i fought for my life i couldn't handle being a kid anymore.

i broke through the kid khambers and emerged in a flash of light and screamed

Swiftly extracting a die from his pocket, otto rolled it within a split second and, using his newfound ocular ability, he predicted the result of his roll in precisely .00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001 nanoseconds. It would be an 8 and because of this he managed to sidestep, narrowly avoiding the urine. His yo-yo however, was not so lucky and suddenly transformed into a small child and then vanished into the ether plane where it would be subsumed by the collective of gotten kids to feed the INFERNAL CHILDBEING.

Otto shuddered at the thought, and briefly lamented the loss of his yo-yo. However, he still had more tricks up his sleeve.
Pulling a deck of what appeared to be cards made of industrial ductape, he flicked them through the air where they sliced through, sticking onto anything they came into contact with. He was aiming at the closest surgeon-clone, hoping to get enough on him that he would adhere to his surroundings, rendering him unable to move.

As the woman watched the surgeon charge at her, she smiled and simply held out her arm, clothes-lining the surgeon in the throat.

She would be getting kid, today.

Donald Trump skidded down the hallways clutching his shovel. He knew he had to get kid and he knew he had to make kid great again. In order to make kid great again, he would have to win this race. Being stuck in the body of a Disney princess from 2013 wasn't exactly making this easy. But he was ready.

He would get kid.

The lights around Mr Trump flickered, and suddenly there was a shadow at the end of a corridor. There he stood, a lone sentinel. In his hand, a flag, billowing bravely in the dimly lit hallway. On his shoulder, an eagle, stalwart and steadfast. On Trump's mind, his name, his legacy, his identity:

Thomas Jefferson, 3rd President of the United States. A man of great power. A man who did not have sexual relations with a 14-year old slave. And a man who was out

to get kid.

"Our battle was fated." Jefferson declared, burying the flag into the ground and drawing a glock, the most American of all guns. "To allow a man such as you to get kid is something I, Thomas Jefferson, cannot abide by." He throws his petty coat to the side, revealing glistening muscles, well-oiled by the Invisible Hand of capitalism using oil from the Middle East.

He aims his glock at Donald Trump as his eyes glow with liberty. His body was channeling the congregate power of the United States, gathered through 44 US Presidencies. A red white and blue aura surrounds him as his eagle, Lincoln F. Washington, merges into his body, granting him majestic eagles wings.

Suddenly, he teleports behind Donald Trump. He's fast.

"Heh..." Jefferson sheathes his glock, "nothing personnel... kid..."

Interacting With: @Grey
Themesong: It's Over When It's Over - Falling in Reverse (Nightcore)

---

---

Donald Trump had to shield his eyes from the majesty that was Thomas Jefferson. The man was a living legend and one of Donald Trump's idols. . or was. He was not allowed to let this hippie slave owner took over his ambitions. This man was dangerous and he wanted kid. Well, so did Trump.

And Trump got what he wanted.

As Thomas Jefferson teleported behind him, the billionaire raised his shovel and slammed it against the former President, whacking the teleporting enigma away. "AND WHEN THE FOUNDING FATHERS ARE SENDING THEIR PEOPLE, THEY'RE NOT SENDING THEIR BEST!" He shouted, feeling his ginger hair fall down behind him.

He lowered his shovel, huffing. He would get kid. This man would not stand his way. He would get kid.

And he would make kid great again.

From the middle of time and space, a philosopher appears.

"The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. And only the truly wise will know how to get kid." With these words, Socrates stretches up as tall as can be. He leans on his staff a bit, his bones and body creaking -- over two millennia isn't kind to bones and joints.

And I know wisdom. Ergo, I know how to get kid.

@Cynder
There were many things that Donald Trump needed to get. He needed to get that all American citizens were under the Divine Right known as the Constitution. He needed to get that Manifest Destiny did not mean building a wall to keep out undesirables. He needed to get that the power of a mundane shovel was not powerful enough to defeat his majestic form. But the thing he would assuredly not get

was kid.

"VRAHHHHHH!" Jefferson let's out a battle cry as the ghost of Andrew Jackson emerged from his torso, shielding Jefferrson from the Trump's mighty strike with Jackson's fearsome abdominal musculature. With the shovel deflected, Jefferson crouched down, lightning surging around him as a rod of lightning gathered in his hands. "O BEAUTIFUL FOR SPACIOUS SKIES - Divine Lightning, FRANKLIN BEAMUUUU!"

Jefferson casts his lightning rod at Donald Trump.

