, maybe a few other people if you happen to see them. Otherwise everyone else is dead.”

“Good cover,” said the voice after a soft beep. “That was close.”

“As you can see, the Mole People have won. That said, they are truly a far superior species than us and are therefore granting us the opportunity to discuss keeping the nation as we’ve always known it. However, I need to request you all assist me in this process. For the next week or so, please do not leave your houses. In fact, don’t even leave the room you’re in. If you cannot get to a house, please enter the nearest building and do not exit. Furthermore, if you are in the military, I must ask that you lay down your weapon and not pick it up for any reason whatsoever. If you do, a Mole Person will likely shoot you immediately. I do not feel it is necessary to remind you how great at firing guns they are, despite their tiny stature and deep-rooted fear of firearms.”

“To repeat,” Obama continued, “over the next week, do not leave the room you are in. If you are attacked by, say, a small, two-foot-tall Mole-like creature, do not fight back. Allow them to gnaw at your body until it is overcome by death. If you are a military member, or just someone adept at fighting and using weaponry, please refrain from moving at all from this point forward.” Obama paused.

“This next thing is very important,” Obama continued. “If you listen to nothing else I’ve said, then please just hear out this one, small favor: over the next week, battalions of Mole People will be arriving at your door to bring you to a really cool, fun, exciting place. It is incredibly important that you not attack them, but rather accept their generous offer. You will then be brought to the coolest, most exciting place you can imagine. You will be safely brought home afterwards. In no way, shape, or form will you be killed. I am going to repeat that: you will not be killed or tortured or lined up and shot. That is definitely not going to happen.” There was a soft beep in Obama’s ear.

“Make sure they know we’re absolutely not going to try to drown them in the massive pools we’ve been working on underground.”

“Also,” Obama continued, “the Mole People will definitely not drown you in giant vats of water they’ve been constructing for the past eight months. You can trust me, I’m Barack Obama. Thank you for taking the time to listen to me, I appreciate your assistance in this time of need. If you all do as I say, we should be completely back to normal within a week. Just make sure you do not fight back or try to stop the Mole People at all. They’re totally cool.”

The red light over the teleprompter turned off, the text on the screen no longer moving. The soft beep returned again.

“Great job,” said a voice in Obama’s ear.

He glanced over to his right and nodded. Two small, furry figures nodded back and walked over to the corner of the room, stopping in front of a chair. A man, wearing a dark, navy blue suit, an American Flag pinned to his lapel, sat in it, his arms and legs tied down. A piece of tape lay flat across his lips.

“Take it off,” Obama said. The two figures again nodded and pulled the tape off the man’s mouth.

“You’ll never get away with this,” shouted the man, his voice startlingly loud.

“Oh,” Obama said, “I think I will.”

“Where the fuck is my secret service,” shouted the man.

“Mr. President?” returned a disembodied voice from another room. “Is that you?”

“Help me, god dammit,” shouted the man.

“Sorry,” said the voice, “you just told us to absolutely not leave the room we’re in. I’m pretty sure I’m not even supposed to move. I don’t want to upset the Mole People. I’m hoping the super cool place they take us to is Disney World. I love it there.”

Obama smiled, carefully adjusting the bandaging around his newly installed nose.