Congressman’s Inner Demon Emerges During Speech:

Apr 30

Sparking Discreet Alarm Among Lawmakers Aware of Their Own Unholy Tenants

WASHINGTON, D.C. — In an otherwise unremarkable address on agricultural subsidies, Representative Mark Flibberton of North Dakota’s 37th District paused mid-sentence, emitted a guttural sound akin to a malfunctioning radiator, and released a sinewy, soot-stained entity from his mouth onto the House chamber floor.

The creature—resembling an unsettling hybrid of a mole rat and a corporate consultant—slithered forth with the weary demeanor of an entity long confined within a congressional larynx. It briefly glared at the C-SPAN camera, flipped off the camera, and vanished beneath the podium, leaving behind a faint odor of charred ethics and unfulfilled campaign pledges.

Representative Flibberton collapsed, his suit pristine but his essence visibly absent. The House chamber fell silent. No cries of alarm or hurried evacuations ensued. Instead, lawmakers remained seated, their stillness betraying a collective understanding: they, too, harbor similar passengers.

One representative was overheard murmuring. “I can’t believe he did that on live TV….”

Capitol insiders reveal that this scenario—a public revelation of lawmakers’ inner entities—has long been a source of quiet dread among staff. Not policy missteps or leaked correspondence, but the sudden exposure of what many had dismissed as metaphorical “inner demons” now proven disconcertingly literal.

The House protocol manual, last revised in 2003 under “Unanticipated Supernatural Incidents,” advises members to mask such occurrences with a discreet cough and a swift pivot to infrastructure funding. However, no contingency plan addressed a breach during a televised session, when ordinary citizens might glimpse the truth behind their elected officials’ compromises.

Several lawmakers attempted to feign shock, though their efforts were hampered by a lack of recent exposure to unscripted human emotion—sources cite a 1998 fundraiser with subpar catering as their last reference point. Representative Lancy Breem was observed researching “appropriate civilian responses to demonic manifestations” from the relative safety of a coat closet.

Speaker of the House Bancy Joehler, maintaining composure while subtly adjusting a crucifix lapel pin from ornamental to operational, called for an immediate recess “in recognition of Representative Flibberton’s distinguished service and momentary liberation.”

In private, pandemonium reigned. An anonymous aide described the atmosphere as less one of surprise and more of apprehension over whose entity might prove more theatrical. Security personnel were deployed not to secure the premises, but to disable microphones.

The overriding fear is one of perception. “The public must not realize we all carry these entities,” one senator reportedly confided over a glass of unsettled antacid. “We have long maintained the pretense of mere human fallibility. Will voters in Nebraska support a candidate who visibly exhales brimstone during budget debates?”

Lawmakers are now engaged in urgent narrative management. Some propose reframing the entities as “spiritual advisors,” while others advocate a public relations campaign embracing “transparency of the soul.” A small faction is exploring legislation to reclassify “possession” as “enhanced ideological conviction.”

Representative Flibberton’s office issued a statement late last evening: “The Congressman is resting, reflecting, and appreciative of having briefly reclaimed his voice, if not his vocal cords. We request privacy as he adapts to his newfound autonomy.”

Whether this incident marks an isolated event or the precursor to a broader exodus of congressional entities remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that the public has witnessed an unvarnished truth—unscripted, unsanitized, and, most alarmingly, unpolled.

The nation now watches, not for leadership, but for the next unwitting mouth to open.