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Election fraudster and Arizona Secretary of State Adrian Fontes was executed before a cadre of military brass at Guantanamo Bay Tuesday morning, his body atremble and teeth chattering as Vice Admiral Darse E. Crandall shamed his remorseless adherence to the Deep State’s praxis.
Fontes showed no remorse despite the profound fear in his bulging eyes. He held the admiral’s gaze while the hangman tugged at the noose soon to be fitted around Fontes’ neck.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Fontes cried, “I am innocent. I’m also a Marine, and this is no way for a Marine to die.” More tears welled up in his rheumy eyes.
Fontes served in the United States Marine Corps from 1992 to 1996, where he taught a marksmanship course.
The admiral cleared his throat. “What you are, detainee Fontes, is a traitor. And that once a Marine always a Marine line doesn’t hold water with me—especially when a Marine, or any service member, pledges to uphold the Constitution of the United States and then breaks that pledge for profit or personal ambition. You’re a disgraced Marine, and if General Smith were here with us today, I’m sure he’d agree with me.”
Although Gen. Smith was busy elsewhere, a Marine Corps colonel and member of the White Hat council was present to witness Fontes’ execution. A cigar tucked between his lips, he spat out words and smoke at once: “You have the balls to call yourself a Marine? Then stop sniveling and die like a Marine. A Marine accepts the consequences of his actions, good and bad.”
Fontes glanced at Admiral Crandall and the colonel. “You’re the traitors. I serve my country, the people of Arizona, and President Joseph R. Biden.”
“Not anymore,” the admiral quipped.
The colonel puffed on his cigar. “Admiral, if you don’t mind, I’d like the honor of pushing the button on this so-called Marine.”
“The honor is yours,” the admiral replied.
The hangman atop the gallows placed a cloth sack over Fontes’ head and ceded his position to the colonel.
“You’re a traitor, Fontes,” the colonel reiterated.
“When this is all over, I’ll be vindicated, and you’ll all be dead, and Donald Trump will never see the White House again,” Fontes howled.
The colonel depressed the red button that triggered the door beneath Fontes’ feet to open, and whatever last utterances escaped his lips were suddenly silenced as his body dropped and the noose tightened around his neck, starving his diseased brain of oxygen. As sometimes happens, the fall itself didn’t break his neck, and he swung to and fro until he ran out of breath and his lifeless eyes bulged from their sockets as if to burst.
The colonel frowned. “I was hoping it’d take longer,” he said.