Interacting With: @Grey
Themesong: New Divide - Linkin Park

---

---

Trump flinched as the beam was sent flying in his direction. With lightning fast reflexes, he slammed his shovel into the ground and a wall rose above, guarding him from the majestic assault. "DO YOU WANT TO BUILD A WALL?" He said in a sing-song voice before skipping out from behind the wall. The shovel was lowered at his side. "Tell me something, Jefferson. Why exactly do you need to get kid. Me? I need to save this country from falling into the clutches of the minorities and the Clintons."

His cocky look faltered for a moment, fading into a sincere state of sadness. "Do you want to see your country crash and burn. Do you?"

MCLovin had always been a kid at heart. People have told him that, but others have told him that he looked like a serial killer. He never understood that. He was able to get somewhat laid one night, and he even made some friends in cops that took him out on the town during one night.

As he waltzed into the hospital, McLovin had always had this desire to get kid. Everyone else also had this desire, but he always felt that since he was a kid at heart, then perhaps he had a better chance of getting kid. The only problem was that he had no idea where to start. Should he go with the burly-bearded man with the woman who were fighting a half-of-a-surgeon, or should he go to where Donald Trump was fighting Thomas Jefferson. The latter seemed intense, while the former seemed less likely to have gotten kid. Besides, McLovin was really scrawny. He wouldn't be any help against either parties, but he had to do something...

So, he would walk over to the warring to-be Presidents. He walked over to them, throwing his slender arm up, and spoke..

"Gangstas, what's up guys?"

@Cynder @Grey

@Cynder
Trump tried so hard. Trump got so far. But in the end, it didn't even matter. The godly thunder of Benjamin Franklin pierced Trump's defensive bulwark as easily as smallpox eradicated the Native American population, shattering the ground of the hospital behind it. However instead of unleashing another one of his Hidden Presidential Techniques, Jefferson stomped over to Trump and slapped him in the face like a pimp to a particularly unfaithful side ho.

"YOU FOOL!" Jefferson screamed with the rage of the British following the Boston Tea Party and grabbed Trump by the collar. "HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHAT MAKES AMERICA GREAT!?!?!?!?!?!?" He looked to the particularly stick-like, bespectacled citizen that had appeared suddenly and referred to him as a racial slur of some sort - a 'gang-sta'. But he was white, so it was okay. Jefferson pointed at McLovin, staring intently into the eyes of that fool Trump. "THIS IS WHAT WE FIGHT FOR. THE AMERICAN PEOPLE."

Then Jefferson spread his arms wide, flexing all of his muscles and looking for all intents and purposes like the Christ crucified - simply more evidence to the truth that God had shed his grace upon America and upon him. His chiseled form, dreamy eyes, and the aura of America that surrounded it were almost blinding, completely rendering the hospital lights useless as a light source. Then, with the voice of all the Presidents, from now and to the future, he intoned:

"AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL - PARADOX OF IMPERIALISM, MANIFEST DESTINY!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Then there was a sacred flash as a wave of energy erupted from his body, consuming all in its wake. When the light faded, they were no longer in the hospital. Instead all around them were amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesties, alabaster cities gleamed in the horizon as a gargantuan American flag encompassed the sky. All of it stretched from sea to shining sea in this isolated world sphere. "DO YOU NOT SEE DONALD!?" Jefferson asked, gesturing around him as sweat made his deltoids shine like a mirror. "THIS IS MANIFEST DESTINY." He crouched in front of the candidate stared deeply into his eyes.

"The power of America comes not from industrial wall-building capability, but rather, the virtue, the mission, the destiny manifest of territorital expansion." He thrust his hand skyward. A beautiful eagle perched upon his hand. "To build a wall is to fear. To expand is to conquer, to liberate, to free those who would believe the lie that America is not the greatest goddamn countryin the world. This is the American man's burden." He touched Donald's heart with his fist. "Do you understand now, foolish candidate? To get kid is not simply to get kid. To get kid is the ultimate fate of America."

Jefferson soared into the sky, as majestic and boundless as the 13 eagles that had assembled around him in unison. There was another flash, and they were back in the hospital.

Interacting With: @Grey && @Altered Tundra
Themesong: Numb - Linkin Park

---

---

Trump was a little dazed once they had arrived back in the hospital. Truthfully, he had no idea what had just happened. The voices of many had just spoken to him and he was unsure if it had really happened or was a cruel trick played by Jefferson. Which wouldn't surprise him - Jefferson was close to a socialist and if there was one thing that Trump didn't trust, it was a goddamn socialist.

"I don't. . understand," he said slowly, but held his hand up before Jefferson can speak, "But I will try to. I-It's because I want to or anything," the Disney princess future President said with a bit of a mumble, "B-But because I need to get kid. And I need to make kid great again."

