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Assassination attempt on President Barack Obama foiled. Deadly plot in London. Killer in Buckingham Palace.

Updated on February 15, 2016


Planning the Obama assassination.

Scouting out the venue for the Obama assassination.

Obama assassination. Any minute now.

Greeting The Obamas at Buckingham Palace. The assassin is disguised as The Duchess of Cornwall's hat.

The intended assassination victims.

Planning the Obama assassination.

During his recent state visit to The United Kingdom, President Barack Obama came very near to assassination. I am writing this now, as my personal account of the assassination plot on Barack, and Michelle, Obama, and as a constant reminder to me of how the assassination plan went wrong, and also to help me in formulating my next attempt.

When I last "put pen to paper", I, Larry, the Downing Street Cat/Julian Faversham Cannibalistic zombie, was looking forward to the State Visit of US President Barack Obama to the United Kingdom. Most particularly, I was looking forward to snacking on his presidential brain.

The plan to dine off the grey matter of "The Leader of The Free World" was well advanced, and indeed came within a hairs breadth of succeeding, If it were not for that wretched feline, The Cheshire Cat, I would be enjoying happy memories of the taste of "Obama Soup". I shall have to wait for another opportunity now.

Everything was going so well. I had changed the venue for my attack on the president from 10 Downing Street to Buckingham Palace. I had discovered that Barack Obama would only be visiting the Prime Minister during the day, but that he would be staying overnight with Her Majesty the Queen. The President and his wife were scheduled to stay in The Belgian Suite, a very opulent set of rooms on the ground floor of the palace. All I needed to do was to gain entry to this suite during the night, and then put my particular stamp on the furtherance of Anglo American relations.

Buckingham Palace. The venue for the assassination.

Scouting out the venue for the Obama assassination.

To put this plan into effect, it was first essential that I had a good notion of the layout of Buckingham Palace. You are talking "Big House" here, and the last thing I needed was to be wandering lost down endless corridors, when my dinner was sleeping soundly with his fragrant wife Michelle.

It was easy enough to get into the palace. There is a constant stream of traffic between the office of The Prime Minister, and that of The Queen. All I had to do was jump in with a load of paperwork at Downing Street, and then jump out again when it was being delivered at Buck House. Also The Prime Minister had weekly meetings with The Queen, and it was a simple enough matter to hide in the back of his car. Nobody ever seemed to notice a cat, probably the last thing they expected to see with all those corgis around.

It was one of those dammed corgis that almost gave the game away. I had managed to smuggle myself aboard one of the vans that plied between the palace and Downing Street with the endless paperwork. I was following the footman to see where he would go, and to get a feel for the place. He was about twenty paces ahead of me. I rounded a corner at the end of a very plush corridor, when what should I bump into but one of those awful little welsh dogs that Queen Elizabeth II is especially addicted to. This one was on his own. He must have escaped from the pack. Needless to say, when he saw himself faced with a black and white tabby in Buckingham Palace, he straightaway started barking like hell. "The little scutter" probably thought that Christmas had come early.

If that was his thought, it was most likely the last one that he had, as I immediately shape shifted into my mouldy zombie body. The canine brains made a nice, but rather small snack.

Fortunately, the footman was listening to his i pod and appeared to hear nothing.

I popped the remains of the corgi into a big Chinese vase, and continued my exploration of the palace. He must be starting to smell around now, but that is not my problem.

The Belgian Suite.

Larry, the Downing Street Cat. A deadly assassin.

The truth is in here


Obama assassination. Any minute now.

A couple of days later I was back at the royal residence. It was the day after Barack Obama had arrived in London. He stayed one night in The American Embassy, and he was due to be formally welcomed by The Queen at the palace the following morning.

I had managed to hide myself in The Belgian Suite. Oddly enough, I had only managed to get in there because the presidential security detail had been going over the place, with a fine toothcomb, looking for bombs etc. As if The Queen was going to blow up The US President. If George III had blown up George Washington, there might be some sense in it, but it is a bit late thinking of such an idea now. Anyway the presidential goons left the door open, so it was very easy for me to sneak in and hide under the bed.

Will the zombie dine on the presidential brain? Is there a brain there to eat?

What happens next?

To find out read my latest e-book The Zombie, the Cat and Barack Obama.

Sample it FREE at AMAZON.

United States.

Greeting The Obamas at Buckingham Palace. The assassin is disguised as The Duchess of Cornwall's hat.


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