After getting to know Donald Trump, he convinced me to start a joint venture hotel called Trump Brownsville. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as popular as we had hoped for. I lost all my mum’s savings and my low-paying job at the FBI wasn’t cutting it. So I had to make it big and quick.

I was sitting in a local bar, trying to get away from my mum’s constant complaining. I kept thinking to myself, Can’t this woman understand that you don’t get rich from having a salary? Here and there, I’d browse various job sites. I could find nothing that offered the pay I wanted.

The chubby old barman could tell something was bothering me. “Aye lad, everything good?” he said in a Scottish-sounding accent. “I need to make a lot of money fast,” I said, trying not to look like a fool. “I know this guy,” the barman replied sternly. “However, it can cost you your life.” I thought to myself, I’ve survived hundreds of hot robot bitches and escaped with the Holy Bob Marley Joint. After three seconds of careful consideration, I countered with, “That’s fine.” Then the mysterious barman reached under the bar for a second before sliding a white business card across the counter. 

I said, “Thanks,” and I gave a smile back before awkwardly leaving. I waited until I was outside before I looked closely at the business card. Turning it over revealed a big ass; on one ass cheek, it said “Ho,” and on the other, it said “Busters.” There was no phone number, just an address. Although it was late in the evening, I had nothing better to do, so I called my mum to tell her that I would be a little late and took a short walk.  

In a shady part of town, I arrived at this crusty door with a blue layer of paint. It looked like it had been painted over way too often. On the upper half of the door, there was this pitch-black metal ring door knocker, almost invisible in the poorly-lit street. First, I composed myself. Then I carried out three heavy knocks. Immediately, a tall, skinny old man opened the thick wooden door. He had a tight thin smirk on his face, which he accentuated by enthusiastically saying, “I’ve been expecting you.” Then he grabbed me by my collar and pulled me inside.

I was greeted by a tiny set of stairs. In the background, a door led to a large oak table full of thousands of pieces of paper. Sitting and standing around it were three other guys. We exchanged pleasantries. There was a fat one called Ronny. He wore thick glasses and had a husky voice peppered with the occasional stutter. Sitting in the middle was the somewhat confident Michael. He was black and looked out of place in this group of awkward white guys. And at the end was Connor, built like a bull but considerably retarded.

“So, you want to make some money, huh?” the bony elongated figure shouted before bellowing out a loud laugh. I breathed heavily out of my nose, not sure what to make of this smiling character in front of me. 

“Yep, that’s why I’m here.” 

“Are you scared of ghosts?” he questioned. 

I rolled my eyes and looked at the ceiling thinking to myself, I’m not here to waste time, buddy.

Probably feeling my increasing hesitation, the old guy said, “Stand up.” I complied and followed him down a set of stairs to the basement with the rest of the guys, where we all stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a rusty gate on the wall. “If you open this gate, it will take you to the ghost dimension,” the old man said while half-heartedly pointing at it.

It was already late, and I had no job to wake up early for. So, I opened the rusty gate, and this green and black twisting spiral appeared. “Go on then,” the old man urged. Connor, the most eager and most careless one of us, jumped first. Then, Ronny, Michael, and I followed him. VROOOSH! “What the FUCK!!!” I shouted while looking at what was in front of me. There were hot and ugly scantily clad women walking all around everywhere. A path led to a large entrance with a sign that said “Welcome to the Ho Dimension.” This wasn’t the Ghost Dimension, but the Ho Dimension. That old bastard lied to us. I should’ve known better. The business card had a big ass printed on it. 

We had to find a way out of this place. However, to do this, we must first understand what this place is. Once we went through the entrance, we saw a street lined with colorful detached two-story houses. Michael then inquired, “Yo, guys, is that Osama bin Laden?” And there he was, Osama bin Laden himself, along with what seemed like 72 virgins. There was also Pocahontas fighting off the advances of Hugh Hefner. 

There was a carousel in this town full of ghost hoes, but instead of the seats styled like horses, they were shaped like big butt cheeks, the same as in the business card that all four of us had received. Then suddenly, I felt a blisteringly cold sensation around my upper back and neck. I jerked and turned my head to the right. Connor and Michael were constrained by two bad ghost bitches. Quickly, I dashed my head to my left and saw Ronny galloping away. Then in my right ear, I heard, “Welcome to the Ho Dimension, Daddy. No one ever leaves alive!”

We were dragged into a skinny tower, where our hands and legs were chained. Then I heard tall stilettos hitting the uneven cobbled floor. A spherical ghost woman appeared. She wasn’t hot in any way, shapem or form. She then opened her large mouth, “I am Dorothy Rodham, the mother of Hillary Clinton.” 

“Fuck you!” shouted Michael. 

“Quiet, child,” said Big Dorothy before going into a long-ass speech. 

“This is the Ho Dimension, where all the hoes come to live for eternity. Or so it was. We are going to release ourselves from this dimension and take over all the other depths of reality. Unfortunately, we cannot allow for backward traditions such as postmarital sex and virginity. Everyone must be a ho or die!” 

I interjected, “You finished yet?”