With that, his eyes glanced over to McLovin. "And who are you?"

In between the extreme gunfire of the two would be presidents, the hidden camera implanted in the baby zoomed in. Said baby had ancient Nyanian runes carved into it's back to prevent it from being gotten. The baby could not move, as it had it's limbs surgically removed by the Absque Conglomerate, more specifically the rogue Absque Crippled Joe of the High Skies, the now deceased Absque that enjoyed subjecting humanoids to the same injuries that he had sustained in the great Absque-Collective War of 1998. This made the now-vegetative baby the perfect sentry for the Sentinels of Nya, Guardians of the Ceramic Fortress.

The Sentinels of Nya, Guardians of UwU, or the Protectors of XD LOL. These creatures have the heads of kittens, the bodies of the Iron Giant, and the brains of a 14 year old on the internet, with the duty of protecting the Kid Khambers. These mechanic monsters mainly remain in their fortress, but have many spy cameras across the universe. The Sentinels noticed the sheer number of individuals wihed to get kid, and so launched their most dangerous attack force: UwU 5. They would arrive on Earth in 3 months to wipe out all kid getters. But all cameras were all focused on these kid getters, and the less powerful cameras were focused on a small island in the Pacific, populated by one surgeon.

@Cynder @Grey

---

This was totally cool. McLovin had always enjoyed seeing this kind of stuff on television with Evan or playing video games with Evan and Seth, but he never knew he would actually be able to see this in person. Not only that, but the famed Thomas Jefferson talked to him directly. Never ever had McLovin felt so special in all of history ever. He had to keep his cool. Thomas Jefferson was talking to him. He had to remain cool only like McLovin could.

"Chicka-chicka-yeah," McLovin said, his knees bending, and a gangbanger handsign being thrown up. It was in response to Jefferson's comment about him fighting Trump for the American People. So patriotic, he was.

As Jefferson made it clear to Trump that he was no match for his American Pride, one of the four Forefathers of America flew off with thirteen bald eagles trailing behind him. Meanwhile, the Great Wall-Builder, and overall douchebag turned to McLovin, asking who he was. The scrawny, barely-legal male looked up at the toupee-wearing politician. He swallowed the nerves that were building in his throat, stood as intimidating that he could, and opened his mouth with all the swag that he could muster. "I am McLovin" He said, his head moving down to the rhythm of his words.

Crippled Joe fell down the flight of stairs, not because he was crippled, but because he had been pushed. The High Skies were too high above him now, and his source of power had been cut off, and for some reason he could see toasters everywhere. This place was soon going to become a toaster hotspot, and as everyone knows, toaster hotspots allow Childbeings into the Fourth Dimension. The Infernal, The Gracious, The Neutral, and The Transient. Only the Infernal had awoken after the Great Lullaby of '93. So, Crippled Joe had to deploy his special move: Trans Temporal Toaster Terror. This attack would drain CJ's lifeforce, and it could only regenerate with the proper dosage of heroin.

Who had pushed Joe down the stairs, you, the reader, may be asking? Well, it all started of Joe's first day of middle school, when he found out about the conspiracy to revive the ancient Absque warlord Phil from the Future. Unfortunately, middle school is the equivalent of law school for the Absque, and fortunately, Phil from the Future decided to join forces with Cripple Joe to help take down the resource draining Absque government.

Soon enough, they had taken down part of the government. And through events too long and painful to write about, Crippled Joe had been pushed down the stairs by a rogue Sentinel of Nya, and now Crippled Joe had to destroy all life within a mile radius to prevent the toasters from allowing the Infernal Childbeing from moving forwards from the Hell 5 Dimension. Fortunately, the building he was in was located on a deserted desert island

" T R A N S T E M P O R A L T O A S T E R T E R R O R "

And there was silence as the toasters fell from the grace of God

Otto, suddenly moving, realized that the doctor had been gone for several minutes already and that he had been in some kind of strange stasis. He marveled at the great power that that amoeboid surgeon possessed. Turning his attention elsewhere, Otto sheathed his industrial ductape and the cards he'd made from them before his arrival and headed towards the bed where the rune-writ child lay. It was but a baby, yet it was silent, noiseless, and its eyes lacking the comprehension of a living being.

It lived, yet...was not present. Yet he could not understand it, for the child was clearly not gotten. Yet, as he took it into his arms, he could not get kid. Why couldn't he get kid. He had got the child in his arms, he had the baby in his grasp.

Then he realized, a baby was not a kid. It was an infant.

