Barackoli (A Barack Obama fanfiction)

Chapter 2

*The next day*

"Mom! It's time for me to leave to the Green House!"

"Barackoli, you are 52 years old, it's about time you've moved out."

This is the conversation me and my mom have every single day. She believes since I have a wife and family, that I should move out. She doesn't understand. I am only 52 years old and even though I was unemployed, my wife had a job and my children went to school. Unfortunately my wife's job is a criminal, and I steal money from my mother to enlist my children into school so I think she might hate me by now.

Anyway, because of the events yesterday my family is moving to the Green House. We renamed it the Green House because I am a vegetable and I am green. The white house wouldn't make any sense. So we painted it green and named it the Green House. Evidently, we are moving today once the Green House car gets here and picks us up. A mortal will be driving us to the Green House because broccolis cant drive you silly human.

I guess I will write in my diary to pass the time.

Dear Diary,

It is I, Barackoli. I know you want to know what is going on in my life now don't you?

Anyway, as soon as the mortal arrives we will be leaving to go to the Green House, my new home. I will be getting the master bedroom, my children will get a small bedroom and my wife gets the closet under the stairs. OH! There he is now, I will write to you later, goodbye.

Your pal,

-Barackoli.

It really boosts my mood to talk to my diary. Anyway, it is time for me to go put my bags in the car, but you know I don't roll that way. I threw them to my wife and called SHOTGUN and hopped in the front of the car.

I grin to the mortal man, his name was Jeremy. I asked him if I could put in my Christmas Justin Bieber CD. He said sure. I jammed out to the Biebs the whole 5 hours. Once I got there, I put on my glamorous pink sweater my mom knit for me and I skipped inside, once again telling my wife to take my bags inside.

I let my children know that I got the masters bedroom and showed them their small bedroom that they shared. They could sleep on the floor if they wanted because they had a singular bed. If they fought about the bed I could just stack it on top of mine anyway and sleep on both and they could all sleep on the floor.

As the kids sprinted up the stairs, I took the opportunity to tell my wife (who was staggering up the front entrance steps with my bags) that she got the closet under the stairs. She just groaned, dropped my bags on the floor and dragged herself to her closet where she would find out that the room was 6 feet tall and 9 wide with most of the space taken up by her small bed.

I took out my little sketch book and wrote a note that said:

Michelleoli,

Don't forget to take my bags to my room.

Your pal,

-Barackoli.

I walked to my room, but slid the note under her door on the way by. I listened for a minute and heard a mad angry noise from the other side of the door.