Prince Andrew Begs For ‘One Last Burrito’ Before Likely Life Sentence For Disgusting Crimes

this may be Prince Andrew's last burrito as a free man

 

LONDON—In a scene described by royal sources as “equal parts pathetic and mildly spicy,” Prince Andrew reportedly threw a full royal tantrum in the back of a blacked-out Range Rover Thursday morning, demanding an emergency stop at Burrito Ville for what he called “one final delicious burrito before they lock me up forever.”
According to eyewitnesses who were not paid off with titles, the Duke of York was being transported to court to face an ever-growing list of allegations when he suddenly lunged forward, drool cascading down his chin like a malfunctioning Buckingham Palace fountain.
“STOP THE CAR!” the prince allegedly shrieked, pressing his face against the bulletproof glass. “I can see the sombrero sign! It’s calling to me! This could be my last burrito before they send me to Belmarsh with nothing but gruel and public shame!”
One of the visibly exhausted royal protection officers reportedly replied, “Sir, the judge is literally waiting,” to which Andrew replied, “The judge can have my leftover guacamole! I’ve waited years for this! Do you know what they serve in prison? Mystery meat and lukewarm squash! I’ll never taste cilantro again!”
Sources say the prince then clasped his hands together so tightly his signet ring left indentations, pleading, “Just one carne asada, extra jalapeños, hold the judgment! I’ll eat it in the car like a commoner! I’ll even use a napkin — moderate dignity only!”
After several minutes of what palace insiders are calling “the most unhinged performance since the 2019 BBC interview,” the driver reluctantly pulled into the Burrito Ville car park. Andrew reportedly sprinted inside still wearing his seatbelt, shouting his order at a terrified minimum-wage employee: “Extra-large, extra everything, and make the sour cream look like it snowed in my lap!”
Two minutes later the prince returned to the vehicle clutching a foil-wrapped burrito the size of a newborn calf. He took one heroic bite, salsa exploding everywhere, and moaned through a mouthful of rice and regret, “Mmmph… totally worth the life sentence.”At press time, Prince Andrew was still chewing contentedly while being reminded that this was, in fact, not a drill.
Disclaimer: This is 100% satirical fiction written for comedic purposes only. Prince Andrew has never been convicted of any crimes, Burrito Ville is not a real place (tragically), and no actual members of the royal family were harmed or deliciously fed during the creation of this article. If you’re offended, please direct all complaints to the nearest talking corgi. God save the burrito.

All living U.S. Presidents gather for historic President's Day meeting

 

the Presidents of the United States gather together for President's Day

WASHINGTON, D.C. — A rare bipartisan Presidents' Day gathering of all five living U.S. presidents descended into chaos Monday when President Joe Biden allegedly threw the first punch, striking former President Donald Trump squarely in the mouth and igniting what witnesses described as “the most unified beatdown attempt in modern political history.”
The closed-door event, billed as a symbolic show of national unity at a secure venue beneath the Lincoln Memorial, began cordially with small talk about golf handicaps, ice cream preferences, and whether Monica Lewinsky still sends holiday cards.
According to multiple anonymous sources with direct knowledge of the scuffle (because everyone involved is either too old or too proud to go on record), tensions escalated when Biden, mid-sentence about the importance of “comity and corn pop,” suddenly lunged forward and connected with a right hook that split Trump’s lip.
Trump reportedly paused, dabbed the blood with a monogrammed handkerchief, and declared, “That’s the weakest punch I’ve seen since Crooked Hillary tried to debate me.”What followed was an impromptu free-for-all.
Former President Barack Obama attempted to de-escalate with a calm hand gesture, only to receive a forearm shiver that sent his signature aviators skittering across the floor. Former President George W. Bush, channeling his inner rodeo days, grabbed a nearby folding chair and swung wildly, yelling “This is for freedom!” before Trump disarmed him and used the chair as a makeshift vault to leap over the conference table.
Former President Bill Clinton tried a classic sleeper hold from behind, muttering something about “relaxing like it’s 1999,” but was promptly yanked forward by his own tie and planted face-first into the carpet with a textbook DDT.
Biden, still holding an ice pack to his own cheek despite not having been struck again, reportedly shouted “This is pure malarkey!” while windmilling ineffectively.
In the end, all four opponents converged on Trump in a coordinated geriatric dogpile. Eyewitness accounts (mostly from Secret Service agents who were ordered to stand down) say Trump simply planted his feet, let out a booming “YUUUGE!”, and shrugged the entire group off like they were soggy campaign yard signs.
Biden landed in a pile of popped red-white-and-blue balloons. Bush ended up buried in nacho cheese. Obama retrieved his glasses from under a charcuterie board. Clinton crawled out from beneath the table whispering, “I’ve had worse in Little Rock.”
Trump, suit barely wrinkled and tie still knotted perfectly, surveyed the wreckage, checked his watch, and announced, “Beautiful. Tremendous ratings. Best Presidents’ Day ever. I’m keeping the prosciutto—winner’s prerogative.”
He then exited stage right, leaving the others to pick themselves up amid scattered helium balloons and dignity.
White House press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre declined to comment, citing “ongoing digestive issues related to the incident.” The Trump campaign immediately released a statement calling it “the greatest comeback since Trump's victory in the 2024 presidential election.”
No arrests were made, and medical personnel reported only minor injuries: one split lip, four bruised egos, and one former president still asking if anyone had Monica’s lawyer on speed dial.
Disclaimer: This is a satirical work of pure fiction. No presidents were actually injured, no charcuterie boards were harmed beyond reasonable repurposing, and the entire event is invented for comedic purposes. Any resemblance to real politicians, living or otherwise, is coincidental and meant in the spirit of absurd humor.

