Murdering One Direction

We Totes Forget Our plan

Sheer terror sprawled across Louis' face. "You can't fake the President's death; the government will come after you and kill you in like five seconds. Probably less."

"Shut up. Nobody asked you."

"Sorry, Master."

However, as much as I hate admitting this, Louis was right. That's why the President was in on this from the start. Amazingly enough, Barack Obama hated One Direction as much as I did. When presented with a plan that would eliminate them from life, he gleefully accepted.

"Alright, Louis. I guess after all we've been through, I can trust you now. It's time that you know the real reason One Direction needed to end."

Louis responded skeptically. "I thought it was so I could go solo and escape the soul-binding contracts of Simon Cowell."

"That's only part of the story. The truth is, One Direction's demise was planned out long before you were ever involved. Here, come with me through this flashback."

* * *

Obama was at the peak of his game. He was everywhere doing whatever it is that the President of the United states does: kissing babies, giving speeches, pissing off conservatives. He was loved by everyone; that is, until the British invasion of 2012 when super-gay boy bands like One Direction and... actually nope pretty much just One Direction, came to America. They became extremely popular with teenage girls and, uh, some boys I guess. This cut into Obama's popularity with teenagers by .01%, which infuriated the President. (Why Obama cared so much about the opinions of people who had no power to vote him in or out of office is beyond me, but I'm not one to ask questions) It was inexcusable. Teens were becoming too obsessed with One Direction to give two craps about politics.  Obama's popularity kept sinking until it hit an astounding .04% lower than it was before 2012. That was the the last straw. He simply couldn't tolerate this any longer. Something had to be done about this incredible injustice that had taken place... Something drastic. After mulling over all of his options, he decided that the only way to win back the hearts of those young, hormonal monsters was to eliminate his greatest threat. He hired a hit man to take out One Direction and to end this madness.

That hit man was me.

I was hired by the President of the United States to assassinate One Direction. When Obama approached me initially, he gave me the option to keep one of them alive to avoid suspicion from the general public. Of course, I refused because I knew I had the skills necessary to eliminate the entire band with zero suspicion whatsoever. At least, that was my plan until I learned that Louis wanted to go solo. 

The opportunity to make a crap ton of money was more appealing to me than taking out the entire band. I knew I'd make some pretty sweet moola from the profits of his solo career (and then that money like tripled when Louis decided to just give me all his earnings). That's when I found Louis on the bus after slaving to find him for a whole seven minutes. Seven minutes is a long time for me when it comes to finding people. I'm usually quite skilled at tracking people down. The problem is his face is just so insignificant that it blends into a crowd really well.

Well, when Louis messed up my system with his Zaiyneee crap, I warned the President that we would have to call for a code Black. We knew that Louis would mess it up so we planned the action that would be necessary in advance. By faking the President's death, we could um... hold up.

"Guys," I transitioned back to the present time for your convenience, "why do we have to fake Obama's death again? Something with Ryan Reynolds, right?"

"Um," the other two looked as confused as me.

"Louis, did you forget to take notes at our super serious secret support assembly for silent, slippery scoundrels? Ugh. You're the worst secretary ever – now I forget the point of all this." I smacked Louis in the face in my rage. He literally had one job. 

"Crap..." Louis stared at his shoes.

"We can make some money off it," Obama pitched in, "fake my death and tell people how you can bring me back to life if they pay you some cash."

"Wait, how much cash are we talking here?" Louis questioned. Obama paused; I watched him count on his fingers, his smile growing with each increasing number.

"Twelve–"

Louis chimed in excitedly "Twelve million dollars?!"

"No." Obama sassed, "Twelve dollars. That can buy us like one and a half movie tickets. We can see Frozen!" Barack clapped his hands and bounced with giddiness.

"Dude stop, "I snapped at him. his happiness was repulsing, "I already own Frozen on Blu-ray. We can pocket that money and split it three ways."

"So each of us would get..." Louis thought for a minute, calculating in his head, "Twelve bucks!"

"Louis you're an idiot. Look, this part of it isn't about the money. I'm already gonna make bank from your music career. Twelve dollars is nothing to get excited about."

Obama suggested, "Well if you think about it, kidnapping and murdering me would make you two look really badass and, like, criminals. Plus it will devise attention away from One Direction's murder. Then in the end I can just pardon you guys for your crimes." Barack was finally starting to think like a human being. He actually hit it right on the nose.

"Barack, this story is so unrealistic, we can do anything we want and not pay for the consequences. You've been missing for an entire day and neither the government nor the citizens have even noticed yet. "

"Good point." Obama keeps forgetting this story sounds like it was written while under the influence.

"So, uh," Barack suddenly spoke after a few moments of silence, "what do we do now?"

I looked him straight in the eye, "I don't know. I didn't think we'd make it this far. I thought for sure Louis would mess up so badly that the consequences would be irreversible and we'd all end up dead or in some sort of inescapable time paradox or something."

Louis chimed in, "I know exactly what to do."

For once in my life, I actually listened to what Louis had to say because this could be important.

"We make some sweet moola."

"Louis, usually I'd agree with you but like I said, twelve bucks isn't sweet moola."

"Then I guess we'll go and make twelve bucks."

"Yeah, okay. Sure I guess."