“HAHA, quiet child, send them to the Anaconda Room!” Dorothy Rodham screamed at the three ghost hoes that had just entered the room. A massive hole opened in the middle of the tower. Each of the ghost whores grabbed, unchained, and dangled us over the hole. “Goodbye!” uttered Mrs. Rodham before we were dropped down into a seemingly endless hole.

I opened my eyes, and from the looks of it, all three of us had been knocked out. My eyes were plump and bulging out of their sockets. THUMP! THUMP! Two massive butt cheeks that were semi-covered in black Velcro shorts appeared. In the background, the song “Anaconda” by Nicki Minaj was playing. Instantly, I knew what the fuck this was. It was Nicki Minaj’s fat ass, and it would crush us to death. Each ass cheek was 30 meters in height and width, weighing 200 tons. I got up and pulled the other two guys away as one of Nicki’s cheeks came towards us.

I had to do something to wake the other two up. I doubted I could get out of this place by myself. A large drop of lube dripped off Nicki’s decapitated ass. I grabbed a handful of it and forcefully slapped it on Michael’s face. He instantly rose with his hands forward like a vampire. “Look out!” Michael screeched. I turned around and saw Nicki Minaj’s backup dancers moving towards me, ass forward and twerking.

I told Michael to wake up Connor while I took care of the hoe backup dancers. They think they can twerk?! I thought to myself. So, I turned around, arched my back, put my hands on my knees, and started twerking for survival. The ghost Anaconda backup dancers kept coming closer. I kept twerking more and more intensely. Yet they just kept advancing. So, I began shaking my fat trunk probably around 120 times a minute. Finally, their asses were only ten centimeters away from mine before they stopped and retreated. It worked! But there was one problem. My ruthless ass shaking didn’t scare Nicki’s two gigantic butt cheeks. I couldn’t out-twerk 200 tons of pure twerkability.

So, I shouted at the butt cheeks, “YOUR HUSBAND KENNETH PETTY LIKES KIDS!” Then Nicki Minaj’s ass lost control. It shook brutally hard and broke the walls of the tower holding us captive. By this time, Connor was awake, and the three of us ran for our lives. As we ran through the streets of the Ho Dimension, a growing swarm of ghost hoes chased us. Their tits were shaking everywhere. I guess they didn’t sell sports bras in this dimension. I knocked over a stall of “All Men are Misogynists” T-shirts to slow down our pursuers. But it wasn’t enough. We were surrounded.

Then I heard screams, shouting, and swearing. Looking into the distance, we saw ghost hoes flying through the air. An unstoppable force was racing towards us. As it got closer, we made out what it was. It was Ronny! He was singlehandedly fighting hundreds of the baddest ghost whores with ease. Ronny’s ball-shaped body did a quadruple somersault, toppling six rows of ghost hoes, before ultimately landing on his right knee and his left fist on the ground. His head was facing down. After five seconds of whatever the hell this anime-inspired position was, Ronny stood up and walked towards us. He explained that he was a super virgin, going 35 years without the sensual touch of a woman. No ghost ho could possibly combat with his unstoppable aura of virginity.

Ronny grabbed all three of us in his left arm and battled away a few hundred shadow hoes as he took us to the Ho Dimension’s only Dairy Queen. He pulled up the metal shutter and threw us inside while shutting the shutter back down as he got in. “I’ve put together something for us,” he said. Ronny dragged out a wooden box containing four matching grey costumes and four large guns attached to a backpack. “Put these on,” he said. After that, he grabbed the wires dangling from each gun and put them down his pants. He explained, “My 35-year-old virgin balls are going to power the proton packs.” Then, we gathered our hands in a circle and shouted, “Ho Busters!” We threw our hands up in the air.

I opened the front door of the Dairy Queen and stepped outside. Each of us lined up, standing uniform with our left leg forward, holding our proton-powered ho-busting guns. As the Ho Busting Theme song came on, we began to capture all the hoes into our proton packs. 

“Ho Busters!” 

I zapped this short thick ghost ho. 

“If there’s something strange, in your neighborhood.” 

Michael turned around, put the gun underneath his legs, and vacuumed up a nasty phantom ho.

“Who you gonna call?” 

I looked over, and Connor had put the tip of the gun in his mouth to see what would happen.

 “Ho Busters!” 

Then I glanced over at Ronny recharging his proton pack with his ballsack again. 

“If there is something weird and it don’t look good, who you gonna call? Ho Busters!” 

We raced past the main gate we had entered through a few days prior while thirsty ghost thots were chasing us. 

“Teeno teeno teeno tut tut teeno teeno teeno tut tut tut, I ain’t ‘fraid of no hoes!” 

We barged through the metal doorway of a teleport machine, and before we knew it, we were back in the Earth dimension. 

“Whew!” I sighed, full of relief. 

“Please, please, can we go again tomorrow?” begged Connor. 

This was met by expletives by the rest of us. “We gonna keep in touch, right guys?” asked Ronny. 

“Yeah, sure,” I said. 

The next day, my phone rang. “Hey man, it’s me, Donald Trump. I have a genius idea. It’s called Trump Tower Kabul. Invest while you can!!!” 

Following a few seconds of deliberation, I replied, “Sure, Donald, count me in.”