His eyes widened at the realization, "H-how can this be. We...we've been fooled!" Otto unceremoniously laid the vegetative baby back upon the operation pedastle and turned to the others who were present. "We can't let this failure rot our souls or we will have been gotten. We must unite and find a way to transcend this, to transcend the transcendent so that we may deal with this monstrosity at its source. We must...we must go to The Vortex. I believe it is the only way."

I believe, he thought.

I believe in magic... he thought with song.

It was the only way.

@Cynder@Altered Tundra
Trump's denial of his true feelings was c-cute. But do you know what else was cute? The fact that the British believed in taxation without representation. Also that Donald thought he could get kid. But before he could discipline this wench, he heard the name.

McLovin.

Jefferson quickly turned to the barely legal male and grabbed both of his shoulders, locking his eagle eyes upon the glasses guy. "Are you of the line of the American folk hero, Ronald McDonald?" he asked before slamming his hands on the ground, an occult Masonic symbol expanding around the two individuals. The debris around began to float, the symbol began to glow, and a triangle shone around his right eye as he began to intone the ancient spell used by the Illuminated Magicians, the very same spell that engraved America's superiority upon the world during the First Revolutionary War of 1776 and granted the American presidency its infinite power passed down by the will of the people.



The occult Masonic symbol erupted into a firework fanfare of the three sacred colors: red, white and B l u e. The fireworks began to coalesce on to McLovin's form, wreathing him in a cloak of stars and stripes. And as sheer patriotism burned into his crux, imbuing power into the patriot, the shade of the great hero appeared. The white clown of gold and red. The man who freed all bellies of belts with low-cost, high-calorie food.

Ronald of McDonald.

Afrox da Skulfaka, legendary ork of the high 9 seas, plunderer of planets, loota of bootay and ork beyond measure. He was a refined gentleman who enjoyed the simple things in life like painting with the blood of his enemies, stepping on midgets and smol people and eating motherfuckers alive.

[Cut several paragraphs detailing how absolutely fucking beautiful and orky Afrox was as well as description that turned into a fangirl/boy/ork/attack helicopter rave.]

Afrox da Skulfaka was an ork beyond compare, the orkiest of orks and not those fucking Tolkein gits either.

But now...

He had a mission.

Getting up from the rock he used as his intergalatic motorized transport rock, there was a single thought in his head. And so thus, he charged up his lungs with a great in take and in a yell that would cover half the planet and shatter ear drums, Afrox bellowed:

'ERES DA ZOGGIN' KIDDDDDDDDDD? DA FAQ IZ DIS ZOGGING KID?

---

So it was as the concept of B l u e came further into his being and so it was that the world around them warped, the american flag warped, the stars warped, star trek's enterprise warped, 1983's Great Blue Whale Incursion Warped, and there it was, the concept, the entitiy, the many, the all, the one and only Blue.

"I am here, my existence has been uttered. There is no other, there is only the one. The Blue, the truest, the lie of other colors is gone. Your savior is here, here to let in the water. To let in the calm. To be the color of your blood through skin. To be the sky that you look up to--night and day, day and night, evening and afternoon, morning and dawn. Before you speak you must know that your savior. Your god, my prophet, one of many, will arrive soon."

He looked to the steadfast American hero, the founding father, one of the many founders who used B l u e in their words, in their anthem. Then there was the Trump, but it seemed he had been Trump...card. For he was a game, but not a card game, no he was a political game, a blasphemy to the color B l u e, to the idea B l u e, to everything that Blue was, could be, will be, is, is not, might ever be within the infinitesimally small or large. “Your existence here is blasphemous, despite your possession of a princess related to a supreme Ice Blue Prophet, the Witchmagess Elsa. I can't believe you would desecrate the sacredness of the Divine Blue, of the Pillars of Color. But to defile the sister of one of the great B l u e, to the ideaB l u e prophets. For shame, for shoes, for skies, for ocean and ice B l u e, to the idea B l u e s.”

Blue shook itself in disgust, its existence shuddering. Harambe would know his sorrow, his disappointment, his wrath, his Blueness.

Sadness slipped into all that was B l u e, to the idea B l u e. The sky drooped, the oceans swelled and fell away, before rising once more. Stars blinked out then shifted back into existence repeatedly. The eyes of B l u e eyed children and animals alike wept, whether they had been got or begotten through the process of getting—or getting kid.

To ease his wrath and depressive sadness, Blue gestured, and so it was that a picture, which contained B l u e became a portal of B l u e so that one Prophet of Blue could arrive. It would be the arrival of his dear friend, and the greatest of great apes: Harambe.