From Daughter to Dictator: Kim Jong Un chooses his 13-year-old daughter Kim Ju Ae as North Korea’s next Glorious Infallible Leader

Kim Jong Un with daughter

 

In the opulent halls of the Ryongsong Residence, where the walls were lined with portraits of eternal leaders and the air smelled faintly of rocket fuel and kimchi, Kim Jong Un paced back and forth like a well-fed panda on a deadline. The Supreme Leader was facing the ultimate dilemma: who would inherit the throne of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea? His generals suggested his son, but Kim Jong Un waved them off. "Too predictable," he grumbled. "And besides, the boy can't even launch a proper tantrum without crying."
Enter Kim Ju Ae, his 13-year-old daughter, a pint-sized powerhouse with a ponytail that could whip up a storm and a glare that made missiles quiver. Ju Ae wasn't your average tween; she had already mastered the art of staring down defectors on TikTok (North Korean edition, of course) and could recite the Juche ideology backward while juggling nukes—in her dreams, at least. One fateful evening, during a family game night that involved Monopoly but with all properties renamed "People's Collective Farms," Ju Ae bankrupted her father in under 10 minutes. "Dad," she said with a smirk, "you just got owned by a middle schooler. Hand over the keys to the kingdom."
Kim Jong Un's eyes widened. "By the spirit of my grandfather! She's got the ruthless efficiency of a five-year plan and the charm of a propaganda poster!" The next day, in a ceremony broadcast to the nation's one working TV channel, he announced her as the heir apparent. The crowd cheered—mostly because not cheering meant a free vacation to a labor camp. Ju Ae, dressed in a miniature military uniform with bedazzled epaulets, gave a speech: "I promise to make North Korea great... er, greater! Starting with mandatory K-pop bans and unlimited screen time for loyal citizens."
To celebrate this historic handover (or at least the illusion of one, since Kim Jong Un wasn't planning to retire anytime soon), father and daughter snuck out incognito—him in a fake mustache that looked suspiciously like his real one, her in oversized sunglasses—to the most exclusive eatery in Pyongyang: the Best Korea Buffet. Tucked away in a bunker disguised as a noodle shop, it was the only place in the country where you could get "authentic" American-style Chinese food, smuggled in via hot air balloons from who-knows-where.
The buffet line stretched like a border wall, but with more temptation. Kim Jong Un piled his plate high with egg rolls, crispy golden logs of mystery meat that crunched like victory marches. "These are the true weapons of mass deliciousness!" he declared, dipping one in sweet-and-sour sauce that was suspiciously red, like the flag. Ju Ae, not to be outdone, attacked the orange chicken with the ferocity of a hypersonic missile test. Chunks of tangy, sticky poultry flew as she scarfed them down, sauce dripping like diplomatic leaks. "Dad, this is way better than our usual rice and ideology rations," she mumbled through a mouthful. "When I'm leader, every citizen gets a lifetime supply!"
They laughed until their bellies ached—partly from the food, partly from the undercover agents pretending to be waiters who kept refilling their plates with "compliments from the kitchen" (code for "don't choke, Supreme Ones"). By the end of the night, the buffet was depleted, the egg rolls extinct, and the orange chicken a fond memory. As they waddled back to the palace, Kim Jong Un patted his daughter's head. "You've got what it takes, kid. Just remember: rule with an iron fist... and a full stomach."
And so, North Korea entered a new era, where the future leader's first decree was simple: more buffets, fewer boring parades. The end—or as they say in Pyongyang, "To be continued, comrades!"