Jacqueline Coleman Hrabowski was distraught. Her Power Rangers-themed army had been destroyed by the prodigious might of Bill Cosby and her former husband, Freeman Hrabowski. She spent the next few months in a state of depression, alternating back and forth from spying on her husband and his new lover from her secret moon base to butt-chugging the moon’s finest wines.
It was amidst one of these anal-initiated, drunken stupors that Jacqueline heard a knock on her door. She went to open it, knocking over several framed photographs of her former boo, and was surprised to see a vivacious divorcee standing in front of her. Her skin was amber, like the color of her energy. Her bosoms taught and perky, like a woman half her age. And her temper was fiery, like a fire.
“Why, the former Mrs. Hrabwoski, I do believe we have something in common,” said Camille Hanks, the now ex-wife of Bill Cosby.
“Who do you … what do you want, Camille? Do you want to insert wine bottles into your rectum? Because I’m really good at it and I can show you how.”
“No, Jacky,” said Camille, “I didn’t come here to pour fermented grapes into my asshole. I’m over that phase of my life. I’ve come to recruit you. Recruit you for revenge!”
“But, Camille, I’ve tried everything. I sent an entire army of putties after them. And now they’re all dead. Dead I tell you!” Jacqueline collapsed into a pile of sadness. She also started leaking alcohol out of her behind, because she was now too sorrowful to squeeze her butt cheeks shut any longer. Gross.
“You haven’t tried everything. Come with me. By the end of this, our husbands will be dead and you will be the queen of UMBC!” said Camille. She kicked a turtle to emphasize her point. The turtle hit two adult plumbers and they shrunk down to the size of children. Then the plumbers rescued a fruit-based princess.
The sobbing ex-first lady of UMBC stifled her tears and stood up. She like the sound of the word ‘queen’. She liked it a lot. Jacqueline and Camille drew knives and sliced open their palms, squeezed them together in a pact of evil, and became blood sisters. The deed was done.
Millions of miles away, on the planet Earth, Bill Cosby woke up in a cold sweat. His screams of terror woke up his partner, Freeman Hrabowski.
“What is it, Bill?” asked Freeman.
“I don’t know, Hrabowbow,” said Bill Cosby, using his pet name for the grand and benevolent UMBC president. “But I do know that it’s bad. Whatever it is, it’s bad.”
“Do you know what would make you feel better?” asked Freeman.
Bill shook his head.
“Butt sex,” said Freeman “and lots of it.”
Then Bill Cosby and Freeman Hrabowski had lots of orgasms because they were really good at sex, almost as good at sex as they were at inspiring millions of our nations youths.